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soobnny · 1 year

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don’t be a stranger — han jisung.

trope. friends to lovers. college au. u live in the same apartment floor. fluff. part 2 to meet odd.

synopsis. you really need to stop meeting han jisung under odd circumstances or alternatively, i accidentally locked myself out of my apartment and you’re offering that i sleep at yours for the night?

word count. 4.3k words

warnings. mentions of that sex-addict neighbor from the first part, mentions of killing bees, and i think nothing after that except for a few curse words

note. this can definitely stand alone but for it to make more sense, read the first fic here! i’ve finally decided to write a part 2 after popular demand, i hope this was ok!

A lot has changed since that night at the rundown convenience store with Han Jisung.

For one, your shared neighbor had moved out after the person living in front of her finally had enough of her. Guess they had more courage to confront the problem than you and Jisung combined.

This meant that the solace of your dorm was finally yours again, and you couldn’t be happier for the return of silence and comfort. Since then, you’ve officially said goodbye to Seungmin’s couch and your noise canceling headphones.

And Jisung.

With no reason to leave your dorm at ungodly hours in the morning anymore, the chances of seeing each other grew significantly low until you were back to small “hi”s and “hello”s.

Sadly, letting go of that neighbor had apparently been a package deal with lesser opportunities to talk to Jisung too.

You hate to admit your disappointment in your lack of interaction after that night. While only a month has gone by, that’s still 30 whole days without that shift in your interaction that you thought you’d bear witness to. That night you’d spent with him was a moment you enjoyed and cherished, and you would’ve hoped he felt the same way.

Similarly, Jisung’s been dejected at the lack of you in his life. He bares no shame in admitting that he had, not once, not even twice, but tried multiple times to gather enough courage to knock at your door just to ask you how you’ve been and if you’d like to hangout with him again — sometimes with a tub of ice cream, sometimes with a cup of coffee he had made for you prior.

Like today.

Han Jisung finds his fist ghosting over your door, hot cup of coffee in hand. Knock, just knock on their door, it’s not that hard. Why is it so hard for him?

He stands there for 2 minutes, studying every fragment of wood on your door.

In that time, he overthinks his actions — do you even drink coffee? Maybe the cup he had prepared wasn’t your preference? He should’ve just gotten the same brand of ice cream you shared that night. Did you want to talk to him again?

Cursing to himself, he trashes the cup yet again after having fallen prisoner to his social awkwardness.

Han Jisung has always had trouble making any type of first move. Truthfully, he was only ever able to gather enough courage to ask you out on that walk because the glint in your eyes was so bright after having laughed with him over your shared situation.

And maybe because he was a little sleep-deprived and you looked really pretty sitting next to him, and you were talking to him like you’ve known each other forever.

Something so humanizing tends to bring people together in weird ways, and that’s what had happened that night.

Now, however, with no reason to spend time with you, Jisung has trouble wondering if you had the same eagerness to talk to him again.

Do male leads in romantic comedies also have a hard time talking like he does? He supposes he could always ask Changbin even if he’d be teased and laughed at in good spirit.

Han Jisung would brave through it if it meant getting useful advice to speak to you again.

For now, with the trashed coffee cup, he retreats back to his own room.

Perhaps he could try again tomorrow.

Jisung recognizes your voice just as the elevator doors open.

He had just gotten back to your apartment after another late night session at the gym with Changbin and Chan — it was their only shared time together, so workouts were always scheduled at night.

With a gym bag slung over his shoulder, he’s about to turn the corner to where your rooms are when he hears you.

Your voice has always been recognizable to him, but this time something else was laced with the way you’re speaking. It isn’t hard to place it as stress, which makes the boy peek in curiosity and concern.

“Seungmin, pick up. Seungmin, pick up. Seungmin! Thank god. Are you at your dorm right now?”

There’s muffled sounds at the end of the line, but your stress seems to grow more and more as the conversation continues. It’s evident in the way your grip tightens around your phone, and you’re pacing back and forth hurriedly, and the way your hand repeatedly moves to run through your hair.

Turns out, Seungmin isn’t at his dorm. He’s gone home for the long weekend, but he tells you Jeongin might be there.

He’ll have to get back to you on that in a couple hours though because Jeongin has a night lecture, and Seungmin can only contact him after that.

Maybe you could kill a few hours in the main lobby – it wasn’t like you were new to that.

Hanging up, you jump back when you see Jisung standing at the end of the hallway, waving shyly at you and bowing in apology.

“Sorry, I must’ve looked like a creep just standing there. I didn’t wanna disrupt the conversation by passing by… I swear, I’m not a creep.”

With a boyish smile, he continues. “I purposefully didn’t pass by because it felt serious. Just in case I ruin the mood by passing by.”

You laugh. “No, it’s okay. You just scared me. How have you been, Jisung?”

Jisung.

He wants you to call him Hannie again.

Still, despite the downgrade in nicknames, he thanks Whomever is Above for the opportunity to talk to you again, even if it was just for a few minutes outside your apartment room.

“I’m great! Just got back from the gym.” He gestures at his bag abashedly, biting down at his lips to control his overenthusiastic tone when talking to you before looking back at you. “Though, I should really ask how you are. You sounded pretty stressed just now.”

“Ah, I was being silly and accidentally locked myself out of my apartment. And I can’t get the spare key from the landlord until tomorrow at earliest. And Seungmin isn’t at his apartment right now, so it’s a whole disaster.”

It’s easy to talk to Jisung about your problems. You feel the same sentiment that nothing ever sounds crazy to Jisung, and it certainly helps that you’ve been through hell and back together trying to survive your previously shared neighbor.

Being locked out of your apartment was basically nothing in comparison to sharing ice cream at the main lobby because your neighbor enjoys having really loud sex.

On the other hand, Jisung has his own conflict in his head.

He’s going over whether it was appropriate or not to invite you over. He could feel his heart pounding straight out of his chest, similar to how it feels when his knuckles are ghosting over your door in attempt of a knock.

“Well… if you really had no other option. You know, my apartment’s just there. And open… for you to stay at, if you want. If you really had no other option, since it’ll be more convenient to you. I’m sorry, is this weird? I’m sorry, forget I said anything.”

Han Jisung is stuttering over his words as he speaks to you, but you think you get the gist of what he’s trying to offer. “No, it’s okay! I wouldn’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable since it’s your space.”

You think he’s feeling pressured to offer since you had shared your problem with him, but you don’t know he’s more than willing to help you out. While Jisung prefers his solitude, he thinks a change of pace for the night wouldn’t hurt.

“I wouldn’t be uncomfortable at all. Actually, maybe YOU would feel uncomfortable, but if you aren’t then it’s really fine!” Then, it’s that boyish smile again and the shy scratching of the nape of his neck and the gentle rock back and forth.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! Positive!”

He ushers you towards his door, repeatedly telling you that it was no problem for him. And just when he’s about to let you in, he falters.

“Oh… actually.” Jisung remains standing in front of his door, unmoving, hand with his keys hovering over the doorknob. “Can you give me a minute?”

“Uh, sure!” You smile at him sweetly, and then he pushes his key into the keyhole, angling the door just enough so you can’t see anything before slipping into his room.

And then a string of curses follows, and a few stumbling?

His footsteps are loud as he rushes around his room, picking up every piece of clothing and dunking them into his laundry bin. His heart drops to his stomach when he catches his boxers lying on the ground, thankful he had come to his senses before letting you come in blindly.

Close one.

With the wrappers of food thrown out and his dirty clothes back in the hamper, Jisung feels more comfortable letting you in. Reopening the door again, he peeks out to check if you’re still there. “Hi.”

“Hi.” You tilt your head, smiling at the sheer cuteness of Han Jisung and his poked out head from the door and the small ‘hi’ he had addressed to you paired with the cutest smile that accentuates his round cheeks.

“It might be a little messy right now, I hope you don’t mind.” He pouts, opening the door enough to let you in, hands behind his back as he scans your reaction nervously.

His apartment space wasn’t any different than yours, probably the same size, but the way he had decorated his living space was so potently Han Jisung – like a room captured directly from his image. It’s not the neatest, but by all means, it wasn’t messy at all. It was a little chaotic in the way it’s decorated, and there’s a whole mini studio setup in the corner of his room, but it all felt like he had taken a piece of his home and brought it with him in this apartment.

What’s even more adorable is the obviousness of the rushed cleaning that had happened minutes prior. You can see some random things poorly hidden around the house, but you’re too busy feeling flustered to think about it much.

“Oh, it looks so home-y. It feels very you.”

A familiar heat climbs onto Jisung’s features at the compliment that slips out of your mouth so easily, and he suddenly feels more proud of his decorating.

He hadn’t always been the most confident in his living space, only inviting his closest friends over because his place was always deemed the most messy of them all possibly due to his chaotic decorating (and because he liked to keep his things lying around where it’s easier to access – to his downfall as he always forgets where he had put his things later on).

But, the small genuine compliment from you had lifted his worries and now he feels he should invite his friends more often.

“Do you want some water? I’ll get you a glass.” As he navigates through the kitchen, you politely settle yourself on his couch and continue to look around at the artwork littering his walls. It’s signed “Hwang Hyunjin” at the bottom, and they’re absolutely beautiful.

Sounds familiar, you think.

“What did you eat for dinner?”

You snap out of your reverie at his question.

“Actually… I haven’t eaten dinner yet.”

“What?” He rushes over to you with the glass of water, looking at you with wide eyes. All you can do is smile at him sheepishly. “You haven’t eaten yet? Why? Were you busy today?”

“I was probably just gonna eat some instant ramen when I arrived.”

Although he does the same, he can’t help but scold you. “Eat your meals well, you have to eat a lot. Come on, I’ll order us some food.”

“Do you have any recommendations?” You scoot closer to where he’s seated, peeking at his phone as he scrolls through food applications to order for you.

“Hmm.. if you mix seaweed soup in rice and have it with radish kimchi, it’ll fill you up well.” He thinks with a lot of consideration, running over all the options that could replenish your hunger, and ultimately deciding on what he’s been loving lately.

“Let’s have that then.”

You nod your head, and move to return the empty glass of water in his kitchen. Jisung instantly misses your warmth from when you were inches beside him on the couch.

You’re driving him insane.

You drive him a little more insane when you don’t return from the kitchen right away. He makes his way to where you’re standing, but it seems that you’re staring at nothing in particular. With the empty glass on the counter, Jisung doesn’t understand why you’re just staring at the wall in horror.

“(Name)? What’s wrong?”

Your head snaps to the direction of Jisung’s voice. He’s looking at you with curiosity, and you can feel the heat radiating from your face. “I just realized I don’t have any clothes with me.”

“Oh! Don’t worry. You can just wear some of mine.”

Fuck, you feel so embarrassed, but Jisung is making it seem like it’s nothing – like he’s doing you a simple favor, and not the complexity entangled in staying at his for the night. Comfort is unknowingly wrapped around you in everything that Han Jisung does.

“Okay, I laid out some clothes in the bathroom. Just there.” He points at a door before directing his eyes back at you. “You can go take a shower if you’d like, while we wait for the food.”

You nod, thanking him again, but he simply brushes you off with that bright smile. He even hands you an extra toothbrush from his cabinets.

Jisung doesn’t know how he acted so nonchalant while lending you his clothes, because right now, as you emerge from the bathroom with a towel in hand, drying your hair, he feels like he’s about to explode at the sight of you in his clothes.

He knows his face is fully red right now. There’s no way to fight in, not when his shirt and sweatpants were practically swallowing you whole. He feels something akin to when you had messily eaten your ice cream on the walk back home from the convenience store, and he finds himself mumbling to himself. “Cute.”

“How do I look?” You laugh, flailing your limbs around to show the excess of material moving past your feet, and how his sleeves are down to your elbows. Before he has the chance to stutter over his own words in an attempt of a compliment, his phone begins to buzz.

“Must be the food.” He says, and you move to help him grab the takeout containers from outside. Settling them on the table, you move to grab your wallet from your bag.

Jisung blames it on his exhaustion from the gym, but a schoolboy giggle escapes him before he can hold it back the moment he spots the keychain he had won you a month ago still attached to your wallet.

“Don’t worry. I’ve already paid.” He moves to shove your wallet back down from your bag, and he feels himself physically malfunction when you pout up at him. “That’s not fair. Next time, I’m paying, okay?”

Next time.

Han Jisung cannot count the number of times you have made his heart do a backflip.

Over dinner, you talk about a multitude of topics – never running out of things to say. You realize it’s always been like this with him. You always have a lot to talk about, and you don’t feel scared or nervous to talk about anything.

Similarly, Jisung’s feeling giddy at how he feels he can tell you anything, so he does. He likes the laughter and giggles he elicits from you everytime he tells you a funny story. He also likes your efforts to pitch in with your own stories, feeling lucky you’re entrusting him with pieces of your life like that.

“Actually, in 6th grade, I was kind of a bully. I was kind of mean… but I was only mean because there was this girl who was SUPER mean to Seungmin so I had to get back at her.”

“Hmm?” He pushes you to continue your story, looking at you attentively as he chews on his food, following along your every word.

“So what I would do is, I’d step on bees right. I’m so sorry to the bees, I was young and naive. But, I stepped on them and I’d pick them up and put them in a plastic bag, right?” You smile mischievously, recounting the story in your head.

“Don’t tell me.” Jisung dramatically gasps, pointing a chopstick at you.

“Oh, but I did. I put the plastic bag in her locker! Yeah, I was kind of a psycho.”

He laughs, the wholehearted, head thrown back, thigh slapping kind of laugh as he looks at you in disbelief. But your story warms him – to know that even when you were still so young, you had already gone through extreme lengths to protect the people close to you.

In exchange for your story, he tells his own too. He recounts a story of when he had eaten spicy yuptteok without realizing it.

“I learned about the spiciness of life that day. Now, I’m scared of spicy food.”

He allows himself a quick glance at you from time to time whenever the familiar sound of a throaty laughter is bubbling from you, just before he finishes his story. Nothing feels more accomplishing than your genuine reactions and opinions to his stories.

You listen to him. You listen to every single word without fail.

You still listen an hour later while you’re seated on the couch, exchanging stories with each other.

Though, it’s interrupted for a moment when your phone begins to ring, and Seungmin’s face pops up on the screen. He must have an update on Jeongin already as it had been hours past the last time you had ringed him.

Swiping the call button, you answer with the intent to tell him that your living situation for the night has been solved.

“Jeongin’s at the dorm now, if you’re not already sleeping outside your apartment door.” Seungmin is so unserious in the way he says this so nonchalantly, like he has no remorse if you were out on the streets.

You know better though.

“It’s alright. I’ve sorted it out! Thanks again Seungmo.”

“Oh? Where are you staying? Is it safe?” His concern peeks out just a little bit at your words, and he proceeds to tell you it really isn’t a problem if you crashed at their dorms again. Besides, you could sleep on his bed this time, instead of that couch you hate so much.

Seungmin makes another mental note to replace his couch the next time you lock yourself out of your apartment.

“It’s safe, so don’t worry.”

“I’m not worrying.”

“Sure you aren’t.” You giggle.

Then, he hangs up.

You wonder what Seungmin would say if he found out you were at Jisung’s — not that you could ever willingly admit that out loud without stuttering and blushing an intense amount. He’d definitely say something stupid, so you’re almost thankful he doesn’t push at the topic of where you’re staying too much.

You value that he trusts you.

The rest of the night, you and Jisung stay on the couch, unmoving from your positions. Sometimes, you’d chat about stupid things, sometimes you’d scroll through Youtube videos on his laptop – pranks gone wrong, puppies, banned commercials, random videos from years ago.

He’s convinced he could talk all night just to make you keep laughing, and everytime you do laugh, he’s hit with just how beautiful you are, and he feels his heart explode every single time. He can certainly get used to that sound.

It feels so easy with you. Talking, laughing, everything feels so easy with you to the point where it’s scary. What was going to happen after tonight? Would you go back to merely acknowledging each other in the hallways? Would it take another odd circumstance to cross your paths again? Would you stop directing your laughter to his stories? Would all of that have to disappear again?

“Jisung? You okay there?” He blinks out of his own thoughts, looking at you intently before realizing the video you had been viewing had long ended and he was simply staring at a blank screen.

“Just thinking about those poor bees.” He lies straight through his teeth.

“You are so mean.” You hit him playfully, and he grabs your elbow before you can hit him again, laughing down at you. His breath hitches at the sudden close proximity, and he’s letting out nervous coughs while extracting his hand back to himself.

And then you yawn, and Han Jisung feels himself melt into a puddle.

“We should probably head to bed. Take my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.” He helps you up from the couch, ghosting his arm on the small of your back in case you stumble in your sleepiness.

“It’s your apartment, I can’t kick you out of your bed like that.” You shake your head, planting your feet on the ground so he can’t move you.

“It’s really fine.”

“You’re not changing my mind, Han Jisung. Plus, you couldn’t possibly fit comfortably on this tiny couch. I’d fit right in.”

He sighs in defeat, mumbling a ‘fine’ which makes you grin.

“Let me get you some pillows and a blanket.”

The moment feels strangely intimate as he carefully places some of his pillows and a warm comforter on the couch to make sure you’re comfortable for the night. His eyes are slightly droopy from the exhaustion, but he’s determined in his task.

Han Jisung has definitely taken firm root in your heart, and you hope he stays around in your life forever.

“Do you need anything else?” He had taken it upon himself to tuck you in, and he feels the same suffocating feeling on his chest when you smile up at him in thanks, accompanied by a shake of your head.

He thinks he has a good idea what this feeling is.

“Okay. Goodnight.” Your heart just about melts in your chest at his words. You’ve never heard him speak so softly before with his eyes a little hooded and a gentle smile on his face, with his heart on his sleeve like that for you.

“Goodnight, Hannie.”

Jisung turns off the lights and almost falls when retreating to his own room at the mention of your old nickname for him. It’s a shame you can’t see the lovesick smile he has on his face while regaining his balance.

You don’t recognize where you are at first when you wake up.

When the sunlight hits your face enough to pull your eyelids open, you’re thinking – this definitely doesn;t look like my room.

Stirring slightly, a yawn leaves your lips as you sit up to try and process everything that had transpired the night before. When you remember Jisung and his gentle smile and his crinkled eyes, you almost fall off the couch.

“Good morning!” Your eyes meet his cheery ones, drinking in the details of his features; messy hair that suggests he’s also just gotten out of bed, slightly puffy eyes, clothes from the night prior.

“Good morning.” You peel yourself off of the comforter, walking with him to the kitchen to drink a glass of water.

“How was your sleep last night? Hopefully it’s better than sleeping on your friend’s couch?”

He remembers, and something about that has you biting back a goofy smile this early in the morning.

“It was great. Thanks again for letting me sleep here for the night.” He simply nods his head, eyes still trained on you.

Han Jisung is acting a little strange this morning. While he’s normally this bright and active, it feels like it’s being amplified. He keeps looking at you, in every little thing that you do, and then he looks away when you try to catch his gaze. It feels like he wants to say something, even until you’re bidding him goodbye and thanking him again.

“I’ll return your clothes once I get it in the laundry.” You smile, and he nods his head, but he’s still tapping his foot on the ground excessively fast, bouncing on his feet and walking with you to accompany you outside.

“We seriously have to stop meeting under these weird circumstances.”

Laughing to try and cover up the fact that he can barely pay attention to what you’re saying, he opens the door for you. But can he really allow you to slip through his fingers again?

“Maybe we can meet again soon… tomorrow? For coffee? Under more normal circumstances?” Jisung tries to sound as casual as he possibly can. If you knew better, you’d know he was feeling his most nervous right now – even more nervous than when he had to pass a demo for his classes.

To his luck, you don’t notice the nervous quiver in his voice.

You stop in your tracks at his words, turning to look at him with a smile. The poor boy is falling deeper and deeper, and it’s definitely too late to pull him back up now.

“I’d like that.” You bite down at your lips, glancing up at him with a slight hesitation.

And then you kiss his cheek, and Han Jisung would throw himself out of his window if he could at this moment, running down the streets and screaming in victory.

Instead, he places his hand on his cheek, mouth slightly agape as he stares at your retreating figure.

“Don’t be a stranger, Han Jisung!”

He won’t be.

You’ve reminded him again and again that life and love is here for him to live it, and that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

Starting tomorrow. With coffee. And hopefully another kiss on the cheek by the end of the day.

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scar-lie · 2 months

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The remaining of you [Natasha]

Summary : Dealing the aftermath of the scene Natasha dreaded to come sooner in her life

Pairing : Natasha Romanoff x Fem ! Reader, Mom ! Natasha x Daughter! Romanoff

Warning : shouting, crying, mention of death, scared little Romanoff, torture, nightmare, I thinks that's

Word count : 2,514

No one has permission to repost my work anywhere, if you see it please let me know.

“What is your problem, Nat?! You can't just drop her off just like that, like she's nothing.” Wanda screamed at the red head, whose head was low, taking a deep breath and placing her hands on the table in the kitchen.

"Wanda, please, not now,” Nat whispered, swallowing the lump on her throat. But Wanda’s not having any of her shits anymore; she's tired of seeing how the little redhead heart broke every time Nat refused to do anything with her.

"No, Natasha, I’m not gonna let you throw her like garbage anymore; enough was enough; that girl is trying to at least have your attention, even for a second, but you always rejected her; you don't even spare her even a glance, and it broke her heart.” Saying Wanda was furious was an understatement. She took the girl under her wings a week when Natasha and Yelena brought her in, seeing how the baby was craving some affection and skin-to-skin contact.

"Wanda, please, it's not that easy.” Natasha was thankful that most of the Avengers are on mission and some run their own errands, leaving her, Wanda, and the 5-year-old girl in the compound.

“What Natasha? It is not easy for you to show a little affection to your daughter. You have 3 years, Natasha, 3 years to pull yourself together, 3 years that she's under my wings to protect, to love, admire, care for, and to be a mother to her. She's just a little girl, Natasha, and she's craving her mother's attention. Why can't you give her that? ”Natasha saw the hurt in her eyes, and she knows that it's not only Wanda's emotion she's showing but also the little girl too.

“I want to, Wanda, ok, I really do, but I can't, ok, I just can't,” Natasha shouted, looking up at Wanda with tears in her eyes.

“I want to cuddle her, kiss her, bond with her, spoil her, sing to her, or tell her story. I want to be Wanda. I really want to be a mother to her, but I just can't…….I-I” Natasha shook her head, wiping her tears that were now falling. She knew how her daughter was hurting; she heard every cry; she knew she always knew.

“Then do it; love her; show her that she matters to you because she will not love you or be there bothering you for your attention forever. Don't take her for granted, Natasha; you have a precious girl who loves you more than life itself; don't waste it.” Wanda stands tall in her spot, getting strong for the kid and not cave in and comforting her; she has to do it for the sake of the little girl who's sleeping upstairs.

“Don't let your insecurities get the best of you again; don't push her away like you did with Y/N; if you really love Y/N, you will take care of that little girl you two made; don't let history repeat itself.” Wanda quickly got cut off by Natasha's sudden outburst, with tears streaming down her face.

“You wanna know the reason why? Huh? That's the reason why I can't look at her; I can't be with her because every time I look at her face, all I can see and think about is Y/N, how she lay in that fucking bed unresponsive, how I didn't protect them, that I let her alone with an open window for my enemies to attack freely, and I blame myself for what happened, because if I could just be brave and don't let these thoughts get the best of me, I should have been there to protect them, or I should be the one laying in my own fucking blood, not her.” Natasha then punched the cabinet beside her, wanting to let the emotions out.

“I can't, Wanda, ok, because that day keeps flashing in my mind when I look at her eyes. She reminded me of how stupid, reckless, and selfish I am. Because of me, her mother got killed, and she got kidnapped right after she was born.” Wanda frowned, looking at Natasha with sympathy, so Natasha shook her head, not wanting her pity.

"Don't, Wanda, please don't look at me like that; I don't need your pity, Wanda.” They quickly got interrupted with the cute little voice in the entrance of the kitchen, making both of them look up in the direction.

“Auntie Wanda? ”The little girl whispered, clutching her big husky dog stuff toy that's a little big and taller than her, looking at her auntie with doe teary eyes, pout lips, and her cheeks and tip of her nose are red until she saw the redhead in the room, making her feel small and want to hide, so she scooted to the side, trying to hide in the small cabinet, only the head peeking out to look at her auntie Wanda.

"Oh, sweetheart, what happened? Why are you hiding there? ”Wanda softly talked, walking to the scared little girl, and sat on her heels to be on the same level as the little girl. She quickly wrapped her arm around her auntie, sniffling, and still had a strong grip on her stuff toy, so Wanda took her in her arm, one hand rubbing her back while she cried and one arm under her bump, and swayed her back and forth to comfort the little girl.

“I-I had a bad dream,” the little girl mumbled, soaking her aunt’s shirt.

“What dream is it? Can you tell Auntie Wanda what a bad dream it is? ”She nodded, looking at her auntie and wiping her tears, then resting her head on her auntie's shoulder while playing with the neckline of Wanda's shirt.

“I-I saw blood and bad guys,” Wanda giving her a reassuring smile to continue.

“And……and they took and I saw this fat old guy; he-he said I-I would stay with him from now on, and-and I saw dead body besides him,” the littleredhead cried again, seeing the woman lifeless, not knowing it's her mother she saw.

“Is it the same old guy and the same woman you saw?”Wanda asked softly, looking at Natasha, who has a defeated look on her face and a mixed emotion. She truly can't read Natasha at the moment.

“Yes, the beautiful woman with Y/H/L Y/H/C and arrow necklace, then the guy has glasses and white hair.” This makes Natasha clench her jaw and fist, knowing who the person her daughter is talking about, and she's afraid that the scene is that night her world will stop.

"Shhh, it's ok, sweetheart. You're here with me. You're safe now. He's not going to take you. It's ok.” Wanda gives Natasha a small smile, then goes up to their room floor to comfort the little girl and put her to sleep, leaving Natasha alone in the kitchen with her thoughts.

Natasha is jealous of Wanda. Yes, she's jealous of how Wanda can naturally take care of her daughter, how she loves Wanda, and how they both bond and do everything together. She's pretty jealous because she wanted a daughter; that's her one dream—a daughter with you.

So Natasha goes to the gym again to get all of her frustration out of her body and mind, to block everything that's bothering her, and maybe, just maybe, it will block the nightmare she has had since your death.

"No, no, please, don't hurt her. You got me, ok, hurt me instead. Just please don't hurt them,” Natasha begs the faceless woman in charge of guarding her. She's strapped down to the chair in the corner of your room where you're peacefully sleeping with your 8-month pregnant belly. You look peaceful and gorgeous.

But all the begging is useless because four women enter the room, and Dreykov is mockingly smiling at her. She hates it so much, but she didn't think of that; her mind and eyes are in your sleeping body.

When the four women approach you and the three women pin you down, it makes you awake in panic. They made sure you didn't move much, and the other one proceeded to slit open your stomach, making two big cuts, one horizontal and one vertical.

This makes you scream in pain, with tears running down your face because of the unbearable pain you are experiencing. You can feel her hands moving through your insides, slicing you open. You tried to break free to save you and your daughter from them, but you are no match for them; they are strong and can kill you in a second.

“NOOOOO!!!! PLEASE STOP IT! Please, please, I’ll do anything. Stop hurting her, stop hurting them.” Natasha screams, trying to break free from the restraints to try and save you both, but all she can do is watch you suffer from the hands of Dreykov, where she also watches how he takes her right after they cut the umbilical cord.

She watched how they just left you laying in your own bed, bleeding and unable to move or breathe. She watched how life drained out of your eyes, how the color of your skin turned pale, but how you looked at her in the eye while you were dying.

“Y/N? No please, no don't leave us please, no no noo please, no don't take my baby away no please.” Natasha keeps screaming, crying, and begging, but it's all no use; your dead in front of her, eyes still open, and your daughter is taken away. She's left there in the chair, feeling every pain.

“Wake up, wake up, Ms. Romanoff,” the little red head shouted, shaking Natasha violently. The other few attempts she made to gently wake her up didn't succeed, so she shook and slapped her to wake up.

“NOOOOOOO! ”Natasha screams, sitting up, beads of sweat rolling down on her face while she's panting, looking around the room until her eyes land on the little redhead who's now on the floor barefoot, head down, and nervous.

She got scared when Natasha suddenly jolted up, thinking that Natasha would hit her or shout at her, so she quickly climbed down, head low and nervous, so she kept taking small steps backward.

This didn't go unnoticed by Natasha, so she took a deep breath, closing her eyes, and Wanda's words kept echoing in her ear: “She will not love you or be there bothering you for your attention forever. Don't take her for granted, Natasha.”

And seeing her own daughter get scared and afraid to be near her is heartbreaking. She knows that sooner or later, her daughter will slip away, so she quickly gets out of bed, going to her daughter, but the little girl quickly backs away when she hears her footsteps.

So Natasha stopped, kneeled down, and carefully reached her arm out with a small smile. This made the redhead look up at the hand and up to her mother's face. Seeing a small smile made her butterfly fly in her stomach, but she was still skeptical; she didn't know Natasha, so she kept staring at her outstretched hand.

“Hey, it's ok, I’m not going to hurt you or scream,” Natasha softly said, making eye contact with her daughter. This brought her to tears, seeing your face on her daughter even though she had Natasha’s fierce red hair, green eyes, and button nose, so she quickly wiped it away for her sake.

“Wh-why are you crying?”Little Redhead asked, stepping forward and reaching out to wipe away the tears that keep running down her face, so Natasha chuckled to cover up the crack in her voice.

“Nothing; I-I’m just happy and sad at the same time,” she said, giving the little redhead a genuine smile. She was happy that she got how caring you are.

“Can I give you a hug? ”She asked innocently, making Natasha admire her, analyzing every detail on her face, and the silence made the little girl a little bit nervous, thinking that she didn't want hugs.

“Auntie Wanda said if I saw someone's sad, I should ask if I could give them a hug, ca-cause Auntie Wanda said it always works because my mommy used to do it before.” This makes Natasha even fall in love deeper with the little girl, so she quickly hugged her daughter tight, but not too tight to hurt her.

The little redhead smile, wrapping her arms around Natasha, resting her head on her shoulder, happy that she gets to hug her momma for the first time, so she’s relishing this moment, afraid that in the morning she will ignore her again.

“Are you feeling better? ”She asked innocently, so Natasha nodded, cradling her to her arm, and sat at the end of the bed.

“Yes, yes, I am.” Natasha sat the little girl on her lap and looked at her face.

“You look so much like your mother.” The little girl blushed, smiling and getting a little shy at the compliment.

“Th-thank you, you look pretty,” Natasha chuckled, tucking her little girl's hair behind her ear.

“You should go back to bed; your auntie Wanda’s not going to be happy when she finds out you stay awake at this time,” Natasha whispers, and the little girl looks down, fidgeting with her own hands, a bad habit she gets from you when you're nervous, scared, or overthinking, so Natasha stops her hands and holds them.

“What's the matter? Has something happened?”The little girl contemplates if she will tell her or not, but she has no other choice cause Wanda got called on an emergency solo mission, leaving her with the redhead, so either she should stay awake all night and wait for Wanda to tell her or she should tell Natasha and have a good sleep.

“I-I had a bad dream again,” she shyly said, still looking at her lap.

“The same one you said earlier? ”The little girl nodded, so Natasha took her chin and made her look at her.

“Hey, it's ok, I’m here…… How about you join me in my bed, and we will sleep next to each other? What do you think??”The little girl eagerly nodded; her eyes went wide, and she had a huge grin on her face. She feels like it's her lucky day, spending the night sleeping next to her mother.

“Will you tell me a story? ”She asked, getting in the middle of the bed, and Natasha got under the cover, leaving space for her daughter and inviting her in so the little girl could quickly snuggle at her.

“Of course," Natasha starts to tell her a story about how she and her mother met, making the little girl listen carefully and getting amazed by the story until she’s sound asleep in Natasha’s arm, making her smile, and seeing the little girl sound asleep makes her heart melt, so she wraps her arm around her and joins her in a slumber sleep.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanova #natasha x reader #natasha x y/n #black widow #black widow 2021 #marvel black widow #natalia alianovna romanova #natasha x you #natalia romanova #mcu marvel avengers #marvel mcu #wanda mcu #mcu #mcu edit #marvel #natasha marvel #wanda marvel

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lanaslovelyletters · 5 months

Text

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒅 ²

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐕𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧...

Anakin x Princess!Reader

Part 2

Previous chapter: Part 1

Overall series warning: 18+ content (smut), mature themes, swearing

Warnings: none

Last chapter recap: “Then what is it you want?” Your confused little doll's face made him want to laugh. It was cute just how clueless and pathetic you were in this situation. You were a princess, were you not? With power in the back of her hand? A slight smirk smeared across his face before he leaned closer. His breath hit your ear and your neck as he spoke, “I want you.” The tone fell octaves deep, cold, and dull. Who the hell was this man?

Summary: You were thrown into a foreign room with nothing to do but wait for the inevitable… the Sith Lord with that smooth voice.

Word Count: 1.3K+

Author’s note: Thank you all so much for the support so far, I didn’t think this would latch on so quickly. I’m so grateful to all of you<3

Taglist: @blackthorngirl @formula1mount @bby-imasociopath @anakinsbaee @darthgloris

Your lips parted in slight shock. This cold and heartless monster of a man… wanted you? Was being a Sith Lord not enough for him? Your body was frozen, but your mind was racing as if it was in a pod race. The same ones you used to attend on Tatooine when you were younger.

“You mean to tell me you want… me?” You tried not to sound scared and weak, though you knew you weren't really in any position to act all high and mighty. He didn’t reply. He simply pulled away, but as he was about to walk out of the cell, you grabbed him. It was a split-second, possibly dangerously dumb idea, but it happened.

“You’re brave, princess.” He turned around with a scowl smeared across his face.

“I want answers.” You crossed your hands across your chest. It was easy to figure out by now, that he wouldn’t necessarily kill you under any circumstances. Not if he needed you. He could be inclined to hurt you, but that was a different deal entirely.

“—and I want you to remember me, but we can’t all have what we want.” His eyes were fixated on you. They peered deep into your own. It was as if he was searching for something in that little soul of yours.

“Seems we’ve gotten ourselves stuck in a paradox.” You said and had your lips form a straight line before speaking again,

“You see, I won’t remember you until you give me answers, but you refuse to give me any, so how am I supposed to know who you really are… besides a ruthless Sith Lord, whose only purpose in life is slaving around for the dark side.” You retorted with a scoff. It was bold. Too bold, it seemed, as he immediately grabbed you by your throat and pinned you against the cold and unforgiving wall.

“You test my patience, your highness.” He whispered close to your face, his breath; hot on your skin.

“You realize you have zero control here, right? You are completely at my mercy.” He stared you down with flared nostrils and heavy breathing before pulling away and walking out the door. Shortly after, two troopers locked their arms around the set of yours and dragged you.

“Let go of me.” You spat and struggled against their grasp,

“I can walk for myself!”

“You can also escape, your highness.” Said one of them. His voice was gruff and it felt like a snake was coiling up your spine.

They managed to drag you all the way to a plush room with a proper bed and even a desk with a small lamp. It was a simple layout, far inferior to your own bedroom, but it was better than having your back give out prematurely from a rock-hard block.

“Lord Vader will be back soon.” They threw you on the floor with no regard for your safety, waltzed out, and locked the door. You got up with a groan and dusted off your dress.

The dark side was clearly not messing around. Even with a royal status, nobody cared. Not that they had any reason to, anyway. They served the galactic empire. Bowing down to royalty wasn’t exactly on their bingo card.

You’d been left alone to wither and gather dust. Was this their shtick? Leaving their captives to sit and stare into a blank wall for hours on end? It took several before you finally heard the sounds of footsteps approaching the door to the room. You quickly collected and readied for what was to come.

The door clicked and in he walked. His stride was fierce and confident, and every bit cold. Maker, he was mesmerizing. It wasn’t just the face of a fallen angel, it was the face of something so familiar. It drove you insane to not recognize it.

“You will stay in this room and you will not leave, understood?” His brows were furrowed and his lips were pursed.

“If I leave?” You raised an eyebrow, challenging him. That clearly set him off. You watched as his eyes turned a bright yellow for a second, before going back to their usual velvety blue.

“You are frankly starting to test my patience, princess.” He grabbed your forearm roughly and pulled you close to him. Something within you clenched. It was your heart. The fear engulfed it like a vice, squeezing every beat into a suffocating silence.

“You won’t kill me.” Your voice was hushed and shaky, but you tried not to make the dread apparent.

“I can certainly hurt you. It is my vocation.” You were supposed to be intimidated by him, but my, his voice was to die for. You refreshed your mind with a quick reality check. He was handsome. But not handsome enough to sway your mind. You wanted answers.

“Why do you need me anyway?”

“You don’t need to know.”

“Well, I certainly do if I’m required to remember your face.” You scrunched your nose at him and pulled away. He squinted his eyes in frustration as he let out an exasperated sigh.

He seemed conflicted. As if he wanted to tell you, but couldn’t bring himself to do so.

“Just… don’t even try to escape. You’re stranded on this space station either way. You have no means of doing so.” He stepped back and walked to the desk in the corner of the room.

“Can’t you just tell me the truth? You’re the reason we keep going in circles. If you just—“ He didn’t turn around, he just interrupted you abruptly,

“Ever attended a pod race?” Pod race… memories of your father screaming at the big screens and having bets with Jabba doused your mind. You used to hang around a boy back then. Every year. Without fail. He was a sweet boy. Anakin was his name. Anakin Skywalker. He always stood by your side, as your father would push you off to the side to mingle amongst the elites.

“I have… quite a few, actually…. Why?” Your head was tilted to the side as you slowly made your way towards him. When you got close enough, he turned around to face you,

“Just out of curiosity, sweetheart.” You frowned at the nickname.

“I stopped going after a while. My father still went every year though. As king, he’s got a lot of connections… so…”

“Yeah, I remember your father. Arrogant fellow.” He scoffed and carefully tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t keel over at the gesture, but it still felt repulsive. He was a Sith Lord. Stone-cold and ruthless.

“You know my father personally?” You slapped his hand away from your face and took a step back. He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed deeply,

“I killed him. He’s dead.” Threateningly, he moved towards you with heavy steps. Your eyes darted up and down his form, as he backed you up against the wall behind you.

His hands trapped you, touching down on the wall on either side of your head. His jaw was clenched and his eyes had turned that same yellow it had earlier. He was… frightening.

“It’s been my personal goal to wipe out your family for a while now, Princess. Now that it’s finally done, I would like it if you didn’t ask so many questions.” His breaths were hot and heavy, but it smelled amazing. Mint fresh. No, it didn’t. It was disgusting. He was a Sith.

“My handmaidens… what became of them?” You finally succumbed to your ancestors' conditioning to recognize dangerous situations and fear them. Your body trembled as your voice tried its best to sound solid.

The dark lord completely ignored your question, letting himself calm down before backing off and walking towards the door. Before he left, he got a final word in,

“We’re to wed in a week. You’ll stay here until then.” What..?

To be continued…

Next part here

Please DM, comment, or ask to be added on the taglist<3

Here’s the masterlist<3

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spooky-holtz · 6 months

Text

I Put a Spell on You

Melissa Schemmenti x fem!reader

Genre: fluff (crack if you squint)

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: This is the first part in a little series that explores the mug from 'Delicate'. I really wanted to share some little ideas I had about the images that would be on it so stay tuned for some more parts bc I'm already writing them :)

Feedback is very much appreciated!

When the topic of Halloween costumes came up in conversation in the teachers’ lounge during a crisp morning at the beginning of October, you couldn’t help but join in with tales of your own previous looks. The good, the bad, and the ugly are all shared amongst the group when Jacob brings up his outfit from the year prior; one half of a matching Mario and Luigi costume with Zac.

“You know, I’ve never actually done a couples costume,” you say to nobody in particular, thinking out loud as you stir sugar into your coffee in an effort to make it a little less bland. The conversation stops immediately, and every head turns to look at where you lean with your back against the counter, cradling your steaming mug.

“Wait, what?!” Janine exclaims, her wide eyes only adding to her outrage. “Never? In your entire life?”

“I guess, yeah,” you shrug, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. If you had known that every pair of eyes would be focused on your quickly reddening cheeks, you would never have opened your mouth. “I’ve just never been with anyone who was interested in that sort of stuff.”

The silence in the room is tense. The fact that this group is so shocked at your little revelation is worrying to say the least but at least it shows they care, albeit about the wrong things.

“Have you at least done a group costume with your friends?” Asks Jacob, his expression of concern and disbelief matching Janine’s comically wide eyes. You pause for a moment, looking up at a stain on the ceiling in a bid to avoid all eye contact as you recall various high school and college parties. Not once can you remember organizing a group costume.

“Uhhh, nope. I’ve never done it,” you say, feeling brave enough to look back down and at the table directly in front of you. Barbara has turned in her seat to join the conversation, watching the two sides of the room like a tennis match. She’s clearly not as bothered as the rest of the room but happy to be involved, nonetheless. Your gaze shifts to Melissa who is looking over the rim of her cat-eye glasses at you, eyebrows furrowed, and lips pursed slightly in thought. The intensity of her stare makes you feel more uneasy than the rest of the room combined. You shuffle your feet and pull your eyes away from hers when Janine chirps up again.

“I actually can’t believe it. I thought you would have been really into all that.”

“Who says I’m not,” you shoot back. “I just didn’t have anybody that was willing to make themselves look like an idiot with me.”

All through college you would have killed to enter a party, no matter how shitty the frat house venue was, with the Barbie to your Ken or the Buzz to your Woody on your arm. The memories of entering parties with your friends in ‘sexy cat’ costumes, trailing at the back dressed in a bright white Padme Amidala getup makes you chuckle.

“Actually, the parties kinda remind me of that scene from Mean Girls, you know?” Most of the group chuckles along and nods in recognition, with only Barbara looking slightly confused. “I guess it was just never meant to be.”

You push yourself off the counter and move toward the closest table. Pulling a chair out next to Barbara, you can’t help but feel a certain redhead’s gaze boring into the side of your head.

“I say we change that,” she remarks, her first addition to the entire discussion. “I’ve already got my costume, and it’s pretty hot if I do say so myself, but we can easily make it a couples thing for ya.”

Barb turns to you, shockingly overjoyed at the idea. Considering she didn’t get involved with Halloween, her enthusiasm at the prospect is unmatched.

“Now wouldn’t that be lovely?” She gasps, looking between the two of you with an almost knowing glint in her eye. You think for a moment, looking over to meet green eyes and seeing them scrunched slightly as she smirks back at you, knowing that having Barbara on her side ultimately means you lose.

“That’s really nice of you Mel, but we’re not a couple. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable with whatever talk will happen from certain people,” you almost whisper, trying to keep prying eyes of your co-workers that crane their necks to look over her shoulder from hearing. One sharp look over her shoulder has them quickly backing down, instantly focusing their attention on the suddenly interesting paperwork that sits in front of each of them. Satisfied, Melissa continues.

“Hun, you really think that bothers me?” She says with a raised eyebrow, leaning forward onto the table, the grading she was doing completely forgotten about. “Please, I’ve had much worse said about me. Besides, having you by my side will only make my costume look better.”

She punctuates her last statement with another wink and you feel your cheeks heat again, turning a violent shade of red.

In the last year you’ve spent at Abbott you’ve grown to learn a lot about Melissa’s ‘persuasive’ personality and admittedly had fallen head over heels for her. Who wouldn’t? You’re pretty sure Barbara has caught on to your lovesick puppy act, thankfully leaving the topic alone in conversation. Instead, you get knowing glances from the older woman anytime she catches you and Melissa giggling like school children over a joke in the hallways, or when the redhead makes your coffee just how you like it in the mornings, leaving the steaming brew waiting in front of your seat for your arrival.

You mull her proposition over, staring into your cooling mug of coffee that sits between your hands on the table. She leans back in her chair, arms folded, and eyebrow raised again as she stares you down. She knows she’s won.

“Okay, why not?” You sigh, looking up again to meet her gaze. She grins and claps, the laugh lines around her eyes accentuating the wideness of her smile. If you had known agreeing would have made her this happy, there would have been absolutely no hesitation. Seeing her pearly white smile is the highlight of most days for you, the sight instantly improving any bad days you may have. This is no exception.

In hindsight you probably should have discussed the details of your costume before blindly agreeing to Melissa’s proposal, but there’s no way you could ever turn her down. This idea doesn’t come to you until the morning of Halloween however, as you stand in the hallway outside your classroom trying to psych yourself up for a day pretending to be Melissa Schemmenti’s other half.

“Mel, I look like an idiot,” you grumble. “How do you get to dress like that, and I’ve ended up looking like Elmo and Kermit the Frog had an illegitimate child?”

“No no no, you look great, hun,” she reassures you. The way her lips are slightly pursed in a desperate bid to bite back the giggle that’s threatening to escape says otherwise.

You, on the other hand, are less than impressed at her terrible poker face. Of all the times for her to lose her hard exterior, it had to be now. As much as you want to be mad at her for omitting the extremely-green-lycra part of your Vision to her Wanda costume, her visible excitement and rosy cheeks immediately put a stop to any negativity.

“I’m serious,” she continues, “besides you don’t look anywhere near as bad as Janine right now. That girl is wearing whole-ass beard.”

You raise your eyebrows as if to say ‘really?’, not quite believing her frantic excuses.

“Don’t give me that look. It looks as if she’s rolled around on the floor of a barber shop.”

You huff through your nose, arms crossing over your chest. You can’t help but look her up and down as she tries her best to reassure you that this look was the best decision for today. There’s no denying that she looks incredible in her Scarlet Witch getup, the tight outfit accentuating her irresistible curves and stunning figure. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her in such a form fitting piece and you really hope this isn’t the last time. You’re so obviously checking her out, but you hope your furrowed brow makes it look as though you’re just deep in frustrated thought.

Meanwhile, you’re clad in bright green lycra and sickly yellow basketball shorts, all topped off with a matching cape and some alarmingly bright red face-paint. Your hair is tucked inside the hood of the outfit, and you desperately hope that this aids you in going unnoticed and unrecognised, though deep down you know that the assaulting colours will do little to disguise you and give you away as soon as the day begins. There is absolutely no hope of camouflaging in the full halls of Abbott when you look like a walking Crayola pack.

As you begin to retreat into yourself, the annoyance quickly turning into embarrassment at the situation, Melissa reaches out to touch your arm that is still crossed over your torso.

“Hey, I’m telling you we look incredible right now. I can guarantee you nobody else will have made this amount of effort with their costume,” you know she’s trying her best to reassure you but you’re past the point of no return. You’re one mean sunburn joke away from taking a dish sponge to your face and changing into something a lot less… weird.

As you open your mouth to dismiss Melissa’s words, she silences you by reaching out her other hand to flatten the tie of your cape that sits around your neck. Her gloved hand feels impossibly warm through the fabric and you’re sure she’s moved closer to you, the toes of your bright white sneakers almost touching those of her crimson heels. She looks up through her eyelashes at you once she’s satisfied with her work, her hand staying in place and flattening against your sternum. This is the only time you’ll be glad for the paint slathered across your delicate features because you’re sure you’ve turned the exact same shade of red underneath.

Melissa’s proximity to you is intoxicating. You can almost see every faint freckle that is covered by her makeup, her winged eyeliner impossibly sharp even this close. You’re trapped in this position, but you have no desire to move, desperately hoping she’ll push you back the few steps to trap you against the cold brick wall. You’re positive you’re imagining her eyes flickering from your own down to your scarlet lips, but the sight can’t help but make you imagine what she would look like with her own red lipstick smudged past the edges of her full, inviting lips.

The clicking of heels against the tiled floor snaps you out of the moment and she jumps back, putting a good foot of space between you as you both try to recollect yourselves. Ava rounds the corner adorned in a flashy silver getup, her cape billowing behind her as she struts toward you. Her eyes squint when she sees the two of you and her mouth drops slightly as she realises just who is stood next to the Scarlet Witch.

“Wandavision, wuh-wandavision,” she sings as she nears you. “Goddamn girl, you look less like Vision and more like ‘blind’”

“Ava,” you groan over her cackle, “I can already feel my students ripping into me for the next 7 hours, i don’t need you getting involved as well.”

“All I’m saying is you look like Mr. Clean had a bad accident with some ketchup,” another cackle follows as she carries on her way down the hallway, not even giving you chance to process the insult as the sound of her walking away grows faint. You turn slowly to Melissa, not wanting to see her expression of pity. When your eyes meet, all you can see is an impossible softness that rarely comes out in the redhead.

“I genuinely think you look incredible right now, hun,” she says, her hand reaching out to touch your farm once again. Her thumb begins to rub where it lays, the friction burning an abnormal amount through the layers of fabric that separate your skin. You scoff at her statement, not quite believing that in her world the sunburnt equivalent of Howie Mandel is ‘incredible’. Before you can say a word, she continues. “Nobody has ever been willing to do this for me. You dropped everything to join in and I absolutely love you for it.” Her grin widens as she sees your walls visibly come down at her words, knowing she’s got under your skin and won yet again.

You can’t help but lose yourself in her eyes at her confession, noticing the smile lines that surround them deepening with her increasing happiness. You would give anything to see those lines deepen like this every single day, especially if it means that you were the cause of it and her good mood.

A gasp from behind you pulls you away from losing yourself too deeply, both of you snapping your heads to look at the interruption. In front of you stands none other than Barabara Howard dressed as... a bumble bee? Almost as if sensing your confusion at the letters attached to her torso, she jumps in with, “I’m a spelling bee, before you can ask,” you raise your eyebrows and let out a small 'ohhh' before she continues. “And I have no need to ask who you two are, you little marvel cuties! You both look absolutely incredible!”

You don’t miss the way that Melissa squeezes your arm slightly from where it still sits, resting against your bicep, saying a silent ‘I told you so’.

“You have to let me take a picture of you so I can show Gerald before the students get here,” she pleads. You’re about to decline the request until you look down to where Melissa stands next to you, only to see her grin impossibly wider than before, practically bouncing with excitement. The sight makes your heart melt in your chest and demolishes any notion of hesitance you had about this costume. Her happiness and enthusiasm are reason enough for all this to be worth it, even if your face will be stained by the bright red makeup for days to come.

“Alright then, let’s do this,” you sigh, moving away slightly to get into position while Barb pulls her phone out of her own costume, lifting it up to prepare for the barrage of images she is about to assault you with.

You both stand facing the camera, Melissa with her hands reaching out, almost as if she’s casting a spell. You take the opposite approach, widening your stance and placing your hands on your hips. Your head is lifted, standing tall and proud to the side of the redhead as you both pose.

You hear the camera shutter closing each time Barb jabs at her screen with her forefinger, Melissa changing poses slightly with every noise. You can’t help but grin yourself as you look down at her, her excitement for the holiday no doubt going above and beyond that of the literal children you teach.

Her head turns toward you as the photoshoot continues, catching your loving gaze toward her. She softens her own gaze and smiles back at you as the shutter goes off one last time and you hear a “alright, I think that should be enough pictures” from the eldest woman of your group. The statement causes you to tear your eyes away from Melissa’s and clear your throat, the both of you forgetting the company you had for a brief moment.

“Uh, yeah, I think so too,” you stutter, caught off guard by the way the irresistible redhead matched your captivated expression. “I think I’m gonna shoot off to get ready for the day – that classroom won’t tidy itself.” Your eyes flit between the two older women as you speak, both of them nodding along and agreeing to do the same with the last few free minutes of the morning before madness inevitably ensues.

“I’ll see you at recess later hun,’ Mel calls as you turn and wave, making your way down the hallway toward your classroom. “Have a great day!” You can’t help but grin again, feeling as though it hasn’t fallen off your face for the last ten minutes that you’ve spent in the redhead’s company. Your step undeniably has a little more pep than it did earlier, that’s for sure.

#melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader #abbott elementary #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti fic #melissa schemmenti imagine #abbot elementary fanfic #fluff #melissa schemennti fluff #wlw #self insert #writing #reader fic #reader fanfic #melissa schemmenti x y/n #lisa ann walter

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horreurscopes · 6 months

Note

So, I could be out-of-bounds here since I think you meant it as dark humor, but what did you mean in the tags of that 'israel-hamas war' post? I suspect you(and op) are criticizing that framing because Israel is obviously demolishing much more than 'Hamas'(and probably doing a terrible job of actually targeting terrorists- they seem content to reduce Gaza to rubble even if the brass of Hamas escapes). I'm guessing that by saying "joining the Israel-Hamas war on the side of Hamas" you mean, if they're going to conflate Palestinians with Hamas unilaterally, then you're saying, whatever the media wants to call Palestinian civilians- you still support them. I am asking anyways though bc, given reports of increasing antisemitic activity in the US and Europe, I am worried about the potential for blurring lines between the cause of Palestinian civilians and the alt-right individuals who are likely masking their antisemitism in the context of being anti-Zionist. Although Israel's government has been the source of Palestinian loss for decades, (it seems to me that) even joking about supporting terrorism is enough to reinforce the persuasion that Israeli/Palestinian Jews and Palestinian Arabs must be mutually-exclusive peoples. I don't think it's fully rational per se(tho I'm not claiming to have all the relevant information myself, and I'm white US American goyim so like- grain of salt-), but I think that existential fear is the incredible hurdle facing Zionist Jews. (Idc too much about the opinions of non-Jewish Zionists bc I don't grant that they are dealing with the same emotional complications at this time, although that doesn't stop me from arguing w my acquaintances abt their callous acceptance of US/Israeli propaganda.) I just think..... isn't it overall harmful to allow anti-semitic rhetoric, even used sarcastically, to enter the genuine humanist cause for Palestinian liberation? Or, have I misunderstood, and you actually are not in opposition to Hamas, or something else I didn't think of?

hi! thank you for approaching the question thoughtfully and with curiosity, i really appreciate it. i was being kind of flippant with that meme, but this is the only ask i'm going to reply to on the matter given that i am neither jewish nor arab, so i'm going to answer in earnest:

hamas is a political resistance movement with an armed wing, much like the black panthers party was, and like the bpp, a large part of the organization is dedicated to social welfare and civic restoration.

they have stated that they are not against judaism, but against the zionist project. they openly support political solutions.

labeling hamas a terrorist group is a propaganda tactic used by the united states and israel to justify the horrors of settler colonization.

hamas is palestine, a part of it, even if palestinians like any other demographic on earth, are not a unified, single-minded people. to declare hamas a separate entity falls prey to the imperialist lie that there is an enemy to fight "fairly" within the people they are displacing and exterminating.

am i rejoicing in the deaths of israelis? of course not. killing civilians and taking civilian hostages is a war crime, whether it is committed by the opresor or the oppressed. the israeli government is not its people, and many jews, within israel as well as in the US, are bravely risking their lives to publicly dissent the criminal acts of the israeli government. all loss of human life is a tragedy.

no one should ever be faced with the choice between annihilation and murderous violence after exhausting all other forms of peaceful protest and being massacred like animals.

but why is it that we consider a resistance group formed within a population with a median age of eighteen a terrorist group, and not the IDF, a US-backed military force with an annual budget of twenty billion dollars?

i am currently reading hamas and civil society in gaza by sara roy to learn more about hamas and the history of israel in palestine. i'll remember to post more excerpts which i am admittedly terrible at.

but all of the information above can be found by reading wikipedia. investigating with duckduckgo searches (not gonna pretend google isn't prioritizing propaganda, to be fair), and reading reliable news coverage like aljazeera and the many journalists who are at risk of, or have lost their lives, reporting on the ground.

i have also appreciated reading posts from @determinate-negation @opencommunion @fairuzfan @ibtisams and @bloglikeanegyptian amongst others

in conclusion:

#palestine

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run-little-hero · 19 days

Text

TW // Gun mention, knife mention

Villain never pictured feeling so content at the end of their life. Supervillain is dead and most of their team has been apprehended, but approaching their own demise feels only bittersweet. It helps to know their death will be delivered by such beautiful hands.

Sirens and screams are distant, muted. Villain is facing away from the door to the roof, staring over the edge of the high-rise. They hear the door’s rusty hinges creak open, followed by gentle footsteps.

Villain takes a breath. “Fitting way for this to end.” They turn to face Hero. “I wouldn’t have anyone else.”

Hero steps forward, brows bent and lips quirked in an aching smile. Villain is drawn to the sight of them, stepping away from the edge and closer to their fate.

“Don’t fight me, Villain. Just come quietly, it’ll be easier that way.”

“Into custody? A prisoner of the Agency?” They huff. “You can’t deny me my freedom, you know that. There’s only one way for this to end.”

Hero shakes their head. “I’d never do that to you. You’ll have to kill me first.”

How brave. Villain wonders if Hero really means it. If they’d still keep that promise staring down Villain’s handgun.

They don’t act on that impulse and instead, clasp their hands behind their back. “It seems we’re at an impasse.”

Hero looks to be on the verge of tears. It rips through Villain’s heart like nothing else. “How can you ask this of me?” Hero whines.

“How can you ask me to let myself be captured? I’d rather die than subject myself to that.” The anger rises in Villain’s voice. “You know what they do to those of us they capture. Don’t act like the Agency is so merciful.”

“I—“ Hero chokes. A few tears have fallen from their eyes. “I can’t lose you.”

Villain laughs, a strained, awkward sound of grief. “Well you should’ve thought about that earlier.” They can’t feed into Hero’s affection. “Maybe a better hero wouldn’t have gotten so attached.”

“Stop it,” they spit. “You can’t make me want to hurt you.” They walk forward, taking Villain in their arms. “Please.”

“Hero…” They close their eyes. This is enough for Villain—to die knowing someone cares so much. To perish in love and treat death as an embrace. “Hero, I—“

Bang. Bang. Bang. A metal thud sounds repeatedly against the door. Hero must’ve locked it.

“They’re here.” Villain takes Hero’s hands. “Please. I want it to be you,” they resign.

Villain stares into Hero’s eyes as their hands break contact and Hero reaches for something at their waist. Adrenaline is coursing through Villain as they try to regulate their breathing, teetering on the edge of life and death. The banging on the door gets faster and louder in their ears. Finally, they close their eyes as Hero snakes an arm around their waist. They prepare for the sting of a knife, the explosion of a gun, the inevitable impact of their death.

“You’re the only person I want to save.”

Hero is gentle with them, as always. Villain doesn’t know if they’ll ever get used to it.

Hero grips Villain tight and runs them both to the edge of the roof. Before Villain can take it in, Hero fires a grappling gun at a neighboring building. They’re pulled into the air together, and Villain hardly gets a glimpse at the heroes who busted through the door before they’ve disappeared.

—

snippet #7

#hero x villain #hero x villan #heroes #heroes and villains #heroes x villains #spilled ink #villain x hero #villains #writeblr #writers on tumblr #light angst #running away

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nuhuhwinniethepooh · 8 months

Text

A-Muse

I'm a first time writer so go easy on the criticism 👹😔 couldn't keep my scenarios to myself so here we are, RAWRRRR

Trueform!Sukuna x F!Reader

Pt.1 of C-rumble, can be read as a series of standalone depending on what you want.

TW: Slight gore ( I don't really know how much gore is too much gore ) , cannibalism

Preview :

_ A hundred years, maybe more. Sukuna Ryomen, the King of Curses, has never seen a speciman like you. When people worshipped, screamed and begged for mercy against the sight of his cruelty, his appearance and his strength, all you ever did was gaze at him with no interest whatsoever. The world seemed to have bored you so, stripping you of all emotions and pain thus, successfully helping you gain the attention of the most powerful curse to have ever lived and will ever live._

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Sukuna Ryomen was amused for the first time in a long, long while. The newly ruined village surrounded him in a sea of flames and all was silent mostly because everything that could even make a sound was murdered, brutalized to the point of no recognition, except for you.

He gazed down on you, all four eyes on your figure and a wicked smile on his face as he watched you sit ontop of a pile of human bodies, innards and ripped limbs. An intestine coiled around your feet and blood soaking your clothing, as you looked up at him, disinterested, as if the world couldn't bore you more than now.

He watches you wiggle the intestines off your feet cocking your head further upwards to look at the looming eyes that stared at you. He smiled at the eye contact, baring all his teeth (as if the bloodstains and human bodies surrounding him wasn't enough) as a way to get a reaction out of you but all you did was raise an eyebrow at him, amusing him further so.

"Are you not scared, woman? If you beg prettily enough, I just might end your life swiftly," Sukuna grins, waiting for a reaction, for the facade of yours to fall but it was all in vain because all you did was stare at him like he wasn't there, like his presence wasn't even registered in your mind.

He smiles at your impunity, it had been so long since he last saw someone so undeterred and the one thing he loved the most before killing people was crushing their souls. Sukuna revelled in the pleasure he got from watching their hopes and convictions broken to nothing in front of his eyes, all because of him and he was certain that he could break yours too but this time, Sukuna was gonna bide his time. Afterall, it wasn't an everyday thing to find something so amusing.

"What's your name, woman?", Sukuna asks bending down to squat on his knees as your head lowered to look at him in the eye, now comfortably balanced to your eye level.

"Y/n," you reply, your voice ringing loud and clear in the silence. He smiles at your voice that held no tremble, fear or whatever else the other humans held before him, just never ending boredom and disinterest. Sukuna had met funny individuals that acted brave against the sight of him but he felt their fear and terror resonating against him, and he laughed at their pathetic attempts before finishing them off but from you, oh you, he felt no fear, no terror, no emotions resonating from you and he internally shivered from the delicious pleasure when he pictured you breaking.

"Well then Y/n, do you have anything you want to take with you?," Sukuna asks, while looking around to make sure he finished his job before he meets your gaze again. You stand up and climb down the pile of human remains as you pick up a hairpin from a dismembered head and tie your hair into a bun before sticking it in, you match his gaze again and shake your head. He chuckles at the sight, oh what a funny little thing you were, before throwing you over his shoulder and taking you to his house, a large shrine ontop of a mountain.

*_A few months later_*

Sukuna had brought you to his shrine and had given you a couple, from the multitudes of servants that he had, of his servants to serve you and a room to accommodate you before vanishing into thin air. He soon made a habit of coming to visit you twice a week and pushing your buttons, testing to see if you had any more like, before finally vanishing again. The process repeating like clock-work.

On the given day that Sukuna was meant to visit you, a servant named Rita brushed your hair into the setting sun with a little hum as you sat in front of the polished bronze mirror, adorned with the finest silk and jade which you couldn't care less about, you hardly talked if it wasn't initiated by others and did things only when you were told to do so, preferring to spend your time alone in your room painting.

The sudden silence and low murmurs of 'my lord' outside your room gave Rita enough time to stop brushing your hair and instead brush off miniscule dust off herself before clasping her hands together and falling into a deep bow before the room to your door was roughly pushed open.

"My lord," Rita murmured softly, shaking lightly when she felt the curse look at her, the pressure in the room increasing and the previous ambience gone. "Y/n, follow me," Sukuna ordered choosing to ignore everyone else present in the room but you, as he holds out one, out of his four hands to you.

You rise from your seat and meet his gaze before grabbing hold of his offered hand. Following him out of the room and into one of the large dining hall where he seats you right next to him, a little away from his plethora of concubines. His face contorts into an evil smile and he feels the sudden fear emanating from everyone in the room except for the two besides him. One being you and the other his loyal servant, Uraume.

_"As expected", Sukuna thinks to himself, satisfied._

"As a special token to my lovely concubines, I've prepared a feast for all of you, personally hunted by me and specially made by Uraume", Sukuna says with a grin on his face as all four of his eyes squint with the smile. Murmurs of excitement arise from the concubines side of the large table as servants carrying silver dishes puts each one down in front of them.

"You may begin", is all Sukuna says after he watches you receive your own platter. There are sharp gasps of awe and surprise to see the steaming plate of meat in each and every one of their platters, it was hard enough to eat such high quality meat twice in a week and it was more so than impossible to receive it in such large amounts that could feed 32 people in one sitting.

Moans of pleasure and appreciation slowly rises as each of them take a bite of their food, the meat so flavorful and tender, it basically just melted in their mouth. You quietly eat your food besides Sukuna, ignoring his growing smile that signaled his increasing amusement before an unaware high concubine speaks up halfway through the meal," My lord, I thank you for the meal you've hunted for us. It is absolutely divine but may I ask exactly what meat it is, I have never tasted anything quite like so," she asks, politely and reverently.

"I was starting to think you people would never ask," Sukuna remarks sarcastically, a hint of growing bloodlust in his voice.

The murmurs among the concubines quietens down to hear his response as he casually stalls his answer while leaning back into his seat," oh~ I just wanted it to be special for all of you, so what else could possibly taste better than your personal hand-maid, wouldn't you agree, my lovely ladies," Sukuna says with a casual grin.

A confused silence is all but broken by a scream from the end of the table as the concubines soon realizes what he meant. Sukuna had murdered the personal handmaids that they had chosen and fed their dead bodies to him?! Chaos ensues one after the other, as concubines after concubines retches out their dinner on their platters and loud broken cries of anguish fills the hall. Their humanity discarded as soon as they took their first bite of human meat, unknowingly relishing it like high-quality meat.

Sukuna laughs maniacally and stands, dismembering the head of the concubines who had screamed first with a loud pop. Servants and concubines alike rushes towards the doors to escape, screams and wails mixing alongside maniacal laughter. They couldn't make it far enough until the person right next to them is dismembered right in front of them before every single wail, screams and sob is silenced. Silence ensues once again...or maybe not.

A soft clanging of metal resounds in the silence as Sukuna calms down from his high and he turns around, surprised, only to see you continue with your meal. He walks slowly towards you, his previous amusements receding and quickly changing places with a feeling he couldn't quite put his finger on as he quietly watches you finish your meal and elegantly wipe your mouth of with a tissue.

"Did you not hear what I said, my lovely Y/n?," Sukuna asks awestruck. " That was your personal handmaid that you ate," he repeats, seemingly out of it. Relishing the growing feeling in his chest as he watches your every action.

You cock your head to the side, eyes gazing around the now bloody hall with a bored look before looking at him and then turning your gaze towards Uraume, who still stood next to the empty chair in the middle.

"My regards to the chef, the food was perfectly delectable. I'd appreciate the same meal next time," you say to Uraume, your voice once again ringing loud and clear in the ensuing silence. Sukuna gets deja-vu but this time amusement is replaced with the feeling of genuine respect and maybe...love?

Uraume quietly nods an approval and dissappears which makes you look up at Sukuna as you reach a hand out as indication for him to escort you back. Sukuna shivers at your gaze but takes your hand in his and kisses the top of it before helping you stand. Walking hand in hand with no regards to the dead bodies beneath you and out the door, Sukuna grins.

He finally found his queen.

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AND THATS A WRAP! My respect for authors suddenly increasing cuz this shit itself took me 3 hours👹

Also I repeat, it's my first time so I'm a little rusty

Masterlist

#sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #jjk sukuna #ryomen sukuna #ryomen x reader #jjk x reader #cannibalistic #nuhuhwinniepooh #dark themes

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teyamsatan · 1 year

Text

Illicit Affairs | Chapter VIII: My Tears Ricochet

Pairing: Neteyam x Human/Avatar!Reader

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter IX Chapter X

Synopsis: All secrets are revealed and both you and Neteyam have to live with the consequences of your actions.

Warnings: pure angst, mentions of death, mental illness, addiction, self-injury, limited mentions of Y/N, did i mention angst, angst and more angst?

Word Count: 10,3k words (the first couple chapters were 3k, how did we get here??!)

A/N: This chapter killed me a little inside. I cried multiple times writing it, so I guess fair warning. I wanted really badly to build strong, round characters who had flaws and strengths and strong reasoning for acting a certain way/doing certain things. I wanted to write this story from both character's perspective, so it is clear that in life, each person will think they are right, that their reasoning was the correct one, when in reality, we are all a little right and a little wrong in everything we do, and it is always worth trying to see things from the other's perspective. We are coming towards the end of this first series, so I hope you enjoy this chapter and the rest of this journey. As always, thank you so much for everyone who engaged with it, I loved reading ALL of your comments and replies, they really make my day.

(Also, I feel like I am playing my own little game of "how many Taylor Swift and OG Avatar lyrics/quotes/references I can reasonably fit in a story without it being obnoxious" and I can't tell if I'm winning or not.)

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace Cause when I'd fight, you used to tell me I was brave And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed Look at how my tears ricochet

You registered the girl asking you if you were alright, but you couldn’t see in front of you, the entire room spinning like the inside of a mirrorball. You felt your body rise from where it was sat next to Neteyam’s, and shakily made your way out. Neteyam’s mate. Neteyam’s mate was next to you, asking you if you need help. It all got too much, and you lunged your body forwards and threw up on the ground next to your tent. You were panting, trying to somehow get a grasp on your mind and push the hurt aside, enough so you can see and hear the world around you.

“I’m fine. Thank you.” you manage to blurt out weakly.

You heard more commotion, and faintly made out Jake’s voice and his arm on your shoulder, trying to bring you back to them.

“Neteyam, what the hell happened?”

You didn’t hear Neteyam speak. He was quiet and you were glad. You didn’t want to hear his voice, not now, and not for the rest of your life.

The world came back to focus eventually, and you spit aggressively trying to get rid of the taste of acid in your mouth. You removed Jake’s hand from your back, and left. The thought of speaking or even looking at any of them was too much to bear. You ran, harder than you ever had before, back to where you just came from, the Ikran nest in the village. You immediately recognised your own, beautiful, gold and white, pure, unlike the rest of this world. Neyn (light colours, shades of white)… fitting name, you thought. You made the tsaheylu quickly, and without a second thought, took off.

FIVE STAGES OF GRIEF STAGE III: DEPRESSION

You had no thoughts as you flew above the forest and made your way towards the general direction of the Hallelujah mountains. You realised you didn’t know where you were going, you didn’t know how you were going to find your way back, but it didn’t matter. Were you even going to ever return? There were no tears, no sadness, just emptiness. The pieces of your heart broke so finely they turned into dust, blown away in the wind of the night. Eventually you found the mountains, easy enough to spot, even in the darkness, the fluorescent flora marking the territory with an easy-to-see glow. You flew like this, for enough time that your lungs were running out of breath and your skin felt battered by the wind, but you kept going. You felt so free, so weightless. There was a calmness to your thoughts that you haven’t felt in years, probably since your mother died.

You saw a distant mountain that looked brighter than the others, and you made your way to it and were amazed to find a little cave in it, bright and colourful, a little piece of heaven on a planet that was heaven in and of itself. Neyn landed softly on the edge of the mountain and you dismounted effortlessly and approached her head, giving her pets on her neck, to which she cooed gently. She was the only friend you had, you realise. You were all alone.

“Neteyam, what happened?”

Neteyam was dragged in the tent by his dad, who was fuming. No matter what feelings his dad was feeling, they couldn’t compare to Neteyam’s anguish and terror. Why the hell was she there? She just had to wait another couple of hours and this would have never happened.

“She was patching my wound up when Tiongli came in the tent, announcing to the world she is my mate. Said mother told her about my injury.”

“Don’t you dare blame this on your mother, boy.” the Sully patriarch’s nose was flared, eyes looking at him intensely with anger and disappointment. Neteyam’s eyes filled with tears, and he felt his heart hurting so much like the gash was there instead of his arm.

“I was going to tell her tonight, dad. After dinner. I was going to tell her everything, and I was going to ask her to be my mate. I was going to come to you both and ask you to undo the engagement. I understand that a year and a half ago I gave up on her, I did it for a reason, I thought there was no future for us, and that we were hurting each other. But things have changed. She has changed. She’s going to be one of the people soon and I want her to be mine.”

“Neteyam, you can’t undo the engagement. You have known Tiongli your whole life, her family’s been expecting this since you were both young. You gave your word before Eywa, son.”

“I love her, dad. Do you understand that? I have loved her all of my life. It killed me having to leave, it killed me knowing there was no future, because she was human. But she’s not just human anymore. I was willing to go through with this for the sake of the village, for the sake of the family and the future, but if there is any chance I can have the love of my life by my side, instead, I will cling on to it for dear life. Mother was betrothed to uncle Tsu’tey, and she gave that up for you. It was done before Eywa, and she didn’t care. Because she loved you and she knew that was enough. She gave up being Tsahik, her birth right, so she can have you. I will not give up on her, dad. Mother wouldn’t have given up on you.”

“I have to find her. I have to make this right.”

You were sprawled on your back, feeling goosebumps form along your limbs from the cold grass. You were staring at the sky, noticing the bright stars you now knew were actually bright death sentences, each of them beautiful and devastating. Will you even still be alive when they come? Will everything you have gone through these few months matter? Will everything you have gone through in this life matter? All the pain, and the hurt, and the grief, just so you can die at 18 from a virus. The universe was cruel, you thought. It was a fitting end, though. Meaningless and daft, like your entire life was. Born on a planet you were not made to be able to survive on, your real planet a long-forsaken dream you will never experience for yourself, surrounded by nature that could kill you in an instant. Alone, never fitting anywhere, orphaned by human diseases: cancer and greed. Left to fend for yourself when you were just ten, learning to navigate a life that only seemed to want to clobber you to the ground whenever you thought you finally could stand up again.

There was no light at the end of the tunnel, not anymore. You wanted to fight for something, for the chance at life, or at retribution, or at love. You were dying and Neteyam killed whatever hope remained in you. They all did. Norm, Max, Jake, Neytiri, Lo’ak, Kiri, Spider, all accomplices, all aware, all willing to lie to your face for weeks with no remorse. You thought you were good at spotting liars, now you just knew how little you knew about everything.

The pain in your soul mirrored the one in your body, as you felt the morphine wearing off and your human body struggling to keep the mind steady for the link. You had to bear it, because this pain was more manageable than the one you knew waited for you in your human form, when you would be alone in a dark room with only your nightmares to keep you company.

With a sigh and a peer up at the sky, you hoped whatever comes after death was better than the hell you’ve lived in the majority of this life.

Neteyam waited the whole night in your tent, waited for you to come back, becoming increasingly worried as the hours passed and you didn’t show. He wanted to go and look for you, but knew that as soon as you got on your ikran, the chances of finding you were thin. He would go to the lab as soon as dawn broke, but for now, he was praying that you would just burst through the tent opening so he can talk you down.

He fucked up, badly. He cringed at the thought of how much he seemed to not be able to get anything right when it comes to you. Everything he did or didn’t do ended up hurting you more, the only thing he didn’t want, the only thing in the world he continuously tried to avoid.

He was consoled by the fact that he would have a lifetime to make it up to you. He will not give up trying, no matter how long, no matter how hard, he was determined to win you back and keep you, forever.

As you made it back to your human body in the early hours of the morning, you regretted waiting so long, as your body was in indescribable agony, the likes with which you didn’t know was possible for the human body to ever experience. Your heart was beating a mile a minute, you were sweating bullets and every bone and muscle in your body throbbed with enough intensity to make it almost impossible for you to get up from the pod. Everyone must be asleep at this hour, you thought. You had to make it to your bed, you had to get at least a couple of hours of rest if you were going to live to see another day. As if you were taking the Iknimaya again, you made your way form the lab to the medical ward and injected another dose of the morphine in your system. There was no going back now, you were too far down the rabbit hole to stop and why put yourself through more unnecessary pain when this will all be over in a few days anyway?

You crashed in your room for a few hours and quickly made your way back to the pod before anyone else was there to talk to. You started the linkpod by yourself and got in without hesitation.

Waking up in your Avatar body was a strange experience, as you were still in the Hallelujah mountains where you fell asleep last night. Neyn did not leave you, you noted, and she was peacefully resting next to you, cooing softly in her sleep.

“Hey, beautiful girl. Time to go back. It would be useful if you knew the way.” you pet her gently, trying not to disturb her. She woke up and pushed her snoot in your chest, and you felt it swell for this animal that you had an unbreakable bond with; you were grateful you had done the Iknimaya and at least gained a life companion from that horrible day.

As suspected, Neyn knew where to take you, and in about an hour you made it back to the village. You dreaded it, dreaded the inevitable interaction, but you knew you had to go back at some point and inform them of your whereabouts.

It was still early, so the village wasn’t quite bustling with energy yet. You quietly made it back to your tent, which you found empty. You grabbed your bow and arrows, knife and gun and a couple extra magazines. You didn’t know if you were going to be back. As you were making your way out, your head bumped into a large, muscular chest.

Fuck.

“Where the hell were you all night, kid? None of us slept a wink last night worrying.”

“Out.”

“What the hell do you mean out? Out where? You leave without telling, you don’t come back the whole night, do you have a fucking death wish?”

You laughed at the irony of his words. He caught your arm as you were walking away and pulled you back forcefully so you can face him.

“You are not going anywhere.”

“Let go.” Jake raised a brow at your words. He was not used to being spoken this way, you realise.

“How long?”

His grasp on you loosened, and his gaze softened when you peered up at him through eyelashes to which tears clung.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Kid…”

“How fucking long, Jake?”

He let go of your arm at your curse, which had never been directed at him before.

“Watch your tone, kid.”

“You made me feel like shit for learning to shoot guns without you. It made you feel bad, right? Knowing I purposefully left you out of something you could have been useful at, something we could have bonded over? I hurt you, by pushing you and Neytiri away for so many years, and I am sorry for that, but you have never, in your life, tried to understand me. So you gave me shit about something you didn’t understand, and I hurt so much inside at the thought of all I gave away by my reluctance to trust, to love, to let people in. So I changed. I let you in. I was here, everyday, acting like a perfect little daughter for you, the daughter I knew you wanted. Strong, capable, skilled. I let Neytiri in. I started calling her mum in my dreams, and although the guilt for my own mother gnawed at my insides silently, I was also relived, to finally have a family again, or for the first time.

You made me love you and break down these carefully constructed walls so you can be comfortable and sleep well at night for not breaking your promise my mum, and then you fucking stabbed me in the back.

I trusted you, Jake. You fucking lied to my face for months. Every time I asked where Neteyam was at dinners and you told me he was practicing, every day you plotted to get me out of the village as early morning as humanly possible and get me back after everyone else was fast asleep, I knew it in my heart you were lying, but you were all so good at it, I thought I was going crazy. But no, it was all a carefully planned ruse to not find out you made me come here and be part of the people just to watch the man I love belong to someone else without even a chance to decide for myself how to feel about it.”

The fight brought out the rest of the Sully family out of their tent, and they were all watching you now, concern and sadness displayed across their beautiful faces.

“You all lied to me. Looked me in the fucking eyes and lied to me, every day, multiple times a day. You were supposed to be my family.

The humans are coming. I will be here. I will stand and fight, you know I will. I will be your little soldier, and be who you made me into.

But I want to make this perfectly clear. As far as I am concerned, you and I, we are done. I am done.” You looked at every Sully one last time, and left.

You were no longer delightfully numb, but burning with anger and earth-shattering sorrow as you stalked away from the village, leaving everything behind. Your eyes were blurry with endless tears, mourning this life and this family that you managed to gain and lose within the span of a few weeks, reeling from the wounds within your heart that never had a chance to mend before being opened again, over and over. You didn’t want to go back to the lab, knowing Neteyam was most likely looking for you there. You couldn’t go to the clearing for the same reason. You had no home anymore, no place in this world, once again. You could only think of one place to go, one place where no one would ever look for you.

Your knees were shaking furiously as you walked, and you were scared of another flashback that you would have to ride out by yourself, but it never came. You just walked, crying and panting from all the pain the last 24 hours brought, and eventually you made it to a place you never thought you would ever see again. The clearing looked peaceful, with rays of light penetrating through tree branches, creating Mandalas on the ground that you found yourself tracing with your eyes.

In the corner, lay a decrepit exo suit, and you made your way to it, settling on the ground next to it. You knew now this exo suit belonged to your dad, and you removed some vines that grew on top of his name, Gideon Barlowe. A beautiful name, you thought, and your mind wandered to the past, a past way before you were even born, and wondered what your grandparents did back on Earth. Did they encourage their son to leave his own planet in pursuit of planetary colonisation, monetary gain and murderous acts? Did they know? Did he know? Was he like that his whole life, or did he start off fighting the good fight, and was corrupted by the jagged and monstrous lifestyle? You wondered if this was what he has always dreamt of doing, or he had secret dreams of being a painter, or a gardener. Did he play guitar, too? You snored sometimes, did you get that from him? You had so many questions for this man you shared half your DNA with, but have never met. For the man that died on a planet far away from home, alone, with no one to mourn him.

Was that going to be you? Would Neteyam remember you in 20 years, when he would tell stories about his childhood to his kids, when he remembered the good old times? Would you get a Na’vi send off? Or were you going to be buried somewhere in the forest, for someone to stumble upon in a distant future you would no longer be a part of?

Sobbing uncontrollably, you heard yourself speak in between wails. “Why am I here? Great Mother, please tell me there is more to this life, there is more to life than this, because I cannot do this anymore. I am so tired. I have tried to keep going my whole life, even when I wanted nothing more than to cease to exist, blissfully collapse in an ether where I didn’t have to feel anything anymore. I kept going because I wanted to make my mum proud, I wanted to honour the body and life she has given me. I am trying so hard, but I am really fucking tired.”

A little past eclipse, you arrived at the lab, and used the keycard you remembered to bring with you. You hoped Neteyam would be gone by now, in case he was trying to find you here. You made your way through the hub and into your bedroom, which looked tiny in your Avatar body. You realise how uncomfortable it must have been for him to be here so often, then cursed your brain for making you think about such things. Your Avatar body needed a bed, so you walked slowly to where the other Avatar bodies usually were laid to rest for the night. There should be an empty space where your mum or Grace used to sleep. It didn’t take long for you to wake up back in the linkpod, as with most nights recently, you were barely able to maintain the neurolink by the time evening came.

Max was waiting for you. “Neteyam came by. He’s been looking for you, said you left the village yesterday and didn’t come back. He was worried sick.”

You didn’t answer him, as you slowly got out of the pod and tried to steady your feet on the ground, harder than it seemed when the entire room was spinning around you.

“What happened?”

“The mate you all hid from me for weeks came announcing herself in my tent as we were just about to kiss.”

“Any other questions?”

You didn’t wait for a response before you made your way out of the room, stalking towards the medical ward.

As you retired to your room for the night, you noted the morphine was not working as well as used to anymore. You sat on the bed, looking at the arm that was getting blue at the amount of needle holes it had, and you knew then you didn’t have much time left. Maybe a couple of days. A couple more days of this. And then it would finally be over. You gave it a fair shot, this life thing. You couldn’t say you felt particularly sad at the thought of it ending. You pressed play on your vintage record player and let yourself sleep.

“Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe, all the hell you gave me?

'Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you, til my dying day”

You spent the next 2 days in a haze, drugged out of your mind, waking up before eclipse and leaving to your dad’s grave and sleeping in the woods until the night, barely able to make it on your own two feet. Even in your human body, Neyn recognised you, and stood by you, which gave you some peace of mind. You made sure to bring her fruits from the lab, and she cooed warmly as she settled next to you.

When you made your way back that night, Norm was waiting.

“Where the hell have you been? Everyone’s been looking for you for 3 fucking days.”

You removed your oxygen mask and made your way to the room, where he followed you. You were in so much pain you couldn’t see straight.

“I am talking to you!” he took you by your arm and spun you around. The motion made you instantly sick, and you struggled to keep down the fruits you shared with your ikran.

“Let go of me, Norm.” you had no strength in your body anymore, so it took you awhile to shake him off.

“You look like shit. What did you do?”

You managed to make it to the bathroom, where you shut the door behind you and got in the shower. Fortunately, for you or him, you couldn’t tell, Norm was gone when you came out.

The next morning, you woke up desperately searching for pain relief and didn’t know if you were going to be able to make it to the ward before your knees would collapse on themselves. You were shaking and dizzy, out of your mind with agony and walking to the bathroom felt like the most intensive workout you have ever done. You peered up at yourself in the mirror and were scared at the eyes watching you, rabid and wild, like an injured animal waiting to lash out. It was too much for you to bear, and before you could even think or rationalise, you felt your fingers curl into a fist and make contact with the cold glass of the mirror, shattering in dozens of pieces, and it made you weirdly happy to have a visual representation of how your soul felt. The instant pain of the all the wounds the smash caused also gave you a weird sense of euphoria, and you realised it was taking away from the pain in the rest of the body, which was only able to focus on one agonising sensation at a time. This felt like a kiss by comparison, and you knew then you could go on a little longer, you could continue with the rest of the day.

Norm came bursting through the door at the loud crash.

“What the hell happened? Are you okay?”

You came out of your bathroom, blood dripping all over the floor as you made your way to the bed, sitting down on it.

“Leave, Norm.”

“What?”

“Leave.”

“What the hell has gotten into you recently. you are rude and brash, and you hurt people’s feelings with no remorse. This isn’t you.”

“What the hell do you know about me, Norm?” you say, laughing bitterly.

“Ace, stop.”

“You don’t know anything, Norm.” you kept going, the fury and hurt getting the best of you, once again, your need to destroy everything in your path as a way to cope with your own heartbreak winning by a landslide.

“Did you know I have needed pills to sleep and to live a normal day-to-day life since I was 13? I have been slowly depleting our sleeping pill and benzodiazepines inventory and replacing it with multivitamin pills I found in one of the drawers. I mean thank God none of you suffer from anxiety or panic disorder or need help sleeping cause I would have been busted so long ago.”

You laughed mockingly at his shocked face, jaw so close the floor now you could trip on it on your way out.

“Did you know I am about a week and a half away from dying after I accidentally smashed a vial of infected blood and got it in my mouth?”

You stand corrected, you think now his jaw was close enough to the floor to trip on it.

“Did you know I have upgraded from a pill addiction to a full blown opioid addiction in order to not collapse on the floor in excruciating pain because of the way this virus is eating at my insides? Yeah, yeah, that’s right. We’re almost out of a whole vial of morphine after I injected it in my veins every day for a while now.”

He had no words. “That’s about right.”

“I do know one thing you do know, though. You know that Neteyam had his mate announcement ceremony that day I took off. You were there to see the two love birds announce their love and pledge their commitment to each other the one day I was not there. And that’s why you were acting shifty. You know about that. And somehow you forgot to tell me, every day, for weeks. How does that work out, Norm, hmm?”

“I felt so bad for snapping at you a couple of days ago. I felt like a horrible fucking person for hurting your feelings. I should have been watching my back, instead.”

You got up from your bed and started walking towards the door.

“If I were you I would not linger in a room with poisoned blood dripping on the floor for too long.”

You found some paper towels at the side of your bed and wrapped them around your bleeding, pained hand, and with that, you left.

After you upped the morphine you usually took, you went to the lab and prepped a hood for some more experiments. Work was a good way to get your mind off things, to mindlessly do something that had a purpose other than driving you to the brink of insanity.

You heard a loud banging noise coming from the entrance, and you had a sneaking suspicion you knew who it was. You heard Norm open the door.

“Is she here?”

“Yeah, but Neteyam, I think you should go. She’s not in a good place, and I really don’t think doing this will end well for either of you.”

“I don’t care, I have to talk to her, I have been looking for her for 3 fucking days.”

You heard the door to the lab slide open and hissed at the man you knew would be trying to come in, realising hissing in a human body doesn’t have nearly the same effect.

“Get the fuck out, Neteyam. This is a sterile room.”

“I don’t fucking care about the room, Atan. Where the fuck have you been? Please come out so we can talk.”

You threw your head back and laughed, really laughed.

“You really are delusional if you think there is any way in heaven and hell I would want to hear anything you have got to say. The time for talking was a couple months ago, Neteyam. The time for talking was the first day I got my Avatar body, where in addendum to telling me you own my ass now, you could have also sprinkled in the fact your are now mated with someone else.”

“I am not mated with anyone, for fuck’s sake. Just come out so we can talk, please. I will explain everything, please!”

You stopped what you were doing and looked at him, for the first time since that day. He looked exhausted, anguished. Deep purple bags under his eyes, that were burning red where the whites should be. He has been crying. Good, you thought. He looked panicked and miserable and desperate for you to give him the time of day, for you to allow him to explain the unexplainable.

You sighed and your heart constricted in pain. Neteyam will not be happy until there was nothing left of you, until he took everything from you. At the same time, you were curious, morbidly curious as to what has actually happened, what led to this moment. You knew he loved you. You knew that much, but it didn’t seem to matter in this moment, as he broke your heart for what felt like the thousandth time in your short life.

“Go to the clearing, I’ll come when I’m ready.”

You half considered just leaving him there to wait, abandoning him just he did to you. You finished splitting your cells and treating them, and in about an hour, you went into the linkpod and took your Avatar for a walk in the woods. You reached the clearing shortly, as it was close enough that even child you could do it without getting too far away from the building.

You saw him standing there, his back turned to you and his legs submerged in the river that was rushing violently downstream. It was a cold day, and rain was trickling down your body like shivers from a kiss. There was tension in the air, and you knew a storm was coming. You could practically feel the charge in the atmosphere, and were expecting thunder to start any minute now, ready to mirror the agony in your soul.

“I’m here.”

He didn’t speak for a while. Just stood looking at the river, deep in thought.

“So many of our moments throughout the years happened here. Remember when I taught you to swim in the river? Now, in retrospective, that was a bad idea since the water kept taking you away, to the point I had to wait at the end so I could catch you in my arms, like you were a baby.”

You winced at the memory. You thought you could do this. You felt numb in that lab, numb on the way here, but as soon as your eyes focused on him, tears starting pooling in your eyes and pain overtook your body, that you tried to counteract by wrapping your arms tightly around yourself. He’s caused you so much hurt, so much grief in the years he’s known you. But he was also at the forefront of most of your happiest memories. You could fill endless manuscripts with the beauty of his love, that shone so brightly over you your whole life. He was the light in all the darkness and you honestly didn’t think you would have survived this journey without him.

That is why this hurt so much, why your body was convulsing on itself in insurmountable grief. And also why you owed him this much. Owed him this conversation, and the right to explain his point of view, that you were still unfamiliar with.

“I remember. I remember even at the time, thinking this was a good metaphor for our relationship. Life kept sweeping me off my feet, but you were always there to catch me, before it could take me away. I had so much faith in you back then, you were a fact of life, like the eclipse. You were the one person in this world I thought would never hurt me.”

“Fuck, Y/N, all I did before I left is hurt you.”

“What are you talking about?” You were confused at the turn this conversation took. What did he mean? You couldn’t recall a single time Neteyam hurt you before you left. Sure, you would fight and bicker sometimes, but it was a normal part of any relationship, you thought. And he always made it up to you, would always come to the lab and sit with you with flowers he collected or trinkets he found in the woods, always holding you and kissing your forehead to make sure you were over it before he had to leave. Fighting with him was ironically one of your favourite things, because you knew the aftermath was the closest you ever felt to being in heaven.

“I almost fucking killed you. Or have you forgotten? Have you forgotten how I manipulated you into getting on top of an ikran when you were just a 13 year old human and almost watched you die? Have you forgotten I took you to the woods and raced you to your dad’s remains? I was a walking magnet for disasters in your life and I was tired, so fucking tired of watching your life fall apart all around me. I had to watch you learn to walk again, limp because of my actions, for years. I had to pull you out of flashbacks and nightmares you developed because of ME. You were always fine in the woods with Lo’ak or Kiri, but everything bad that has happened to you happened around me.”

He was crying, panting and angry, at himself or you or the universe, you couldn’t tell.

“I thought that if I left, you would be ok. I just wanted to protect you. My whole life, all I have wanted was for you to be ok. But it seems no matter what I do, I keep fucking up.”

You had no words to speak as you lay there, listening to him letting you in to a secret you have spent so many months agonising over. The reason for his departure haunted you for a year and a half, even when you refused to think about him, about it, it was there, constantly emerging from the depths of your subconsciousness, taunting you in your dreams. Why? Why? Why?

Because he wanted to protect you?

You didn’t have time to process all of this new information, before he continued.

“The night you found your dad, I was shaken to my core, in a way I have never truly been before. I was so heartbroken, for you and for myself, for knowing this will haunt you for the rest of your life. I went home and mother found me, and told me that maybe I can’t help you in the way I’ve always wanted. That maybe it’s better for you that I remove myself for a while and leave you room to breathe and heal. So I did. It took me a long time to get the strength to do it. Every time I thought today is the day, I would see you and you would smile at me, and we would sit on your bed and you would read to me or play me songs or just be there, just you and me, and I couldn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. You were everything to me, my light in all the darkness.

A year later, you sang me the song and you were smiling at me singing it, and I knew you were confessing feelings we have both felt for years and couldn’t say out loud. And I knew that if I stayed, whatever we had would escalate past the point of no return. If I stayed, that would be it. And that’s when I decided. I thought I was doing us both a favour. I knew it would hurt you, just as much as it hurt me, but I thought the pain would subside in time.”

You were crying now, you realised, tears falling silently and effortlessly down your face, with no intention to ever stop, instantly washed away by the pouring rain. There were no sounds, no sobs or wails, or panted breaths, just the sounds of rain and hopeless, soft cries and muffled sniffles, for the man in front of you, for all that you have lost, for the past you shared and the future that you would never have.

He got up from where he stood and turned around to face you. He walked towards you until he was so close to you could feel his breath on your face. His stare made goosebumps appear on your entire body, so earnest and desperate, so full of intensity for the words he was trying to convey to you.

“It didn’t.” He said, at the same time you thought the same words in your mind.

“A few years ago, mother and father told me I would one day have to find a mate. They knew and I knew it was expected of me, but I always put it off, so they eventually dropped it. I learnt later they both knew about us, so they didn’t push me into anything until they felt I was ready. A few months after they realised I decided to leave, they started bringing it up again. I didn’t want to hear it, but they said it was time, as I had refused for years longer than what was acceptable in the clan. I met with so many girls, all from good families, all healers in training, all wrong. Beautiful girls, smart girls, skilled healers and singers, and it was like looking at the grey walls of your lab. I felt nothing, I felt sick just thinking about it, like just the thought would be betraying the memory of our bond. Eventually, I told them they can decide. Grandma can decide whatever she thinks is best, and, as Tsahik, I would listen to her voice and wisdom, and do my duty to the clan. She chose Tiongli. I knew her growing up, and we were friendly, so I tried to make an effort. I would go to her tent, and she would show me her training sometimes, I would let her heal my wounds and imagined it was your hands touching me instead. I visited her family and paid my respects, and had dinner with them whenever they invited me. I hoped in time, I could learn to care for her, to lessen the distaste in my mouth whenever my family or the clan talked about the future, about the ceremony, about the life I was supposed to lead that I hated even the thought of.

And then, one day, my dad sent me to get Lo’ak from the lab. I was so scared of knowing I would have to see you again. It had been so long, and so many feelings gnawed at me on the walk there, terror and anxiety, guilt and longing. But then I saw you, and there was only one feeling: love. Like no time had passed at all. I knew then I was going to love you for the rest of my life, and that will never change. That was my fact of life, my eclipse.”

He slowly took your face in his hands, and his thumb was caressing your cheek trying to wipe the tears and raindrops that were falling mercilessly. You saw his face slowly getting closer to yours, and you knew you should pull away, you should remove yourself from his grasp before the kiss was going to remove the last ounce of happiness from you. You knew what you had to do, knew that no matter what information or answers or justifications he would give you today, they wouldn’t matter. You should pull away, because there is no future, no hope. But you couldn’t. You didn’t know what waited for you in the afterlife, but if there was any chance you would have your memories, you wanted this kiss to haunt you forever, to remind you of the life you left behind.

His lips touched yours so gently, it felt like a whisper. Like a hug, tender and warm, it was so different than your first kiss. Tears were still running down your face as your lips moved, entangled with his and begging for more. Your hands went to his chest, to his neck, to his back, just touching him, trying to memorise his body, this feeling. You wanted so much more, you wanted to be his, you wanted to feel him, you wanted him to own you, like he did your heart, which has been his your entire life and will still be his after your death.

You were a mess of wet tangled limbs and panted breaths by the end, and eventually, he broke the kiss to look at you through teary eyes.

“I love you, I will always love you. I am so sorry.”

“I love you, too.”

“But this doesn’t change anything, Neteyam.”

“Thank you, for finally telling me why you left. For giving me some closure for something that has plagued me for so long, it became a constant part of my nightmares. Thank you for having my best interest at heart; it couldn’t have been easy to leave, if you didn’t want to, it took a strong heart to do something that hurt you for what you thought was the lesser evil. But it doesn’t change anything.”

“You left me. You broke me. And you never gave me a chance to make my own decisions. To figure out for myself what was the path forward. I have NEVER blamed you for my misfortunes. The ikran ride is still a beautiful memory to me. You made it a beautiful memory. If it weren’t for your quick thinking, we probably would have both died at the hands of Toruk. You saved my life, Neteyam. You carried me home and stayed with me while I was having surgery, you stayed with me after, while I recovered. You pulled me out of the worst panic attack I have ever had when I found my dad, and you rode out so many of my flashbacks, I have lost count. You weren’t the cause or the common denominator of these events, I was. I am the one plagued by misfortune and hurt and death. Not you. And if you tell me you had to leave to save your own peace of mind, I would respect that. I don’t know anyone in this world who can take this, take me and all the shit that follows me everywhere I go. I don’t blame you.

But if you tell me that you did this for me, that I can’t accept. I didn’t ask for any of this. You gave me no choice, and no say in this relationship, in our shared life. You just left. I deserved better than that. And I deserved better than to find out about a mate after months of lies and manipulation and deceit. I don’t care. I don’t care if you are going to say that you didn’t want it, or you were going to undo it, or that you’ve always loved me and never her. I don’t care. You lied to me, you manipulated me. You accused me of fucking your brother as you were promised to another woman that you hid from me for months. I do blame you for that, and I will never be able to forgive you.”

“Please, Atan…I will tell her no. I will tell her -.” he was sobbing now, his hands still on your face, pleading.

“No.” you slowly took his hands in yours and removed them from your face.

“I think you should do it, Neteyam. She is a good girl, she will make a good Tsahik, and a good mate. Your mother was right, there is no future here - there never was. I love you, so much. But I think you have broken my heart one too many times. I am done.”

You turned your back and walked away from him and the life that was lost - forever.

You were completely soaked when you arrived in the lab, and you went straight to the Avatar laying room and cried. Cried until it felt like no more tears could possibly come out of you. You cried yourself to sleep and then cried in the pod, on the way to your bedroom, and in bed until your human body eventually collapsed from exhaustion. You cried in your dreams, in which Neteyam was kissing you and touching you, doing all the things you were silently begging him to in your mind just a few hours ago.

Eventually, nightfall came, and you had to get up to do the rest of your experiments and top up your analgesic. Ironically enough, you were making real progress on your work. You found a combination therapy that was showing incredible potential in slowing the virus down. It wasn’t enough to stop and eradicate it, but it was enough to give people more time and hopefully give the scientists more time to find a cure. It wouldn’t help you, but maybe you could still help others.

At some paint through the night, as you were making up some reagents, Norm bursts through the door holding a bunch of equipment and some pills, you realise. He puts them down on the bench behind you and speaks.

“Right, stop whatever you are doing, right now.”

“I am in the middle of something.”

“I don’t fucking care. Stop, now.”

You were taken aback at his words and attitude. Norm never got mad, or lost his composure. He was so most well balanced person you knew.

You put the pipette gun down and turned around to face him.

“I still need to adjust the pH on this.”

He ignored you while he prepared the myriad of little gadgets he brought with him. He motioned for you to take off your lab coat, and you rolled your eyes in annoyance, but did as you were told regardless. You were too tired to argue anymore.

He raised the sleeves of your top until they couldn’t go any further up your arm and put a blood pressure monitor on you. You felt tension as its sleeve tightened around you painfully, but eventually it gave out with a puff, and you heard beeping as the machine finished its reading. You looked to your right where the monitor lay, and saw red lights flashing, letting Norm know your blood pressure and pulse were dangerously low. His eyes widened slightly at the sight, but he held his composure, removing the gadget from around your arm and putting it away. He then read your oxygen levels, which you saw were constantly dabbling between 89 and 90%. Not good, you thought. No wonder you could barely breathe anymore. Norm cursed silently under his breath, trying to not let you see him, but if there was one thing you were good at, it’s reading people. Well, you thought you were, at least.

“Did you do any tests on your blood? How is your complete blood count looking?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Why the fuck not, Ace? It’s not like you don’t know how to do it.”

He was angry, really angry. You’ve never seen Norm this angry, you’ve never seen Norm acting this way towards you.

You just shrugged. With a huff of annoyance, he took your arm and prepared a needle and syringe to collect some blood. He gulped and you could see tears forming in his eyes when he looked at the violet bruises and needle holes that were plastered along the length of your brachial vein.

“Just didn’t get around to it.”

“You didn’t - Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

“What medicine have you been taking? Did you take the Relenta, or the combination therapy we have been working on?”

“Neither.”

You swear you saw Norm’s entire body enter a catatonic state and he turned so red you were worried he was going to release steam out of his ears.

“You have been sick for a month and did not take anything, none of the treatments we have been working on?”

You couldn’t look him in the eye anymore, finding comfort in the pattern of the tiles on the floor.

“I can’t believe you. I didn’t peg you for someone who would just throw their life away meaninglessly. Your mum had to die because we didn’t have a way to treat her illness, and here we are, with a solution that YOU came up with for your own illness, and you will just not even try?”

You were quiet, not really having a way to rebut his questions.

“Fine. We will start you on the combination treatment tonight and take it from there. There’s other things we haven’t tried yet and I’m sure -“

“NO.”

“I’m not asking you. I’m not letting you fucking die.”

“Why must you always fucking try to fix everything, Norm? Some things can’t be fixed. I don’t want the fucking pills. I am done. I want this to be done.”

“So you’ll just die? Is that what you’re saying? You want to die, and not even fucking TRY to see if there is more to this life. Goddamn it, Y/N. I thought having the Avatar would help you realise life is worth living, there’s beauty in this world beyond the walls of this lab. You got your first kill, you did the Iknimaya, you’re going to become one of the people. Don’t you want to see what your future holds? Don’t you want to live to see yourself grow up? Fall in love, start a family. There are more guys in this world than just Neteyam.”

You gave Norm a dirty look and got out of the lab.

Neteyam felt his whole body reel after your conversation. It didn’t change anything, he thought bitterly. He thought explaining it to you, allowing to see that he had good reasons for his actions would allow you to forgive him, to at least allow him the opportunity to make it up to you through time. You left, just like he had so long ago, but there was a finality to you that he didn’t feel then. Back then, he always had hope that a miracle would still be possible, one in which you got an Avatar, healed and loved him, forever. He wanted to love you forever, but his apology and explanations were not enough.

He lost you, again.

He spent the night flying on his Ikran, just flying and letting the rain soak his thoughts and hurt away. He just wanted to disappear. He wanted the rain to melt his bones until there was nothing left of him but the memory of happier times.

In the early hours of the morning, he made it back to the village, trying to hide his cried out eyes and calamitous grief. He was dreading having to talk to his parents, to explain to them what happened, to have to go through with Tiongli and this future he didn’t want and will have to suffer through for the rest of his life. He didn’t have time to worry about it too much though, because, as he managed to get to the tent’s entrance, he heard Norm’s voice and his dad’s, intertwined with his grandma’s voice rising above them.

“It won’t work. Eywa will not allow her to come back.”

“Why not? She has taken her Iknimaya, she has completed her kills, she has spent her entire life in the village’s service, trying to help the best way she knew how. If she doesn’t deserve this, who does?”

“It’s not that she doesn’t deserve it. It’s that she doesn’t want it. She doesn’t want this, Norm. The Great Mother will not transfer the conscience of someone with no future.”

“But maybe if this happened, she will realise that she wants to live. Once she’s rid herself of her weak body, of this disease, maybe she will -“

“The Great Mother’s word is final. She will die, because she wants to die.”

Mo’at’s voice rang in his ears so hard he thought his eardrums would pop.

She doesn’t want it.

She will die.

What were they talking about? Who would die?

No… it couldn’t be. No, the Great Mother wouldn’t be so cruel.

He didn’t wait to hear the rest of the conversation, running as fast as his feet could carry him back to the lab. He reached soon enough, he was faster than most other people in the village, and started knocking on the door of the lab with all his might.

“Y/N, OPEN UP, I KNOW YOU ARE IN THERE!”

Eventually, Max came to the door, through which Neteyam burst without consideration for the tiny human next to him.

“She’s not in, Neteyam. She left before any of us had a chance to say anything.”

“Was she in her Avatar body?”

“No, the body is in the den where they sleep.”

He didn’t bother thanking the man, as he turned on his heel and started running again. She was there, had to be.

It was still raining, the clouds relentless as they released drops that poured gently down his face and body, and Neteyam thought the Great mother was crying, mourning the love being washed away like a pebble in the river of the clearing, just like he was.

You were there, of course you were. A current shocked Neteyam at the sight of you. This was the first time he has seen your human body in months, and he found it hard to reconcile the image of you he has known all his life with this current one. You were incredibly thin, so thin, whereas a few months ago he could trace your muscles, he could now trace your bones. You were pale, almost ashen, and the hair that he once spent so long admiring was now brittle and dull, obvious even as it was, wet and clinging to your back. You looked lifeless. He felt a lump form in his throat and tears pool in his eyes that were still not dry from all the pain this day has brought.

You didn’t notice him yet, your human ears much less sensitive than your Avatar, so you were just sitting on the riverbank with your chin resting on your knees, which were brought to your chest and your arms wrapped tightly around them. You were looking at the water, and it was like you weren’t actually there. You were in your own world, far from here, from this hurt.

“I was going to ask if it was true, what I heard Norm talk about in the tent today, but I think you’ve answered my question.”

Neteyam saw you flinch, and it felt like even that brought your weak frame pain. You were trembling when you looked at him, and your face made his own drop in shock. Your beautiful features, the blush in your cheeks, the glimmer in your eye, the pink of your lips, your animated expressions or raised eyebrows, were all gone. Your eyes looked glossed over and numb, your face looked ghostly and sunken, and Neteyam swore he could trace every blood vessel on your forehead and neck. The sight of you made whatever happiness or hope he had left dissolve and trickle down his bones, until it reached the ground where it was eventually buried, never to be seen again.

“I didn’t think I could make myself any clearer, Neteyam.”

“tell me it isn’t true. Tell me he’s lying; he’s making it up.”

“What part?”

“All of it.” Neteyam was angry now, trying to contain the temper rising in his chest.

“Tell me you’re not dying.”

“Norm has a big fucking mouth.”

“Can you for once in your fucking life just answer a question? This is fucking serious!”

You winced at his words, then struggled to get up, but did eventually and fully face him. The state of you hit him like bullets, piercing and scraping at his every organ, leaving bleeding wounds behind.

“It’s true”.

Crack, crack, crack.

“When?”

“The night you gave me the guitar. I was so busy being in love with you I forgot to put the proper protection on, and I smashed a bottle of infected blood. It got in my mouth, in my nose.”

“I thought you were working on a cure.”

“Haven’t found it yet.”

“But you said you have something that kind of works, something to give people more time.”

“I’m human, it doesn’t work that way for us.”

“So, you’ve tried.”

You weren’t looking at him anymore, just staring at the ground in front of you, somewhere next to Neteyam’s feet.

“Tell me you have fucking tried.”

It thundered aggressively as Neteyam said that, and he saw you once again tremble at the loud sound. You have never been a jumpy person. You were the bravest person he knew. You were the strongest person he knew. It was unspeakable having to watch you now, sitting meekly in front of him, when just a few days ago you took the Iknimaya, taking the climb to the toughest tests known to the Omatikaya, doing it like it was nothing, just another day for you. To know that this is what was hiding underneath, this is what you hid from all of them, made him both impossibly miserable and strikingly enraged at the same time.

“TELL ME YOU HAVE TRIED.”

“NO, OKAY?? NO, I HAVEN’T FUCKING TRIED.” You were sobbing now, your tears washed away by the rain and wind as soon as they fell down your cheeks.

“Why?”

“Because I am tired. I want this to end.”

“I thought you were happy. I thought you were better. You seemed better in the Avatar.”

“I was better… in the Avatar. Because that wasn’t my life. That was just a beautiful dream, while my life was the never-ending nightmare. It was easy to pretend in that body. It was easy to be the version of myself everybody wanted me to be. But I have to live with the real me every night. And I don’t want to do it anymore.” The more you cried, the more Neteyam’s blood boiled in his veins.

“That’s such fucking bullshit.”

“You know what I think?”

“I think dying is fucking easy. It’s your easy way out.”

You looked up at his much larger frame incredulously, and he saw how your mood was starting to mirror his own.

“What did you just say? You think this is fucking easy for me?”

“Yes, I think it is. I think all you’ve done since your mum has died is take the easy way out. Put everything and everyone in your little bottom desk drawer, keeping everyone at a distance. Do you know how much mother and father suffered every time you refused to come out, to come to the village? My mother cried herself to sleep at the thought of you alone in that lab, at the thought that you preferred that soulless, empty place to her, to us. Did you know that?

You have not once opened that drawer, not once dealt with anything. All you do is numb yourself down, pretend you are fine and the issues you have suffered through do not exist. Well guess fucking what, Atan? They exist. And until you deal with that pain and let it pass over you and through you, you will always take the easy way out.

You have made me feel like the worst person in the world, for leaving, for lying to you. But what the fuck have you done, huh? You lied to me about dying, for weeks! About dying! What, was I supposed to find you dead one day and that was it? That was what I deserved from you, after all the blood, sweat and tears I gave you? You said I took your choice away. You wouldn’t have even given me a choice to say goodbye to the love of my life before you fucking died!

I left you for a year because I wanted to protect you, you are leaving permanently because you refuse to fucking deal with the pain and hurt I know you feel deep down inside. You had a choice. You could have come to the many people who love you, love you unconditionally, and told us, and let us in, and let us help you. You could have gotten help, taken the pills, fight your damn hardest to make this work, to find a cure, for the life your mum gave you, the life she would have to watch you throw away. You have a choice now. To want to live, to want to fight through this and come out the other side a new, better person. To let me love you, let people love you. To do the consciousness transfer and be with me, and be happy, forever. And you’re choosing this.

You are a coward.”

Neteyam turned on his heel and walked away, before he got a chance to see you collapse on the ground, giving your last few breaths in the place he used to imagine both of your children laying in his arms peacefully while you sang them to sleep.

Tag list (I hope I didn't miss anyone, thank you so much for asking to be tagged <3): @nuhteyam @eywas-heir @fanboyluvr @mashiromochi @puffb4ll @sassy-persona @simp4ff @mommyneytiri @inomoikawa @jackiehollanderr @jaysarchiv3 @meivap @dakotali @hlhl99 @eskamybeloved @erenjaegerwifee @winchestertitties

#neteyam #neteyam x human!reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam fanfic #neteyam reader #neteyam sully #avatar #avatar twow #avatar fanfic #neteyam x avatar!reader #neteyam sully fanfiction #neteyam angst #awow #awow neteyam #loak reader #avatar loak

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ramblers-lets-get-ramblin · 11 months

Text

Surrendered Innocence- Chapter 1

Series Masterlist | Series Playlist | Series Warnings (spoilers included in these warnings)

This entire fic is dedicated to my friend @romana-after-dark. Thank you for your inspiration and encouragement! I love you!

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!babysitter!reader

Summary: You’ve wanted Joel Miller to kiss you for over a year, ever since he hired you to babysit his daughters. One night while giving you a ride home, he does

Word Count: 1878

Rating: E MDNI 18+

Warnings: oral sex f receiving, joel miller has a FILTHY mouth, power imbalance, innocent reader, age gap (reader is 19, joel is in his 40s) other warnings are very spoiler-y but not too bad

Author’s Notes: honestly i don’t have anything to say for myself. I have Joel Miller Brain Rot. This is just 2k words of porn. I’m (not) sorry

If you enjoy this please reblog! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

Dividers courtesy of @saradika

You shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t be in his room, touching his things. But you just can’t help yourself. Mr. Miller has taken root inside your mind, your heart, your body. Being in his house, caring for his daughters makes you itch to have him. Have him in a way you’ve never had a man. The kiss he gave you last night when he drove you home was the first time you had ever been kissed, really kissed. It’s something you’ve been thinking about for an entire year, ever since you’d been hired to babysit Sarah and Ellie.

True evil is, above all things, seductive.

You wondered what his lips would feel like slotted between yours. If his mustache would tickle your face. What his tongue would taste like. You’d never been brave enough to try to find out for yourself. Just being around him made you swoon. Your body vibrates with nerves every time you get into the passenger seat of his truck. He insists on driving you home even though it’s close enough to walk. “I jus’ worry about ya, Angel. There’s a lotta bad men out there jus’ waitin’ on a pretty little thing like you to walk by.” He says.

Being close enough to reach out and touch him night after night was killing you. An ache had settled between your legs that wasn’t there before you met Mr. Miller. A throb that you are sure only he can cure. Since he kissed you last night that ache has turned into a sharp stab, right in your core. You wonder if it’s strong enough to tear you apart.

“I really appreciate you takin’ such good care of my girls. They jus’ love having you ‘round.” He had said, tucking your hair behind your ear. “I love them too Mr. Miller. Couldn’t dream of babysitting such well behaved kids.”

“You’re such a sweet little thing, ain’t ya?” He asked. He hadn't removed his hand from your face yet. Your breath caught in your throat when you realized he had leaned in. His lips were just an inch or two from your own. “You ever been kissed before, Angel?” He asked. “A few times. Boys from school.” You reply. Your voice was so quiet Joel had to lean in even further to hear you. “No, Sugar. I mean a real kiss. From a man?” You shook your head gently and suddenly his other hand came up to mirror its mate, cupping your cheeks.

He closed the space between you and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. When you gasped he took the opportunity to slide his lips in between yours. You weren’t totally sure what to do but you followed his lead, sucking his bottom lip between your teeth. His tongue slid over yours, the heat from it setting a fire below your belly. The porch light came on just then. Your dad knew what time to expect you home. You jumped back quickly from Mr. Miller. “I hope that was okay.” He said as he smiled softly. You just nodded at him and said “Goodnight, Mr. Miller. See you tomorrow.” You hopped out and turn to close the door. “You sure will, Angel.” He said with a wink before you scurried inside.

A key turning in the front door interrupts your reverie. You drop the framed photo you had been looking at and slink out of his bedroom, quietly shutting the door. You are able to rush into the bathroom before he makes it inside. He never needs to know you were in his bedroom. You hear him taking his boots off at the door so you turn the sink on while checking your appearance in the mirror. You’d worn the same outfit as usual. One of your pleated skirts that you had been a part of your high school uniform, though it fit a little shorter since you’d grown two inches since you graduated last year, and a white v-neck shirt. You adjust your high ponytail until it was just right and smooth your skirt. Perfect. You turn off the sink and bounce out of the bathroom. Mr. Miller is sitting on the arm of the couch. “Where’s the girls?” He asked, looking around. It was too damn quiet for Sarah and Ellie to be anywhere in this house.

“They are next door playing with the Adlers’ granddaughters. They just went over about twenty minutes ago.” You start towards the front door. “I can go grab them if you want, Mr. Miller.” His arm catches you around the waist and draws you in close to him. “That’s alright, Angel. Let ‘em have some fun.” There’s a dark glint in his eyes. “Maybe we can have some fun of our own.” He whispers in your ear. A shiver runs through your body.

“What kind of fun did you have in mind?” You ask nervously. You’re so close you can feel the way he twitches beneath his jeans. “I thought you’d never ask, Sugar.” Suddenly he stands and whirls you around. “Sit right there for me, baby.” He plops you down on the arm of the couch and you can still feel the warmth from his body. He cups your cheek the way he had the night before. “I was wonderin’ if I could kiss you again.” He says as he brushes his thumb across your bottom lip. You nod slowly. You still haven’t adjusted to this new dynamic. You never dreamed a man his age would be interested in you. What do you have to offer? You have no experience, with men or with life. You took this babysitting job as a way to make money while you figured out what to do with your life.

“Well the thing is, I was wonderin’ if I could kiss you somewhere else.” He drawls. He steps forward, slotting one of his legs between yours and your knees spread to accommodate him. You cock your head in confusion. “What do you mean, Mr. Miller?” You pant. Its hard to think with his hands on you this way. Hard to breathe. He trails his thumb down your throat and chest, between your breasts, to the top of your skirt. He slips the tip of his index finger beneath the waistband. “Can I kiss you down here?” He asks. You can see the pleading in his eyes. Your eyes widen. Nobody has ever even looked at you there. “Um, I’m not sure.” You stammer. He chuckles lightly. “You don’t have to do anything’ you don’t wanna, Angel. I jus’ thought it might be fun.” Something flashes in his eyes. Disappointment?

“What does it feel like?” You ask him. “It feels just like a kiss on the lips. ‘Cept better.” He raises his eyebrows. “I promise, baby. I’ll make you feel real good.” He presses a kiss to your lips and drops to his knees. He looks up at you expectantly, waiting for you to say yes. “Okay.” You nod. He puts a hand on each of your knees and spreads them far apart.

“Oh, Angel. Looks like you’ve just been waitin’ for me.” He says when he sees the wet spot on your white panties. He says it so softly you aren’t sure he’s even talking to you. He pushes the bottom of your skirt all the way up, exposing your thighs and clothed center to the cool air in the house. He shuffles on his knees, further between your own. He looks up at you one more time, before he presses a soft kiss over the wet cotton. He watches as your breath hitches and your legs part slightly farther.

His big hands move under your skirt to the waistband of your underwear. “Can I take these off?” He asks? You nod and he shakes his head. “Need to hear you say it, Sugar. Tell me you want this.”

“Yes, Mr. Miller. I want this.” You reply. Before you know it your panties are around your ankles and he’s gently pulling them over your shoes. He never breaks eye contact with you so you don’t see him slip them into his back pocket. “You’re just as pretty as I pictured, baby.” He groans as he licks his lips. His hand moves between your legs and he, once again, checks to make sure it's ok. “Yes, Mr. Miller.” You respond. You’re so lightheaded you can barely form a thought. You just know that you don’t want him to stop. He spreads your lips with two fingers and takes a moment to just look. The sight of your beautiful pussy spread open for him, glistening, is almost too much to take. “Goddamn baby, I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.” He dives in and presses a kiss to your clit. The sensation pulls an involuntary moan from your mouth. “See, told ya it feels good.” He kisses you once more and then his tongue is out of his mouth and circling the tight bundle of nerves. Your hips jerk, pushing you further into his face and the vibrations from the groan that falls out of his mouth make you dizzy. His tongue moves farther down, and he licks into your core. You tangle your hand into his hair and he growls. Actually growls.

His tongue invades your hole and he can’t believe how tight you are. It takes a few tries for him to get the full length of it into you. As your walls squeeze his tongue his thumb finds your clit. He can feel it throbbing as he rubs light circles, fucking into you with his tongue. “Mr. Miller…I feel…something’s happening.” You cry, pulling his thick curls. He doesn’t let up. He needs this. He needs to feel you cum all over his face. “Oh god. Oh my g—-“ You cum with a strangled cry and a gush right into his mouth. He cums in his jeans at the same time. He slows his pace but doesn’t stop until you’ve caught your breath.

He stands in between your legs and presses a kiss to your temple. “Good girl, Angel. You did so good for me.” He breathes into your ear. “I’ll be right back.” He says as he slips into his bedroom. You stand and walk to the kitchen on wobbly legs. He’s walking towards you in gray sweatpants as you drink from a bottle of water. Just as he opens his mouth to say something, probably something dirty, a car door shutting in the driveway makes you both jump. You rush to gather your things and start towards the door when it opens. “Hey baby, how was your day? You’re home early.” Mr. Miller say as he gives his wife a kiss. “Mmm, it was terrible honestly, Joel.” She replies and leans in for another kiss.

“Goodnight Mrs. Miller, Mr. Miller.” You say. “Do you need a ride tonight?” Mrs. Miller asks. “Joel is happy to take you.” You shake your head. “No ma’am. It’s still light out so I’m just gonna enjoy the walk.” You needed to clear your head. “Goodnight then, dear. You be safe. We’ll see you tomorrow.” She starts walking towards their bedroom and Mr. Miller blows you a kiss.

Tag list: @romana-after-dark @megamindsecretlair @anxiousnoodles

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puppyjune · 11 months

Text

kill her. kill her. kill her.

she looks so beautiful. the bruises. the tears.

but the blood. the blood is holy. divine; the original temptation. once i see scarlet spread across her skin, i can barely stop. the lust, the drive, the carnal desire for brutality.

eyes starting to glaze over, i finally lessen my grip on her neck. so close, edging myself with her life. can i really hold myself back? what if i dont stop?

theres always next time.

why must i be so angry? its all ive known. walking into existence brings me these feelings. part of me wants to grow, but the comfort of that angry impassionate shell is so tempting. i try to step out, brave the new world of emotion. it backfires. over and over, all i know is negativity. oh, but how satisfying that rage is. grab that bat, lay her down whether she wants it or not.

…that may not be "kind", or "empathetic". but what else do i know? its just so easy to do. shes practically begging for it, im actually being nice by abusing her; right?

no no no, i get told that isnt the right way. but if so, why does it feel so good? is this the forbidden fruit? let me bite into her skin and learn what true sin is, carve it into her so she can be enlightened. oh, to be cut. the beauty of those lines, they make shiver with delight.

ah. empathy. that thing. do i really need it? i do? thats fucked. well, lets try a different approach.

brushing away some hair, i kiss her forehead and pull her close. the weight of her head on my body, the way she smiles, it just warms my heart. maybe i can understand what it means to be kind and empathetic. but why does she look at me that way? i must be imagining it. she couldnt possibly want… that. i blush, thinking of how close i came last time; shes probably thinking im blushing from her beauty right now. but all i can think of is the image of her choking herself for my pleasure. the knife on her skin.

i cant stop myself, i need that. violence, god does it make me feel fulfilled. its my one true passion, my vice, the thing that keeps my heart beating and my lust fueled. and why shouldnt i indulge? shes asking for it. obviously. cmon, that was totally what she was thinking, i dont need to ask. its more fun if i dont ask her.

ah, here again. layed out before me, a canvas to play with. i start sweet, checking in after every hit, watching where i hit and how hard, making sure to kiss her marked body.

hit, hit, hit. i look into her eyes, shes starting to squirm, maybe the pain is a bit much? i start to think about asking her if i should tone it down, or maybe just tone it down without asking, play it safe.

oh fuck, shes starting to squirm. this is what i need, the nectar ive been craving. i cant stop myself, i cant hold back. keeping her pinned down, swing after swing of that whip crashes down. my vision blurs, i feel such immense lust i cant think of anything else. how many hits until she fights back, until i have an excuse to really raise the stakes? oh please little pet, try and fight me. i need you to, then i cant be blamed for what happens next. but i get stopped. some part of me pulls me back, telling me to slow down. she gets to live a little longer.

i cant just stop now, i need to get these feelings out. "turn over. now."

good, now i have a fresh canvas to once again paint with pain. over and over, i whip her. its just, not good enough. i already did this, im over it, the rush is gone. i need to kill.

looking over, i see my bat. or specifically, a kendo sword. those bound strips of wood, that slight bend, just adds such a wonderful sprinkle on top of the pain from the swing. shes still down, dazed from the whip.

hit. hit. hit. kill. break her legs. she cant run. she cant resist. one swift hit to the head, bash her face with the bat, then there will be no resistance.

oh, ive done it again. i nearly couldnt stop myself. here i am, having mounted her, bat pressed against her neck, my entire weight and strength being offered for her demise. i need it, i need her to die. i need to kill. the marks on her legs shine against her pale skin. i made sure each leg had a good enough mark to make it difficult to walk, impossible to run. along with every. other. bruise. god, does she look beautiful. i feel true pleasure fill my heart as i look into her eyes. those divine eyes. tears silently rolling down her reddened face, the look of pain only brought by my abuse, the way you can see just how close she came to death. those dull eyes, barely able to comprehend what they see. if i could only have one wish, it would be to watch the life drain from peoples eyes as i use them for my pleasure.

#my writing #ive never written anything before. thought id try some stream of conciousness stuff for fun. enjoy??? hope u do #🖤

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muiitoloko · 3 months

Note

Hi! I've been devouring your alan fics so much! They're so so so good! Do you do requests? If so I'm kinda craving for some platonic love 🫶. Is it alright to have an Eli x daughter reader? I don't have a specific plot in mind. I just want some fluff but to make it better add some angst.

But if you don't do requests, it's fine. Just ignore this lol. Just really love how you write!!

Title: Become a great artist.

Summary: He wanted you to become a great artist, so you did. But Eli realizes that you have always been a great artist.

Pairing: Eli Michaelson × Daughter! Reader

Warnings: Angst, Angst, Angst, Angst! Neglectful father, criticism, mention of rape, kidnapping, suicide, death.

Author's Notes: Thank you for reaching out and enjoying my stories. I have to admit, I got a bit carried away with this one. What started as an attempt to create something cute took an unexpected turn into anguish, and I found myself writing through tears. If this isn't what you were hoping for and you prefer something cute, just let me know, and I promise I'll whip up something adorable for you.

First, Second and Third part here.

As the birthday celebration for your father, Eli, continued, you couldn't wait to unveil the gift you had painstakingly crafted for him. The table was already adorned with a collection of thoughtful presents, but yours was the final touch to the evening.

With a hopeful smile, you presented the oil painting you had spent countless hours creating. The canvas depicted a striking likeness of your father, Eli, capturing his essence in vibrant colors and intricate details.

But as Eli glanced at the painting, his expression remained unchanged, his lack of enthusiasm palpable. You felt a pang of disappointment as you looked at him expectantly, hoping for a more heartfelt reaction.

However, your mother, Sarah, sitting beside Eli, immediately took the painting into her hands, her eyes lighting up with admiration. "Oh, darling, this is absolutely beautiful!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine appreciation. "You're so talented!"

Your brother, Barkley, chimed in with his own praise, echoing your mother's sentiments. But despite their encouraging words, you couldn't shake the feeling of deflation at Eli's lackluster response.

As the dinner progressed, Eli seemed content to focus on his meal and his glass of wine, his attention drifting away from the festivities. You tried to console yourself with the thought that your father was simply not one to show emotions openly, but it still stung to see him so disinterested in your gift.

As Sarah noticed your hopeful expression towards Eli, she intervened with a comment meant to uplift your spirits. "You know, darling," she said, her voice warm and encouraging, "you have such a talent for art. You could be a great artist, like Van Gogh."

But Eli's response was not what you had expected. He scoffed dismissively, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Van Gogh? Please. The man cut off his own ear and ended up killing himself," he remarked, his words laced with derision. "Unless you're planning on following in his footsteps, I highly doubt you'll ever become a great artist. You know, the painter has to die for his works to become famous; that's how I see it, at least."

You felt a lump form in your throat at his cutting remark, your heart sinking at the realization that your father saw little value in your passion and talents. Hanging your head in disappointment, you tried to blink back the tears that threatened to spill over.

Sarah shot Eli a reproachful glance, her eyes flashing with indignation at his insensitive remark. "Eli, that's enough," she scolded, her voice firm and resolute. "There's no need to be so cruel."

But Eli remained indifferent to his wife's reproach, his attention already drifting back to his meal. Ignoring Sarah's scolding, he continued to sip his wine, his disinterest in your feelings painfully evident.

Forced to put on a brave face, you mustered a weak smile and nodded in response to your mom's apology. "It's okay, Mom," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I understand."

But inside, your heart ached with the weight of Eli's disappointment and disapproval. Despite your best efforts to please him, it seemed that nothing you did would ever be enough to earn his approval.

As the dinner continued, you tried to push aside your hurt feelings and focus on enjoying the rest of the evening. But deep down, you couldn't shake the sense of inadequacy that your father's words had stirred within you, a painful reminder of your status as the perpetual disappointment in his eyes. But you forced a smile onto your face, and you were happy. After all, it was a night to celebrate. It was your father's birthday, and everyone should be happy. You turned to your brother and started an animated conversation with him, talking about everything and nothing.

And so, the night passed until you and your brother said goodbye and prepared to leave. However, as you made your way to your car, you realized that you couldn't find your keys in your pocket. It suddenly dawned on you that you had forgotten them at your parents' house. As you approached your parents' house to retrieve the forgotten car key, you hesitated for a moment outside the door, the voices of your parents drifting through the air. Initially, you thought they were just chatting or perhaps discussing plans for the next day, but as you listened more closely, the tone of their conversation sent shivers down your spine.

"...at least pretend to be happy about her gift," Sarah's voice, tinged with frustration, reached your ears first.

Eli's response was immediate, his tone dismissive and biting. "Why should I pretend, Sarah? It's just another one of her silly paintings. If she wants to waste her time on that nonsense, fine. But don't expect me to pretend it's anything more than that."

You felt a pang of hurt at your dad's words, his lack of appreciation for your efforts cutting deeper than you cared to admit. As Sarah attempted to defend your gift, Eli's retort struck you like a physical blow.

"And what was that comment about having to kill herself to be a great artist? Honestly, Eli, can't you see how hurtful that is?" Sarah's voice, filled with exasperation and sadness, echoed your own feelings of disappointment.

Eli rolled his eyes, his impatience evident in his voice. "Oh, please. I was just being realistic. She's not going to make it as an artist, no matter how much you coddle her. And besides, if she's dumb enough to think her paintings will make her a great artist, then maybe she deserves a reality check."

You felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as the weight of your dad's words settled heavily on your shoulders. Despite your best efforts to please him, it seemed that nothing you did would ever be enough to earn his approval.

As the argument between your parents reached its peak, you forced yourself to open the door and step inside, your head hung low as you made your way to the counter where you had left your car key. Your parents fell silent as they watched you, their expressions filled with surprise and concern.

Picking up the key with trembling hands, you turned to face them, your voice barely above a whisper as you addressed them. "I forgot my key. I'll just...I'll see you later," you mumbled, your heart heavy with disappointment as you turned and made your way back outside.

As you closed the door behind you, you couldn't shake the feeling of despair that settled over you like a dark cloud. Despite your best efforts to please your father, it seemed that you would forever be a disappointment in his eyes. And as you drove away from your parents' house, tears streaming down your cheeks, you couldn't help but wonder if you would ever be able to escape the shadow of your dad's disapproval.

As you drove home, your vision blurred by tears, you couldn't shake the weight of your father's harsh words. Each syllable echoed in your mind like a cruel refrain, cutting deeper than any knife ever could. The familiar scent of paint greeted you as you entered your apartment, your sanctuary, your studio. But instead of finding solace in the comforting aroma, it only served to remind you of your own inadequacy in your father's eyes.

With trembling hands, you made your way through the cluttered space, your eyes falling on the canvases scattered around the room. Each painting, a testament to your passion and talent, now felt like a mockery of your futile efforts to win your father's approval.

In a moment of overwhelming despair, you lashed out, sweeping your arm across the nearest table, sending brushes, paints, and canvases crashing to the floor in a cacophony of destruction. The sound of shattering glass and splintering wood echoed through the room, matching the turmoil raging within your own heart.

As you stood amidst the wreckage, tears streaming down your cheeks, you felt a sense of catharsis wash over you. With each shattered piece of paintbrush and torn canvas, you released a fragment of the pain and frustration that had been building inside you for so long.

But even as you succumbed to the chaos of your emotions, a flicker of determination stirred within you. You knew that there was only one thing that could ease the ache in your heart, only one outlet for the storm of emotions raging within you: painting.

With renewed purpose, you retrieved a fresh canvas and a palette of vibrant colors, your hands moving with a sense of urgency born from desperation. With each brushstroke, you poured your heart and soul onto the canvas, channeling your pain and anguish into a whirlwind of color and emotion.

Hours passed in a blur as you painted through the night, your movements fluid and instinctual, driven by a need to escape the suffocating weight of your father's disapproval. Each stroke of the brush was a release, a cathartic expression of the turmoil raging within you.

You painted sadness, despair, and chaos, each image a reflection of the tumultuous storm that raged within your own soul. But amidst the darkness, there was also beauty, a glimmer of hope shining through the layers of pain and uncertainty.

As the first light of dawn began to filter through the windows, you stepped back to admire your work, the exhaustion of the night weighing heavily on your shoulders. But despite the weariness that threatened to consume you, there was also a sense of peace, a quiet acceptance of the emotions that had driven you to create.

With a heavy heart and aching limbs, you collapsed onto the floor beside your paintings, the tears finally drying on your cheeks as you surrendered to the embrace of sleep. And as you drifted off into the realm of dreams, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, as long as you had your art, you would always find a way to weather the storm.

Days later, despite the emotional turmoil you had experienced, you found yourself slipping back into the familiar pattern of seeking your father's approval. It was a habit ingrained deeply within you, a longing to win even a sliver of recognition from a man who seemed perpetually out of reach.

But then, news came in a surprising package: your father, Eli, had won the Nobel Prize. The announcement came through your mother, Sarah, who couldn't contain her excitement as she relayed the incredible news to you and your brother, Barkley.

Filled with a mix of disbelief and pride, you made a point to visit your parents' house to congratulate your father in person. As you entered the room, Eli's face lit up with a rare smile at the sight of you, a genuine warmth in his eyes that you hadn't seen in a long time.

"Congratulations, Dad!" you exclaimed, unable to contain your excitement as you rushed forward to embrace him. Your dad returned the hug, his arms wrapping around you with surprising tenderness, a gesture that felt unfamiliar yet oddly comforting.

"Thank you, sweetheart," Eli said, his voice tinged with pride as he pulled away to look at you. "I couldn't have done it without the support of my family."

You beamed at his words, a surge of happiness flooding through you at the rare display of affection from your father. In that moment, you felt a glimmer of hope, a flicker of the bond that had been strained for so long.

As the evening unfolded, you found yourself sharing a moment of camaraderie with your father, a sense of connection that had eluded you for years. You laughed together, reminisced about old memories, and even shared a toast to celebrate your father's incredible achievement.

And amidst the laughter and joy, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the opportunity to share this moment with your father. Despite the years of disappointment and frustration, you cherished this fleeting glimpse of the man behind the facade of arrogance and indifference.

As the night came to an end, and the celebrations had taken their toll, you found yourself in a state of inebriation that made driving impossible. Eli, being the responsible parent, decided to take you home. However, getting you into the car turned out to be a bit of a challenge.

You were feeling particularly stubborn and silly, bouncing around the living room with an air of joviality. "I'm the Nobel Prize winner's daughter!" you exclaimed, a mischievous grin playing on your lips as you twirled around the room. "And my father is a geniuuus" you sang, your voice filled with laughter.

Eli couldn't help but suppress a smile at your antics, his eyes rolling with amusement as he watched you dance around the room. But when Sarah voiced her concerns and urged you to be careful, Eli knew it was time to intervene.

With a gentle sigh, he made his way over to you, his arms outstretched in a gesture of patience and understanding. "Come on, sweetheart," he said, his voice laced with affection as he reached out to scoop you up in his arms. "It's time to go home."

You giggled uncontrollably as Eli lifted you off the ground, your arms wrapping around his neck in a playful embrace. "But Daaaad!" you protested, your words slurring slightly with intoxication. "Can't we stop by McDonald's?"

Eli chuckled softly at your request, shaking his head in amusement as he made his way towards the door. "Maybe next time, sweetheart," he replied, his tone gentle yet firm as he carried you towards the waiting car.

As you waved goodbye to your mother over your father's shoulder, a sense of warmth and contentment washed over you, despite the haze of alcohol clouding your senses. And as your dad carefully buckled you into the car, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the rare moment of connection shared between father and daughter, even in the midst of your drunken antics.

As Eli drove to your apartment, he couldn't help but suppress a chuckle at your off-key singing, the melody of your voice filling the car with a sense of lightheartedness amidst the chaos of the night. Despite his usual stoic demeanor, there was a hint of amusement in his eyes as he glanced at you, his daughter, swaying in the passenger seat with a carefree grin on your face.

Ignoring your playful antics, Eli focused on the road ahead, navigating the familiar streets with practiced ease. But despite his outward composure, there was a sense of relief in his heart as he guided the car towards your apartment, knowing that he had managed to get you home safely despite the challenges of the evening.

As the two of you arrived at your apartment building, Eli turned to you with a concerned expression, his brow furrowed with worry. "Do you think you'll be able to make it up to your apartment on your own?" he asked, his voice tinged with genuine concern.

You nodded in response, a lazy smile playing on your lips as you reassured him. "Don't worry, Dad, I'll be fine," you slurred slightly, the effects of the alcohol still lingering in your system. "Thank you for getting me home."

Eli softened at your words, a flicker of warmth in his eyes as he reached out to gently pat your hand. "I'm always worried about your safety, sweetheart," he admitted, his voice quiet and sincere. "Just promise me you'll take a shower and get some rest, okay?"

You nodded in agreement, your head bobbing slightly as you struggled to maintain your balance. "I promise, Dad," you replied, your words muffled by a yawn as exhaustion began to weigh heavily on your eyelids.

With a gentle smile, Eli helped you out of the car and escorted you to the entrance of the building, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive as he made sure you would enter safely. "Take care, sweetheart," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of fatherly affection. "I'll see you tomorrow."

You waved goodbye to your father, a playful grin spreading across your face as you stumbled towards the entrance of the building. "I'll paint a picture of you with your Nobel Prize!" you called out, your words slurred but filled with determination.

Eli rolled his eyes at your drunken proclamation, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite himself. "Don't waste your time on that," he replied, his tone teasing yet affectionate. "Just focus on getting some rest."

As you stumbled through the doorway and disappeared from sight, Eli stayed parked outside the building, his gaze lingering on the entrance with a sense of lingering concern. Despite his dismissive words, there was a part of him that couldn't help but worry about you, his daughter, stumbling through the darkness alone.

He knew he was tough on you sometimes, but he just wanted you to be better, to have the best, and he knew his silly paintings wouldn't give him that.

With a heavy sigh, he finally pulled away from the curb and began the journey back home, the events of the evening swirling through his mind as he navigated the empty streets. And as he drove through the quiet night, a sense of gratitude washed over him, knowing that despite the challenges and complexities of their relationship, he would always be there to watch over you, his beloved daughter.

Meanwhile, you went up to your apartment, fumbling a little with your keys before getting in, falling straight onto the couch tiredly. Despite the alcohol-induced haze clouding your mind, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment and warmth lingering within you. The evening spent with your father, Eli, had been unexpectedly pleasant, filled with laughter and genuine moments of connection that you hadn't experienced in a long time.

As you settled onto the couch, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion, you couldn't help but replay the events of the night in your mind, savoring each precious memory like a cherished treasure. Despite Eli's usual indifference and tendency to dismiss your passions, you had managed to share a moment of genuine camaraderie with him, a glimmer of the father-daughter bond that had been strained for so long.

In that moment, you felt a surge of love and gratitude towards Eli, a flicker of hope that perhaps, despite his flaws and shortcomings, he did care about you in his own way. You drifted off to sleep with a smile on your face, the warmth of the evening wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.

But days later, your sense of security and reassurance would be shattered in an instant, replaced by a chilling realization that would rock you to your core. Bound and gagged, staring into the face of your kidnapper, you felt a sense of disbelief and terror wash over you as they dialed your parents' number, putting the call on speaker for you to hear.

As the voice of your father, Eli, echoed through the room, you held your breath, desperately hoping for a glimmer of compassion or concern in his words. But what you heard instead sent a shockwave of pain ripping through your chest, leaving you reeling in disbelief and agony.

"I'm not giving you two million dollars for her," Eli's voice, cold and dismissive, cut through the silence like a knife. "She's not worth that much."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence, crushing any lingering hope or illusion you had held onto about your father's love and affection. In that moment, you realized with devastating clarity that Eli's indifference towards you ran deeper than you had ever imagined, his actions speaking volumes about the true extent of his disregard for your well-being.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you struggled against the bonds that held you captive, the weight of Eli's betrayal bearing down on you like a heavy burden. How could he abandon you like this, in your darkest hour of need? How could he place a price tag on your life, as if you were nothing more than a disposable commodity?

As the reality of your situation sank in, you felt a sense of despair and hopelessness wash over you, threatening to consume you whole. And in that moment of darkness, the flicker of love and gratitude you had felt towards Eli was extinguished, replaced by an overwhelming sense of betrayal and abandonment.

"I'm not joking," the kidnapper insisted, his tone cold and merciless. "I want two million dollars, and I want it now. If you don't pay up, she'll suffer the consequences."

How could your father refuse to pay for your freedom? The realization that he considered you unworthy of such a sum was like a dagger to your chest, leaving you gasping for air as you struggled to comprehend his callous indifference.

Meanwhile, in his hotel room in Stockholm, Eli ended the call with a dismissive flick of his wrist, his mind already moving on to other matters. When Sarah questioned him about the call, he brushed it off with a casual shrug, dismissing it as unimportant.

"No one important," he replied, his voice tinged with annoyance. "Just some prank caller trying to get a rise out of me."

But little did Eli know, as he lounged in his luxurious surroundings, that his daughter's life hung in the balance, her fate at the mercy of a ruthless kidnapper who saw her as nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game.

Back in the dimly lit room where you were held captive, the kidnapper crouched in front of you, his eyes filled with uncertainty as he pondered his next move. The prospect of not receiving the ransom he had demanded left him feeling conflicted, unsure of what to do with you now that his plans had been thwarted.

"What am I supposed to do with you now?" the kidnapper muttered, taking the gag off of you, his voice tinged with frustration and uncertainty. "If your daddy won't pay, then what's the point of keeping you around?"

Your heart pounded in your chest as you listened to his words, fear and panic gripping you in their icy embrace. The thought of what he might do to you now, with no hope of rescue in sight, sent shivers down your spine, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you struggled to keep your composure.

But your terror only intensified as you saw the hungry look in the kidnapper's eyes, a predatory gleam that sent a chill down your spine. You knew what he was thinking, could see the lust and desire written plainly on his face, and the realization filled you with a sense of helpless dread.

"No, please," you begged, your voice trembling with fear as you pleaded with him. "Don't do this. Please, just let me go."

But your pleas fell on deaf ears as the kidnapper's gaze lingered hungrily on you, his lips curling into a sinister smile that sent a shiver of revulsion down your spine. In that moment, you knew with chilling certainty that your fate was sealed, that there would be no rescue, no salvation from the horrors that awaited you.

Desperate and terrified, you called out for your father, Eli, your voice cracking with anguish as you begged him to intervene, to save you from the nightmare unfolding before your eyes. But deep down, you knew that he would never come to your rescue, just as he had never come to your aid on that fateful day when you first learned to ride a bike, falling and crying out for him, only to be met with silence and indifference.

And as you lay in the hospital bed, staring at the blank white ceiling above you, memories of your father flood your mind like a torrential downpour. You can't help but think back to that day when you were just a child, learning to ride a bike for the first time. You remember the excitement in your heart as you pedaled furiously down the street, the wind rushing through your hair as you gained speed.

But then, disaster struck, and you lost your balance, tumbling to the ground in a heap of scraped knees and tears. Through the blur of pain and disappointment, you cried out for your father, hoping for his comforting embrace to soothe your wounded pride. But he was nowhere to be found, lost in his own world of ambitions and achievements, too preoccupied to spare a moment for his injured child.

That day was just one of many in a long list of your father's neglectful moments, a pattern of behavior that had shaped your relationship with him for as long as you could remember. From missed recitals to forgotten birthdays, Eli's indifference had left an indelible mark on your psyche, a wound that festered with each passing disappointment.

And today was just one more addition to that list, a stark reminder of your father's priorities and his lack of concern for anything or anyone outside of his own ambitions. As you lay in the hospital bed, grappling with the aftermath of your ordeal, you couldn't help but feel a sense of resignation wash over you, a bitter acceptance of the fact that your father would never change.

Meanwhile, outside the hospital room, your brother Barkley paces back and forth, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridor as he anxiously dials your parents' number. After several rings, his father Eli finally answers, his voice tinged with annoyance as he questions Barkley's reason for calling.

"What is it, Barkley?" Eli snaps, his tone curt and dismissive as he brushes off his son's attempt to interrupt his celebration. "I'm in the middle of something important. This better be worth disturbing me."

Barkley takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the confrontation that he knows is about to unfold. "Dad, it's about [Your Name]," he says, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. "She's in the hospital."

Eli's response was immediate, his tone shifting from annoyance to genuine concern as he pressed Barkley for more information. "What do you mean she's in the hospital?" he demanded, his voice tinged with panic. "Is she okay? Explain this properly."

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Barkley relayed the details of the situation as best as he could. "She was found abandoned in a dirty alley," he explained, his voice trembling with emotion. "Some people called 911, and she was taken to the hospital. They tried to call you and Mom, but you didn't answer, so they called me."

There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the line as Eli processed the gravity of the situation. Despite his usual self-centered demeanor, a flicker of concern and fear crept into his voice as he responded. "Is she okay? What happened to her?"

Barkley hesitates for a moment before delivering the next piece of devastating information. "The doctor said she was raped and assaulted," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "They found evidence of trauma...down there."

Eli's breath caught in his throat as he struggled to process the horrifying news. "Oh my god," he whispered, his voice filled with shock and disbelief. "Is she...is she conscious? Can she talk?"

Barkley's heart aches as he shakes his head, the weight of the situation bearing down on him like a leaden weight. "No, she's not talking to anyone," he replies, his voice choked with tears. "She's just...staring into space."

Eli's mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions as he struggled to comprehend the extent of his daughter's suffering. "Is she going to be okay?" he asked, his voice trembling with fear. "What did the doctor say?"

"The doctor said she's in shock," Barkley explains, his words coming out in a rush. "They're doing everything they can for her, but...but we need to be there, Dad. She needs us."

Tears welled up in Eli's eyes as he listened to his son's words, the weight of his daughter's suffering bearing down on him like a crushing weight. "I'm coming," he said, his voice filled with determination. "Tell her...tell her I'm coming to her. I'll be there soon."

As Barkley looked out the window, his heart sank at the sight of you lying motionless in the hospital bed. He felt a surge of helplessness wash over him as he listened to your father's voice crackle over the phone, his words filled with a mixture of concern and desperation.

"Dad, I don't know what to do," Barkley confessed, his voice trembling with emotion. "She's not responding, she's just...staring into space."

But before he could say anything else, Eli's voice cut through the air, his tone strained with worry. "She'll be fine, Barkley. She has to be," he insisted, but Barkley could hear the uncertainty in his father's voice, the underlying fear that threatened to consume him.

Barkley nodded weakly, his own doubts and fears swirling inside him as he struggled to find the strength to comfort his sister. "I know, Dad. I just...I wish there was more I could do," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Eli fell silent for a moment, the weight of the situation hanging heavy in the air between them. "Just be there for her, Barkley. That's all we can do," he said finally, his voice tinged with resignation. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

As the call ended and the limo sped towards the nearest airport, Sarah clung to Eli's side, her own worry etched across her face. "Is she going to be okay?" she asked quietly, her voice tinged with concern.

Eli wrapped an arm around her, drawing her close in a comforting embrace. "She'll be fine, Sarah. She has to be," he repeated, but his words sounded hollow even to his own ears, the guilt weighing heavily on his conscience.

Meanwhile, in the hospital room in California, Barkley walked in and approached your bedside, his heart heavy with worry. He took your hand in his, squeezing it gently as he tried to find the right words to say.

"I talked to Mom and Dad," he began softly, his voice laced with uncertainty. "Dad's coming, you know. He'll be here soon."

But you remained silent, your gaze fixed on nothing as you lay there unmoving. Barkley felt a pang of sadness in his chest at your lack of response, the weight of your suffering bearing down on him like a heavy burden.

"I know how much you love Dad," Barkley continued, his voice cracking with emotion. "Maybe when he gets here, you'll snap out of this. Maybe you'll come back to us."

But as he spoke, Barkley couldn't shake the sinking feeling in his gut, the fear that you might never be the same again. And as he sat there holding your hand, surrounded by the sterile scent of the hospital room, he prayed silently for a miracle to bring you back to them.

But you remained silent, your usually vibrant personality seemingly extinguished by the traumatic events you had endured. Barkley had never seen you so quiet; you were always the talker, the light of the family, bringing laughter and joy wherever you went. But now, the silence that surrounded you felt suffocating, like a heavy blanket weighing down on their already burdened hearts.

Days passed, and Barkley's fears began to materialize. Despite being released from the hospital, you remained distant and cold, your eyes hollow and devoid of the spark that once lit up your face. The only time you opened your mouth was to recount the harrowing details of your kidnapping and assault to the police at the hospital. After that, you retreated into yourself, shutting out the world and refusing to engage with anyone, not even your father, who had always seemed to be the center of your world.

"Barkley, I don't know what to do," Sarah confided in him one evening, her voice trembling with worry. "She won't talk to me, she won't talk to Eli...I'm afraid she's slipping away from us."

Barkley's heart ached at the pain in his mother's voice, his own sense of helplessness mirrored in her eyes. "I know, Mom. I'm worried too," he admitted softly, his voice tinged with sadness.

Together, they sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts as they grappled with the enormity of the situation. Barkley couldn't help but feel a sense of guilt gnawing at his conscience; if only he had been able to protect you, to prevent this tragedy from befalling you. But deep down, he knew that no amount of regret could change what had happened.

As days turned into weeks, Barkley watched you from a distance, his heart heavy with worry and guilt. You had retreated into yourself, isolating yourself in your apartment and shutting out the world. Barkley couldn't help but feel a sense of helplessness as he watched you paint, your once vibrant and colorful creations now replaced by somber and melancholic images.

He tried to talk to you, to break through the wall of silence that surrounded you, but you ignored his every attempt. It pained him to see you like this, lost in your own despair, but he didn't know what else to do.

One evening, as Barkley once again attempted to reach out to you, you brushed him off without a word, your silence speaking volumes. Defeated, Barkley turned and walked away, his heart heavy with disappointment.

But Barkley had a plan, a desperate bid to escape the suffocating weight of his guilt and the toxic environment that surrounded him. With your mother's help, he concocted a scheme to steal money from your father, Eli, and leave town for good.

Together, they managed to steal two million dollars from Eli’s accounts—enough to start a new life, far from the pain and suffering that consumed his family. They assured you that you would be fine, asking if you wanted to go with them, but your silence was answer enough.

And so, one fateful night, Barkley and your mother disappeared into the night, leaving you behind in your empty apartment, alone with your thoughts and your paintings.

Meanwhile, in his luxurious home, Eli wasted away, drowning his sorrows in alcohol as he wallowed in self-pity and regret. He had lost everything – his money, his wife, and now his son. But he still had you, his daughter, his beautiful daughter whom he had failed to protect.

Eli's cell phone rang on the coffee table in the dimly lit living room, breaking the silence that had enveloped the house for weeks. He glanced at the caller ID but didn't recognize the number, yet he answered it eagerly, hoping for some sign of life amidst the desolation.

"Hello?" Eli's voice trembled with anticipation as he held the phone to his ear.

"Dad?" Your voice, soft and distant, echoed through the line, sending a surge of relief and concern coursing through Eli's veins. He hadn't heard your voice in weeks, and the sound of it now filled him with a mixture of joy and apprehension.

"Is that you, sweetheart?" Eli's heart raced as he waited for your response, his mind racing with a thousand questions.

But before he could say anything else, you interrupted him, your voice carrying a weight that chilled him to the bone. "You were right, Dad," you said, your words hanging heavy in the air. "The painter has to die for his works to become famous."

Eli froze, the blood draining from his face as he struggled to comprehend the meaning behind your words. His mind raced back to your paintings, the somber and melancholic images that had replaced the vibrant and colorful creations you had once produced. Was this what you had meant?

"What do you mean, sweetheart? Where are you?" he questioned, his voice laced with concern and dread.

You continued speaking, your voice hollow and distant. "Because people like it, right? People like tragic things, sad things," you said, your words echoing with a disturbing clarity.

Eli's heart sank as he realized the gravity of the situation. "No, no, my dear, please don't do anything rash," he pleaded, his voice tinged with panic. "Tell me where you are. I'll come to you right away."

But you remained resolute, your mind seemingly made up. "I'm on a bridge," you replied calmly. "I'm going to jump, father. I'm going to become a great artist like Van Gogh."

Eli's hands shook as he held the phone tightly to his ear, the weight of your words crushing him with a suffocating sense of helplessness. "No, please, don't do this," he begged, his voice choked with tears. "I'll do anything, just please come back to me."

Eli's heart sank as he listened to your unsettling silence, his sense of guilt and regret weighing him down. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I know I haven't been there for you like I should have," he said, his voice filled with sorrow. "But please, don't do this. I'm coming to you right now. Just stay still, okay? Don't move."

But you interrupted him, your voice cutting through the air with a bitter edge. "You never came to my aid when I needed you, Dad. You never did," you said, your words laced with disappointment and resentment.

Eli's chest tightened at your accusation, the weight of his failures as a father bearing down on him like a crushing weight. "I know, and I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I've been a shitty father, and I regret it every day."

But you remained steadfast, your resolve unyielding as you spoke once more. "The key to my apartment is under the rug," you said calmly, your voice cutting through the chaos of the moment. "My paintings...put them up for auction. Maybe then you can recover the money Barkley and Mom stole."

Eli tried to protest, to argue that the money didn't matter in comparison to the value of your life, but you silenced him with a swift motion, sliding your cell phone and tossing it off the bridge, watching it disappear into the depths below.

With a deep breath, you steeled yourself, your mind set on your decision. "Become a great artist," you whispered to yourself before taking the leap, the rush of wind drowning out the sounds of the world around you.

As you plummeted towards the water below, a crowd of onlookers gathered on the bridge, their smartphones held high as they captured the moment for posterity. But you paid them no mind, your focus solely on the journey ahead, whatever it may bring.

A month had passed since the tragic day you took your leap from the bridge, and Eli found himself enveloped in a fog of despair. Despite his best efforts, there was still no sign of your body, no closure to the nightmare that had consumed their lives. The newspapers relentlessly replayed the cell phone footage of your final moments, each viewing tearing at Eli's heart anew.

With a heavy heart, Eli finally gathered the courage to fulfill your final wish. He put your paintings up for auction, just as you had requested, each stroke of the brush a painful reminder of the vibrant soul you once were.

Sitting at the back of the auction hall, Eli struggled to maintain his composure as each painting was presented to the eager bidders. Memories flooded his mind with each piece, from the happiest to the darkest, each one a testament to the complexity of your spirit.

He remembered the little girl he once carried in his arms, her bright eyes gazing up at him with an innocence that melted his heart. Back then, he had felt a twinge of disappointment at having a girl instead of the son he had hoped for, but that feeling quickly dissipated as he held you close, your warmth and love filling the void in his heart.

He recalled the annoyance he felt when you were a child, following him everywhere and refusing to leave him alone for a second. He had often found himself exasperated by your constant presence, yearning for moments of solitude that seemed perpetually out of reach.

Then there were the times you had forced him to have tea with you and your dolls, a memory that now brought a bittersweet smile to his lips. He remembered the humiliation he had felt, sitting awkwardly amongst your toys, pretending to sip from a tiny porcelain cup as you chattered away happily.

But perhaps the most vivid memory of all was the day you had drawn on the important papers he carried with him everywhere. He had scolded you harshly for it, unable to understand why you would deface something so precious to him. But you had looked up at him with tears in your eyes and explained that you just wanted him to carry a little piece of you with him wherever he went. In that moment, Eli had felt a surge of tenderness towards you, his anger melting away as he realized the depth of your love for him.

As another painting of you went up for auction, Eli forced himself to become stoic, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He watched with a mixture of pride and sadness as the bids climbed higher and higher, each one a testament to the impact you had made on the world with your art.

Finally, a man stood out amongst the crowd, offering two million dollars for one of your paintings. The auctioneer turned to the man and asked for his name, and Eli's heart skipped a beat when he heard the answer.

"Lionel Shabandar," the man introduced himself, his voice carrying a note of authority as he met Eli's gaze with a steely determination.

But Eli looked away, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts and emotions as he remembered who Lionel Shabandar was. One of the richest men in London, Shabandar's presence in California seemed out of place. Why would he be here, at this auction, to buy a painting of his daughter's?

The auction continued, and Eli watched in surprise as Shabandar purchased nearly all of the paintings, one after another, with unwavering determination. Eli couldn't comprehend why Shabandar, a man of such wealth and influence, would be interested in his daughter's art. But the sight of him acquiring every piece only deepened the mystery.

As the auction drew to a close and Shabandar rose to leave, Eli felt a sudden urge to confront him. He hurriedly followed Shabandar, calling out for him to wait. Surprisingly, Shabandar halted in his tracks and turned to face Eli, greeting him with a nod as if they were old acquaintances.

"Doctor Eli Michaelson, isn't it?" Shabandar's voice was smooth and cultured, with a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

Eli nodded, a sense of unease creeping over him. "Yes, that's me. But forgive me if I'm mistaken, but do we know each other?"

Shabandar smiled knowingly. "No, not personally. But I've heard about you, Doctor Michaelson. Congratulations on your Nobel Prize," he said, his tone respectful.

Eli brushed off the compliment, his mind focused on the matter at hand. "Thank you, but that's not why I'm here. I need to know why you bought all those paintings."

Shabandar raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Isn't it obvious? Your daughter was a remarkable artist."

Eli's eyes narrowed skeptically. "Remarkable, yes, but why would you, of all people, be interested in her work?"

Shabandar chuckled softly, gesturing towards the paintings on display. "Because I recognize talent when I see it, Doctor Michaelson. Your daughter's art spoke to me in a way that few others have. Each brushstroke, each detail, conveyed a depth of emotion that is truly rare."

Eli remained unconvinced, his suspicions lingering like a shadow. "And what do you plan to do with her paintings now that you've bought them all?"

Shabandar shrugged nonchalantly. "Display them, perhaps. Or perhaps donate them to a museum. It's too soon to say."

Eli studied Shabandar carefully, searching for any sign of deceit or ulterior motive. But Shabandar's demeanor remained calm and composed, his intentions shrouded in mystery.

Before Eli could press further, Shabandar glanced at his watch and made to leave. "I must be going, but congratulations, Doctor Michaelson, your daughter has become a great artist," he said, offering a polite nod before disappearing into the crowd.

Eli was left alone, standing still amidst the bustling auction hall, his thoughts consumed by a flood of memories. As he turned to look at the paintings that had once adorned the walls of your apartment, he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride welling up inside him.

You didn't become a great artist, no, you already were for a long time. Since you were a child and scribbled on the walls, on Eli's important papers, until Eli got fed up and gave you a painting kit. He remembered the day vividly, the frustration in his voice as he handed you the brushes and the canvas, hoping to pacify you with a creative outlet.

He could almost see you there, looking at the blank canvas and the paints in your tiny hands, asking your father what you should paint. And he, in his typical dismissive manner, had simply replied, "Paint something that will make me proud."

And you had smiled at him, a radiant beam of innocence that melted his heart, before setting to work with a determination that belied your tender age. You painted and painted, your tiny fingers creating masterpieces that Eli had never thought possible.

But despite your talent, Eli had never been proud of your paintings, always dismissing them as mere child's play. He had been blind to the beauty and depth of your art, too wrapped up in his own ambitions to see the world through your eyes.

As he stood there now, surrounded by the remnants of your creativity, Eli felt a pang of regret gnawing at his conscience. He wished he could go back, to cherish those moments with you, to celebrate your talent and nurture it with the love and support you deserved.

But it was too late for regrets now. All he could do was honor your memory, to ensure that the world knew of the remarkable artist you had been. And as he looked around the auction hall, at the eager bidders clamoring for a piece of your legacy, Eli couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude towards Lionel Shabandar, the enigmatic stranger who had recognized your talent when he had failed to do so.

With a heavy heart, Eli made his way home, the weight of his emotions threatening to crush him with each step. But amidst the grief and the guilt, there was a glimmer of hope, a flicker of pride in knowing that you had left behind a legacy that would endure long after you were gone.

And as he gazed at the painting kit he had given you all those years ago, now gathering dust on a forgotten shelf, Eli made a silent vow to cherish the memory of his daughter, the talented artist whose brilliance had shone brighter than he could have ever imagined.

#eli michaelson #eli michaelson x reader #barkley michaelson #sarah michaelson #nobel son #alan rickman x reader #alan rickman

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laughroditee · 13 days

Text

Your Ghost | Part 2 - XIII Death

Part 1 is here

CW: this story takes place after Soap's death and contains supernatural elements, tarot, mentions of death and blood

Summary: Evangeline reluctantly goes to talk to Simon about Johnny at Johnny's urging.

The ghost of John MacTavish looked down at me with a serious expression. “I did. I need yer help, Evangeline. Yer the only one who can do it.”

“No,” I said.

He blinked. “‘No?’”

“No,” I repeated, my eyes a little too wide.

“Ye haven’t even heard what I want from ye.” John looked annoyed, his brows drawing down in a frown that lined his face. It made him look maybe just a little bit intimidating. Having issues with displeasing someone, who me?

“Don’t want to. Can’t.” I shook my head for extra emphasis as if I needed it. “Mm-mm.”

“Are ye always so childish?”

Oof, right in the feelings. “You want me to talk to someone, don’t you?” I accused, my finger jabbing the air at him.

“How—?”

“Knight of Swords. Air. Communication,” I explained as if this were common knowledge and a perfectly logical conclusion to reach. “You just have that very chatty air about you, and I dunno, man, I’m not about that life. I have social anxiety. I don’t play well with strangers because I’m too busy having a heart attack around them. It’s just not a strength that I have.”

John looked momentarily apologetic before despair swallowed the expression. This gave me pause. Fuck me and my Catholic guilt. “Fine! Okay, alright, I’ll hear you out, but I can’t promise you anything.” I sat down on the edge of the bed, just trying to quell the anxious jitters making my fingers shake, The Knight of Swords card dancing slightly in my grasp. I placed it back with the other two in the reading and looked up at my ghostly kinsman.

John’s examining gaze was concerned as he stood across from me. “Ye alright, lass?”

Reminding myself to take a deep breath, I simply nodded.

A single confirmation nod from John was all he gave before launching into his story. “I was a soldier in life. SAS. British special forces. We were on a mission a few months ago, chasin’ a Russian terrorist in the London tunnels. Makarov.” His eyes blazed as the memories washed through him, spitting his enemy’s name as if it were poison. “We had ‘im too. But the fucker was slippery. My captain and I got shot while we were diffusin’ a bomb.” John’s hand went to his shoulder as if to soothe the phantom wound. “Makarov was about to finish ‘im off – my captain, I mean – but I managed to get up and clap the bastard, only… I ended up gettin’ shot in the head. Killed instantly. Then Makarov buggered off.”

I listened intently to John’s story, my heart squeezing in my chest for him. “I’m so sorry, John. I… don’t know what else to say. You were really brave.”

He smirked. “A lot of good it did me. Still, Captain Price is alive, and I dunnae regret that.” His eyes seemed focused on something far away, and I waited for him to continue.

When he didn’t, I had to prompt him. “John? What is it that you want from me?”

His eyes refocused on me, his mouth set in a grim line. “I need yer help, Evangeline…. My boyfriend was there that day. One of my teammates. He’s not doin’ well.”

Shit. I blew out a long breath as if I was trying to exorcise my demons. “I’m so sorry,” I repeated uselessly. “John, I’m… probably the last person you want to go and talk to your boyfriend about your death or literally anything else. I suck at this kind of thing. I never know what to say to grieving people, even if I’ve known them forever. Words just aren’t enough.”

“Please,” he said, kneeling by the bed, his ghostly hand passing through mine as it lay on my lap, chilling me. “You’re all I have, lass.”

Despite the urgency in his voice, I was hesitant for reasons that should have been obvious. I stared down at the three cards on the bed once again, reinterpreting the reading as The Knight of Swords representing John, the Death card — for the first time in one of my readings — representing his literal death, and the Three of Swords representing his boyfriend’s subsequent heartbreak. There are always multiple ways to interpret the cards in every situation; you just have to move through it and see what fits—a little like grief.

I looked back at him with an expression of resignation on my face. “You’re lucky I like you.”

His face lit up. “So you’ll do it?”

I sighed, coming to terms with the decision I was about to make. “Yeah. I’ll do it.”

“Sorry I called ye childish,” he said apologetically.

“Mm.”

“Yer beau’iful,” he tried again.

I gave him a grin. “Aww, how kind of you to say.”

“Yes, I am kind. Now you compliment me.”

“Why should I when you just did it yourself?”

He chuckled before his expression sobered. “Thank you, Evangeline. I cannae repay the favor you’re doin’ me.”

I looked back at him, noting how similar our eyes were. “You can owe me in the next life, how’s that?”

“Sounds like a fair deal. So, are ye gonna clean up this mess?”

“Sorry, you’ll have to clean yourself up.”

“Funny.”

I leaned down and started to gather my fallen tarot cards, picking out carpet lint and hairs occasionally as I stacked the deck.

”Y’know…,” he began, “ye make me wish I could’ve met you while I was livin’. Think we coulda been friends?”

Deck neatly in hand, I looked up at him, a warm, bittersweet feeling blossoming inside my chest. “Yeah, I think we could’ve been. Could still be.”

He laughed. “Well, bein’ friends with me is a blessing in itself.”

“I’m sure it is.”

We headed out by taxi to John’s old flat to see his boyfriend, Simon. Simon Riley. I turned the name over in my mind as we drove, wondering what kind of man he was. It was odd traveling in a car with a complete stranger, knowing that you have a ghost with you. I kept looking at the driver in the rearview mirror, paranoid that he’d be able to see John, but aside from my own awkwardness, the trip concluded uneventfully.

I stared at the door that I was supposed to be knocking on and felt immediately threatened, that familiar fight-or-flight feeling making my extremities tingle. “Shit. John, I can’t…”

“Easy. I’ll be right here; I won’t leave ye. But we have to get in and get to Simon, alright? The eejit’s blootered.”

I stared at him in confusion. “He’s what?”

John rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Drinkin’, hen. He’s right sloshed. Now get knockin’.”

Stepping toward the door, I looked at John and said, “I feel like your Scottish level just increased.” I wrapped my knuckles on the door before I lost my nerve and stepped back.

He smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I think yer just too American to understand—“

The door flew open, revealing the personification of my Death card: an enormous man wearing a skull balaclava, no shirt, about one billion muscles, and an appropriately sized scowl. His displeasure was evident despite the mask covering his features. It radiated off of him in waves like heat, like the smell of alcohol that invaded my nostrils as it drifted out from him. Piercing dark eyes stared down at me briefly before squinting, and then he slammed the door in my face. I could hear his heavy footfalls retreating further into the flat. I looked at John, at a complete loss, and maybe with a bit of anxiety. Just a wee bit.

He sighed. “Knock again, Evangeline. He’ll answer.”

“Why do you not look convinced?”

“Because I’m not.”

“I appreciate your honesty. Is he gonna kill me?” I asked, somehow finding the nerve to knock again through my blooming dissociation. It was a genuine fear. What do I actually know about these guys? Not much. John hadn’t told me anything about Simon besides that they were both in the military. He most certainly didn’t tell me about how absofuckinglutely intimidating his man was; he looked like he could just break me in half with those dark brooding eyeballs of his, no hands necessary. My heart lurched, palpitating in my chest wildly like a canary in a proverbial coal mine.

“He won’t kill ye,” John assured me and my anxiety.

Ten beats passed. Nothing.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus,” John said in frustration and then disappeared through the wall of the flat. I could hear him swearing and yelling, all in vain. He emerged, raking a hand through his mohawk in irritation. When his eyes finally locked with mine, a silent plea filled them.

I didn’t like that look on John’s face; the pain and concern etched there was almost a tangible thing, and it hurt. It made me feel edgy and a bit unstable, as if the ground beneath me wasn’t as sturdy as I believed before coming out here. I stepped up and knocked again, louder, more insistent. For him.

This time, I could hear the lumbering stomps of Simon’s gait as he approached the door to the flat, and I braced myself for whatever might come. My hair sucked forward from the sudden vacuum the door caused, and I nearly expected the door to be ripped from its hinges, such was the velocity at which the door opened. I hadn’t stepped back, but Jesus, I wished that I had.

“The fuck do you want?” Simon’s voice was a low growl, his thick British accent raking across me like a physical attack.

There was that small animal voice in the back of my head as I looked up at the angry behemoth at the door, which said, with zero doubt, “You are going to die.” He braced a forearm on the doorframe, leaning in closer. My eyes widened fractionally with every millimeter that decreased between us. Shit.

“Um… A-are you Simon? Simon Riley?”

He blinked at me with unfocused eyes. He’d been drinking heavily as he reeked of alcohol, which was wonderful for me because we all know that drunk people are totally predictable. “Who’s askin’?”

My eyes flicked to John, who stood beside the door, nodding encouragingly. “M-my name is Evangeline. I’m here about John—"

“Johnny,” John — or Johnny — corrected me.

“Johnny?” I glanced at my ghostly companion, who nodded.

Simon narrowed his eyes. “The fuck you on about?”

“Look, I know this will sound crazy, but he sent me here with a message.” This was a bit of a stretch since, now that I thought about it, Johnny didn’t actually give me a message for Simon.

“So, what, you’re a bloody fortune teller?” Simon asked, his gravelly voice seething with bitter outrage.

Shit shit shit shit shit. “No, that’s not—“ I started, taking a defensive step backward, but he barreled on.

“What the fuck do you want here?”

“Johnny wanted me to—“

I had little time to react before he picked me up by my jacket lapels and slammed me against his door, the air quickly evicted from my lungs. The back of my head stung as I looked in horror at him.

“Johnny doesn’t want anything. He’s fucking dead.”

I froze under his gaze, which was both hateful and wounded, the cold rush of adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream.

Johnny interjected in a panic, “The first thing I ever said to him was, ‘I’ll save you a seat, sir.’ Tell him!”

I could feel my throat starting to close up. I couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, couldn’t breathe.

“Shit.” Johnny rushed forward, moving through Simon, trying to get him to loosen his grip, but it was useless. Next, he passed through me, my body feeling the chill of his presence, a strange, otherworldly shiver as suddenly, my mouth moved.

“LT, let ‘er go.” The voice was mine, but the inflection and the speaker was Johnny.

#call of duty #cod #simon ghost riley #cod fanfic #soap cod #simon riley #john soap mactavish #ghoap #ghost x soap #ghostsoap #soap x ghost #tarot #female oc #female original character #spirit medium #your ghost #your ghost cod fanfic

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