#except for just tiredness in general | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

towriteloveontheirarms · 6 months

Text

Your dorm or mine? (Felix Catton x reader)

synopsis: You went to the party only to make your friend happy. In the end it is you who gets the happy end.

warnings: innuendo, making out, afab reader

word count: 1.7k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

Dividers by me

The bass of the booming music fills out the entire room and runs through your body to make for a stuffy atmosphere. People are drinking and dancing all around or sitting to the side to either attempt conversation over the noise or making out. And you would lie if you would ask yourself why you were here. Despite belonging to the ´popular crowd´ at Oxford by extension this wasn´t your usual scene. Yet when your friend begged for you to come out to the Halloween party thrown by some students, you decided to indulge her. Ignoring the way, she wiggled her eyebrows as she mentioned that there would be more than enough cute boys attending to get your mind away from the bits that you hated about going out. However, your face does begin to burn the smallest bit at the thought. You are aware that she really means that one specific boy, that she had seen you looking at for weeks now. One of the only things that made you truly like every other girl on campus. Felix Catton. Yet how could you not. Whenever you saw him, he was smiling so genuinely. He was kind and surprisingly smart and sure he had that old money not having to care about anything vibe surrounding him, but no one was entirely free of fault. So, what? You are convinced you have never seen your friend smile brighter than in the moment you agree to go. Except for maybe when she more or less drags you along to look for matching costumes and finally finds the one. It´s stereotypical almost. Her as a devil and you as an angel, but you don´t complain about that. With a bit of luck, it will give you the benefit of getting lost in the masses. When it came to parties, people always seemed to go crazy. Going all out for the event. No matter if it was Halloween, Christmas or any other occasion. Even if it was just a random weekend. You highly doubt some of them even spend half of the energy they put into partying in studying, but luckily that wasn´t your problem. Your problem was the insufferable pain spreading slowly from the metatarsals throughout the whole foot, caused by the high heels you had been handed to wear along with the costume and the incessant dancing.

Yet you don´t get a break either. Right as you manage to convince your friend to take a break and sit down at the side to get a drink, you get approached by an impossibly tall figure, but even in the flickering lights and with the cowboy hat pulled down to hide his eyes you know instantly who it is. Felix gives you one of his signature, and to your detriment very charming, half smiles.

“Hey.” He says just loud enough to be heard over the music.

Even over the smell of sweat from the people around you you can detect his aftershave. One of the most alluring scents in the world.

“H-hey.” You answer though you can´t hide the stutter, giving away the surprise at him talking to you. Something that had never happened before and you thought scientifically impossible of ever happening, but here you were.

“You wanna dance?” Felix holds out his hand towards you, to be able to pull you onto the dancefloor should you accept his request. Unsure what to do you look back at your friend, who nods enthusiastically and holds both her thumbs up to signal that she would be fine on her own.

“Yeah, sure!” You smile widely at him and take his hand.

The next thing you know is being surrounded by people as you get pulled close Felix´s body. He guides your hips with his large hands to sway from side to side to the beat of the music that now vibrates all throughout your body. All the pain and tiredness from before is forgotten as you feel the vibration from the improvised dancefloor through the soles of your feet and up your spine and the firm grip Felix has on your body. You let him lead you willingly until the two of you are close enough to breathe in the air that the other has breathed out. You look up into his eyes only to find them already looking down at your lips. You pull your lower lip between your teeth and turn around in his touch to dance up on him some more, rubbing your backside against his front. As you do so, you can feel his excitement fit snuggly between your ass cheeks. One of your hand sneaks up to take it´s place in his neck, pulling him down ever so slightly.

Felix gets the hint and leans down the rest of the way himself to meet your lips with his. The kiss only lasts for a short moment, but the way he nips at your lower lip has you craving more instantly. How could you not be instantly hooked on the feeling his impossibly large hand holding your face by the chin. The room around you gets cut off from the little bubble you are in when you turn around again to press your chest to his, your hands cupping his face to keep him close, but no matter how much you try to stay away from him just to tease, you fail. Even with the added height that the heels give you, you have to stand up on your tiptoes to claim his lips again. This one lasts longer, each of you pushing and rubbing your bodies against each other as it goes on, getting more and more worked up. All you can feel is his stubble underneath your palms and his hardness press against your lower stomach. The noise, the people it all gets relocated to the furthest place in your brain. There is only him and you for the time your lips crush together, tongues exploring each other’s mouths until you feel like you know it like the back of your hands. When you part, your panties are staining heavily and his pants couldn´t possibly get any tighter. Your eyes straying upwards to the hat he wears gives you an idea.

You steal the cowboy hat from his head onto your own and smile at him, with him laughing back at you as it slides down from being a bit too big.

“Do you know the cowboy hat rule?” He mischievously mutters into your ear.

“Of course, I do. If you steal a cowboy’s hat, you have to ride him.” You recount the rule, running your hand over his shirt up and down his chest.

“So… Do you want to go to your dorm or mine?” Felix ponders as he takes both of your hands into his ready to lead you away.

“Let´s do yours.” You answer almost a beat too fast, making him chuckle again.

“I´m starting to think that you and your friend should have switched costumes. You are at least only half the angel you dressed up as.” He jokes, but every one of his words lights the fire of need in your core further.

Multiple times along the way to his dorm you two stop just to make out for a few moments before being able to continue. Even after you leave the initial party the air between you continues to stay thick to a point of almost being unbreathable. The only breaks of air you get when his lips are on yours. It also serves well to work the two of you up even further.

When you do finally arrive at the destination, Felix cages you up against the door with his much taller frame.

“Finally.” You breathe out in relief.

“I don´t think I would have been able to hold back another minute.” Felix agrees. “I would have had to fuck you right in the middle of the hallway.”

You poorly bite back a moan at the thought, letting your head rest against the wood of the door to give him more space as he begins to trail his lips down your neck.

“You like that thought, hm? What a dirty girl.” He acknowledges your reaction.

“Technically we still are in the hallway.” You giggle in response. “So, we haven´t entirely made it yet.”

Felix lays a hand on the small of your back to stop you from falling and with the other opens the door behind you. Walking you inside like this, your eyes are captured by his. The only indication for where you are is when your legs bump against the bed. Turning the two of you around, you gently push Felix to sit on the edge of the mattress. Giving him a show of undressing yourself, while he impatiently disposes of his shirt, touching every new patch of skin that you expose of yourself. Left in only your panties, you kneel between his legs to open the button of his jeans, pulling them down along with his boxers. As you climb onto his lap to straddle his hips, you feel Felix grab onto your hips once more. Fingertips digging into your skin from the sheer neediness of the touch.

The next morning, you wake up with a pounding headache and a ringing in your ears, but also deeply satisfied with one of Felix´s long arms laid over your middle. It seems as if he is still sound asleep, chest rising deeply and regularly, and even more angel faced than when he was awake. Carefully, you place his hand on top of the blanket that hangs loosely around his hips while you stand up. Hurrying around the room as quietly as possible to get dressed and out of there before Felix catches you. You are in such a hurry that you don´t hear the rustling of bedsheets behind you.

“Leaving already?” Comes the muffled, bleary voice through the pillow. Signalling that your efforts had been futile.

“Y-yeah.” You zip up the dress and turn slowly to face him. “I thought you were still asleep.”

“And yet here I am, awake.” He takes in a deep breath and turns his body to face you as well. Letting the blanket slide further down in the process. “I know you were just about to grab the rest of your costume and sneak out, but how would you feel about being invited to a cup of coffee or tea or whatever?”

The offer floors you quite a bit. Thinking about it for a second with what feels like only half of your usual brain power however leads to the same answer any other day or circumstance would have lead to. “Uh, sure. I´d like that.”

#felix catton #felix x reader #felix x you #felix catton x reader #felix catton x you #saltburn #saltburn 2023 #saltburn fic #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn x reader #saltburn x you

133 notes · View notes

moonlits-ocean · 8 months

Text

Long Way Home [Part X]

[Azriel x Reader fanfic]

Synopsis: Y/n is the daughter of a healer in the city of Velaris. After a small incident, she moves to the House of the Wind to work for the High Lord, Rhysand. Everyone in the house seems to welcome her except Azriel, the second in command. Even though he is just blankly polite and does not acknowledge her much, she can't help but fall for him. Does Azriel return her feelings or remain unfeelingly aloof?

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Read Part 1 here. Read Part 7 here.

Read Part 2 here. Read Part 8 here.

Read Part 3 here. Read Part 9 here.

Read Part 4 here.

Read Part 5 here.

Read Part 6 here.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Part X

My father had taught me that most illnesses could be broadly classified into two: diseases that had a tendency to spread, and the diseases that did not.

While treating a patient with a spreadable illness, there was a high risk of the caretaker getting ill. To combat this, we had made some discoveries like: covering the nose and mouth while in contact with the patient, washing hands with soap frequently and general personal hygiene. It didn't make the caretaker infallible, but it did lessen the risk of spreading.

Azriel didn't have a cold or any other illness that spread, so I was pretty safe from that. He had an unusually high temperature paired with aches, dizziness, tiredness, and a minor stomach issue.

Rhys and Cassian winnowed Azriel to my bedroom and I helped them get him under the covers. Father had fetched a couple of bags of his clothing and other supplies which I'd need. They promised to visit frequently and left.

I sat beside him on the bed, tears threatening to spill over again as I took him in. His skin had lost its colour, his wings looked limp and he was murmuring deliriously as we settled him in. Now he looked like he was in some kind of fitful sleep, his arms and torso jerking now and then. I leaned over and kissed his forehead, sending waves of reassurance through the bond. His body instantly relaxed and the jerking stopped.

I let him sleep until I finished making lunch, consisting of steaming vegetable broth which was both light on the stomach and masked the taste of the bitter medicine he had to take. I toasted some bread for myself and took a tray upstairs.

When I gently woke him up to eat, he had trouble staying conscious at first, but when he figured out that it was me, he fought hard to stay awake. I cradled his head against my collarbone and fed him the broth from a small bowl. He hadn't eaten in days, and I didn't want him to throw up the food. I let him lie back down after wiping his mouth with the hem of the shirt I was wearing. Then, I placed a cold compress on his head to ease some of the temperature.

The medicine started working after a few hours. His body started sweating and the temperature reduced to a manageable level. It was just as Cassian had said: it was quickly healable illness, but it had come to this level because he refused any medicine. I gently wiped the sweat away with a damp cloth, then applied a soothing balm to help restore some moisture to his dried skin and lips.

As the sun dipped in the west, the villa's magic lit the candles and sconces for light. Azriel's ever present shadows weren't there, and his beautiful wings looked brittle and fragile in the candlelight.

His temperature rose a bit, though not to the previous unmanageable state. After I made him have another bowl of the medicine spiked broth, I stayed up all night trying to keep him cool with damp cloths and cold compresses. Throughout the night, there were a few times when he seemed to have awoken, but it was just his delirium talking. He was far more relaxed now, and I stayed beside him and held his hand as he mumbled my name.

I was waiting for the fever to break, which might help him return to proper consciousness. I kept a careful watch to make sure it was reducing and there were no sudden spikes in his temperature.

Somewhere in middle, he also had a nightmare, I think. I couldn't get him to wake up, so I held his hand physically and also reached out through the bond.

Finally, the fever broke on the cusp of dawn, just as the morning birds were getting ready to herald a new day. His nightmare also seemed to have eased, and he was now calm. I had the sensation that he had reached out to me through our mating bond, as we were holding each both mentally and physically.

After another round of wiping sweat, I laid down next to him for a quick nap before breakfast. I had to take care of myself too to take care of my sick mate properly.

My body was tired from the all the work, and the nap turned into two hours of sleep. The morning sunlight was spilling through the open French windows when I opened my eyes. Cassian, Rhys, and my father were on the other side of the bed, and Azriel seemed to be awake. He was propped by pillows and talking to my father in low tones.

They stopped talking and turned to me when I sat up and stretched. Azriel looked better now, not like a dead body as I had seen him yesterday. His eyes showed apprehension as he watched me.

I merely stood up and walked to the door. There was a long conversation to be had, but first, Azriel had to get healthy. It could wait until that.

"I'm making breakfast, hope you three will stay for that," I nodded at the others and made my way downstairs.

I made some savoury vegetable oats, buttered toast and put the kettle to boil water for tea. Rhys, Cassian and father made their way down just as I was finishing up. They looked a bit suspicious to me, glancing at each other and then telling me that they'll serve themselves, and I should go just ahead and take a plate to Azriel.

They wanted us to talk and clear it out. Sighing, I carried a tray upstairs.

Azriel was lying back down when those three had left, but he raised his head at my entrance. When he noticed it was me, he started to push himself upright. I moved to help arrange the pillows behind his back so he was comfortable and sat down next to him.

His body was still weak, and his hands trembled, so I fed him the food I had brought.

"How are you feeling?" I asked after a couple of spoons.

Instead of answering the question, he looked me directly in the eyes. "From the first time I saw you, I haven't had a proper night's sleep."

I exhaled audibly, returning the spoon to the bowl and waiting for him to go on.

"You were alone and nervous during Rhys's treatment without your father present. But still, you never showed it on your face and saved him. And when you shifted to the House, you were a ray of sunshine that brought a smile to everyone's face."

I looked away from his intense gaze. "Never on your face, though."

"You've made me smile and laugh so many times that I've lost count."

I wasn't buying it, and raised an eyebrow at him. "Really? And somehow I happened to not see even one of those alleged smiles?"

He replied to this statement with a goddamn smile.

I wasn't amused. I wanted to smash the bowl I was holding into his face.

I reined in my rising anger. Maybe I wasn't ready for this conversation yet. I needed more time to sort out my thoughts.

I shoved another spoonful of oats into his mouth before he could say another word. Placing the bowl back on the tray, I pushed it onto his lap and stood up. He could eat on his own.

"Finish eating and take rest," I started towards the door.

"Y/n, please, wait. Listen to me—"

I whirled on him so fast that he instantly stopped. "Say another word and I'll poison your next meal and shove it down your throat. You can't just ignore me for months, giving uninterested replies to my attempts at conversation, then reject me when we found out that we were mates. As if that wasn't enough, you have the fucking audacity to FALL SICK AND HAVE ME TAKE CARE OF YOU! JUST FUCKING SHUT UP AND LET ME BE!"

I banged the door shut behind me and stomped down the stairs, breathing heavily from my outburst.

Rhys, Cassian and my father were at the base of the stairs, trying to eavesdrop on our conversation, I guess. They scattered like mice when they saw my murderous expression. Rhys started wiping down the table, Cassian was furiously scrubbing at the dishes and father was straightening things up.

I was amused at Rhys and Cassian. Never thought the High Lord and his commander would be doing a domestic chore in my house out of fear.

Fetching a bowl from a cabinet, I scooped some food in it and sat down at the table after Rhys was done. I set the bowl down hard enough to make the table rattle. The anger was still present. They all started inching towards the front door.

"You're welcome to my house anytime," I said in a low, controlled voice, making them stand still. "But the next time you even attempt to patch things up between me and Azriel, I'll poison your food and turn your dead bodies into compost for my fruit orchard. And that includes you, father."

They all nodded wordlessly and tripped over each other trying to hurry outside.

Well.

Good thing to know that my anger rattled even the best of the High Lords in Prythian.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Tags:

@kalulakunundrum @thelov3lybookworm @hnyclover @impossibelle @sourapplex @brujitafantomatico @venuseuripedis @darling006 @fightmedraco @lees-chaotic-brain @thesunloveschips

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Read Part 11 here.

This fanfic can also be found in Wattpad, along with other exclusive parts like playlists and pictures. Here's the link: https://www.wattpad.com/story/358573037-long-way-home

Happy reading! <3

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

[Thank you for your patience as I know I was late in uploading these parts. I love you all very much <3]

242 notes · View notes

writtenbymisunderstoodnerds · 1 year

Text

Unconditionally, uncontrollably, undoubtedly (Rose Lavelle x Reader)

So it's been a really long, stressful few weeks, I lost my motivation/energy to write. However, I'm lucky enough to be in the same time zone as the world cup which has definitely given my motivation back. With my upcoming holiday and moving, sorry to say this is probably going to be the last fic I post for at least a month.

First time writing for Rose, hope you enjoy :)

Words: 1.1K

Between media, training, recovery and exploring with the girls, it had been an incredibly long week. You would think with how exhausted I was, sleep would be coming easy, but it wasn't. I missed sleeping next to my girlfriend. Knowing she was only a few doors down didn't help. Of course Rose and I still spent time with each other, it just wasn't as much. Tiredness and missing my girlfriend turned into grumpiness which became obvious to the team at training when I practically ignored everyone or gave one word answers. Even to Rose.

Once training had ended, I skipped team bonding deciding to go float in the pool instead. It was relaxing and I knew no one would look for me there except maybe Rose. After maybe half an hour there was a disturbance in the water making me look over to find Rose crouching down next to the pool.

"Hey."

I swam over, leaning up to peck her lips, "Hey yourself."

"Glad to see you're not mad at me."

"Sorry about today, I was just grumpy in general not at anyone in particular."

"I noticed, everyone noticed actually. Do you want to come watch a movie in my room with me?"

"Can't promise I'll last a whole movie but I would love that. Let me go shower quickly and get changed, I'll meet you there?"

"Deal."

When Rose opened the door, I was met with a dim room lit only by fairy lights and the TV. There were flowers lying on the bedside table, my favourite pasta and chocolate waiting on the table. Rose stood next to me, playing with her fingers as a nervous smile appeared. It was understandable. While I had never really snapped at Rose because I was tired, I hated doing stuff when I was this exhausted. Preferring to either just watch tv or go to sleep with very little conversation. However, at this point I would do pretty much anything to spend time with Rose. My heart fluttered at the fact she had done this for me. I wrapped my arms around her, kissing the top of her head. "What's all this?"

"You get grumpy when you're tired or stressed. I know we haven't had a lot of time together and like me you're probably struggling to sleep. So I thought we were overdue for a date night. I know you don't li-"

"I love it Rose. I love you. You know me too well."

She smiled proudly, kissing my cheek, "I love you Y/n. Coach gave us permission to have a sleep over tonight since tomorrows an off day. He also said he doesn't mind if we do it more often as long as it's only on days off. "

"Really?"

"Really. When I said everyone noticed your grumpiness, I meant everyone."

"Thank you Rosie. I really needed this."

"I know. So did I."

Rose picked up the flowers, holding them out to me, "These are for you."

"They're beautiful, I love them. Thank you."

Rose took my hand, leading me over to the table. She had lit a few candles, spread a few rose petals over the table and set the table nicely with my favourite pasta, some garlic bread and a wine glass of cranberry juice. Maybe odd combination, but it was my favourite. I cupped Roses cheek, kissing her with as much love and passion as I could. I loved this girl more than I ever thought was possible.

When we had first started seeing each other, I wasn't really that into her. She was nice enough, she just wasn't my type. My friend had set us up and really wanted me to at least try, claiming that we had a lot in common. It turns out the only real thing we had in common was our love for dogs and soccer, but Rose had actually been interested in hearing about my interests and learning more about them. It had been a long time since anyone was so interested try some of their hobbies from time to time what I was saying so despite not being into her, I had agreed to a second then a third date. To this day, 6 years later, that was the best decision I had ever made. The more we saw each other, the more I fell for her. Now I couldn't imagine my life without her. Turns out you don't need a lot in common with someone to be with them, you just need to be willing to listen.

After eating, we just sat and talked for a while. Something that we hadn't had much time for over the last few weeks. It was the most I had been able to relax since the world cup started. I knew there was still a long way to go, there would be more sleepless nights, less time together and stress, but it felt like a weight had been lifted and I could breathe again.

One of Rose's favourite songs started playing quietly from my phone, making her smile widely. I held my hand out, Rose quickly taking it without hesitation. I spun her around, giggles spilling out as my arm wrapped around her waist, the other still holding her hand. Rose looped her arm around my shoulder, pecking my lips quickly. "You don't like dancing."

"Maybe not, but here, with you, it's my second favourite thing in the world."

"Second? What's the first?"

"You. No matter how many dogs we may get, it will always be you. 6 years ago, I made the best decision of my life when I agreed to go out with you. You've changed my life in a way I never expected. I can't imagine a day where I don't get to see your smile, hear your laugh or your voice. I look forward to the day when there's no more travel or nights apart, where we wake up and go to sleep together every single day. Those are my favourite times of the day, no matter what the day will or has brought, they never fail to bring a smile to my face. This isn't how I planned to do this. Actually, I didn't have a plan, all I knew was it would happen sometime during the world cup when the time was right. There's never been a time that's felt more right than now."

I pulled out the ring that had been accompanying me everywhere we went for the last month or so, just waiting for the right time. A hand covered her mouth, the other clutching mine. I dropped down to one knee, only letting go of her hand for a second to open the box before finding it again.

"Unconditionally, uncontrollably, undoubtedly, I love you Rose Lavelle. Will you marry me?"

Rose fell onto her knees in front of me, holding me tightly, warm drops falling against my neck, "Yes, yes I'll marry you. What is it you said? Unconditionally, uncontrollably, undoubtedly, I love you Y/n Y/l/n."

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #rose lavelle #rose lavelle imagines #rose lavelle x reader #woso x reader #woso imagines

297 notes · View notes

shadesoflsk · 8 months

Text

MILLION DOLLAR BLOODLINE — Traición

Dealing with the case in hand, you come across with some valuable clues. Check my million dollar bloodline masterlist for general warnings.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

pairing: Vampire/Agent Leon x Fem Detective reader

warnings: Sexism (from the press again) few mentions of gore and death, fucked up government, scent (First glimpes of Leon's vampire qualities yay)

author's note: hi... I'm writing this with one eye closed... exhaustion is taking over me and it may show in this chapter. as always, if you see any mistake, you don't. don't even perceive them. thank you so much and love yall.

“Thank God a man stepped in!”

A new headline, a new story being told. It’s rather frustrating to know that no matter what, reality would be twisted to the journalists’ desire and let the only person who actually cares about the case burn in the flames of depiction and hatred just for the ‘sin’ of being a woman.

The same shameless and brutal words are printed in a bright red that resembles the fresh blood of those leaders of the city. In many readers’ eyes and minds, they were expecting to finally see a man taking the case and bringing ‘success’ even though it’s doomed to fail.

No one grieves more than someone who has lost everything—but your right to fight is still running deep in your veins. With a grunt, you throw the newspaper on your desk, almost spilling the black coffee you were previously drinking.

It’s been less than a day since the candidate was found dead. The cause of death? Suicide which was, in a way, surprising. From the number of politicians who have “left this cruel world,” Mr Clark's scene of the crime gave enough proof that you were facing a real self-homicide case.

In front of you lay countless folders and confidential documents that the police department has collected from the first victim to the last one. The only obvious connection all of the victims shared was that all of them were Tier A individuals. People who wouldn’t disappear to find ‘the real meaning’ of life and would surely not kill themselves without a murder weapon.

So, even a rookie detective could surmise that most of those crimes were the smokescreen of something way bigger brewing in the shadows of the city. A city whose beliefs and faith in the government are so cracked now that not even the most nationalist citizens could find peace in their hometown.

A sigh leaves your lips, one that shows the tiredness in your system and heart. Sometimes, the feeling of walking in circles clouds your judgment and overall sanity. In hindsight, a detective ought to be a rightful and morally white person who would walk on fire just for the sake of truth and justice. But each time your eyes land on the atrocious clues you have gathered, the desire to throw away everything gets harder to bear.

Next to the pile of documents and boxes, on your desktop, is a photo frame which shows a younger version of yourself. Beaming pearly white smile with shiny eyes that could blind the camera itself, saying that you were happy was an understatement, you were delighted.

Truthfully speaking, you were naive. You loved to tell everyone you were going to be different, the exception of the rule, the one and only, justice bringer. But in reality, the sole fact you didn’t feel sympathy for those rich people tells you that maybe you weren’t so different.

Or were you?

Fighting between your drowsiness and the obligation to continue working on this case, you grab the envelope Leon previously gave you. A yawn gets stuck in your throat, not allowing any sign of exhaustion to show in your face right now.

The first thing that greets you is a document you quite don’t understand at first. The black words are blurry, proof of how much you need to sleep. A body can’t function without resting but you can’t function if work is due. Soft slaps around your face and a long-needed sip of the black caffeine liquid will do for now.

“Life Insurance…” Your lips work on their own as you read the title, written in black ink. The font style proves the authenticity of the document. Dated July 1979, the legal paper started with the log of a woman’s name and age.

Patricia Clark Powell, 28. American, caucasian. Marital status: Married. Children: 2. Now this is something.

Reading each word carefully, leaving no detail off the table, a rather big number got your attention. After a long overview of this woman’s life details, you come across a table that shows the life insurance payout.

The main and only beneficiary was Robert Clark, he'd inherit the absurd and grotesque amount of 5 million dollars.

But the catch here was that the only requirement to claim the insurance was the death certificate of the insured party, meaning that Patricia had to pass away.

You set aside the document for now. Your fingers graze over the corner of the paper to turn it.

A picture, no, several pictures come into your vision. All of them are colored and clear as water. The shoot is not perfect, as if someone was hiding while taking those photos.

The camera is positioned on a table. Hence the awkward angle it shows, nonetheless the main focus is on two people sitting down.

The table, the walls, and overall decorations are an obvious giveaway of the place they were in. An expensive and pretentious restaurant that only the rich can afford. A stroke to their damned egos knowing that they could buy and eat a whole cow if they wanted to. Not before wiping any crumbs with a one thousand-dollar check.

You squint your eyes and even lean forward to try and inspect in great detail each part of the picture—detective skills kicking in, you may say.

The man on the right has a neatly trimmed mustache, and bushy eyebrows that match his hair color, black. He's wearing a navy blue suit with a gray tie. Very office-like and rather different from his counterpart next to him who wears a hoodie and a cigarette between his lips. The angle showing the faintest details of a tattoo on his right hand, which holds the cigarette.

Flipping through the pictures, you see many more of them but just from different positions. Yet the main highlight is the now obvious identity of the man who exposes himself to the camera's lenses.

Robert Clark.

The last document is a newspaper headline. “CRIMINAL FUGITIVES” it reads and shows several mugshots of criminals who escaped prison over these last five years. Under the pictures, a text box includes some characteristics of the ex-prisoners. Your attention falls on a specific name.

The picture shows a man with brown hair and brown eyes, a stubble growing on his jaw and cheeks. Why was he convicted? Organized crime and contract killing, a hitman in other words. The text described the man as a 5’9 male with no moles and no notorious scars.

But a tattoo on his right hand.

Before you can even process everything you have read and seen, the ring of a phone breaks the solemn silence that has set in your office. Sliding to where the phone was, you pick up the call.

And before you could even utter a word, someone started the conversation first.

“Hey there, Sherlock.” A man’s voice greets you. Deep but smooth tone, easy to distinguish.

“Mr. Kennedy.” You reply, brushing off the nickname he just gave you. “What a timing.”

“Why is that?” Playing dumb, Leon shoots his question.

“I just finished reading the documents you gave me.” A seed of confusion is planted in your statement as you try to make up your mind with the information you just registered. “Where did you get all of this?” You say pressing the speaker closer to your mouth, whispering the words.

“Feeling curious, aren’t we?” Mock oozes from his tone, but there is a hint of genuine playfulness in his speech, as if delighted to be the one providing the confidential information. “You know… As much as I want to tell you, I just can’t.”

“Why?”

“Oh? Am I being questioned?” If you were next to him, you’d see the smirk that has formed on his face. And if you indeed were, a slap would be planted on his cheek, for sure.

Leon continues being a puzzle you couldn’t solve. From the first (and only) moment you met him, his odd and shared disdain for the rich baffled you. You can’t seem to break through the world inside his head.

“Does it feel like I'm questioning you?”

“Kinda.”

“Forget it.” You shrug, leaving the topic as it is. There’s no point in trying to make Leon spit the truth. At least, not now. “But this is truly a key piece to this investigation.”

“That I know,” Leon replies. “But as I told you yesterday, don’t do anything stupid.”

Silence fills the call as you take in what Leon said, or rather, repeated.

“Oh?” Bitterly, you retort. “So you think I’ll do something stupid? It’s funny, all of my male colleagues always told me that.”

“I didn’t mean it like tha—”

“Oh course you didn’t.” Sarcasm was dripping from your words. “Nobody does.” You add with an exhausted sigh coming out from your lips.

“No, but I truly didn’t mean it.” He finally finishes his sentence as your pause allows him to interrupt you.

“Look, sorry… I’ve dealt with these people ever since I remember and It’s just so… fucked up.” He adds. “You’re better than those dickhead detectives. I assure you.”

Now that you think about it, you may have overreacted. But then again, it wasn’t your fault. Being surrounded by people who discriminate and minimize every hardship you face, built a hard shell no one could break through.

Instead of sticking to the awkward topic and Leon’s reassuring words, you decide to change the direction of this exchange.

“Why did you call, Leon?” You ask, a tear forming in your eye due to the lack of sleep and the imminent yawn that threatens to escape from your mouth.

The polite and tactful pattern was broken as soon as his name slipped from your lips. No agent nor Mr. Kennedy. For now, he is just Leon.

Carrying a hint of embarrassment given his previous poor choice of words, he replies to your question.

“Mr. Clark’s wife is holding a funeral for him. I was going to tell you in case you wanted to go.”

His words catch your attention, the funeral could be the perfect opportunity to secretly investigate Patricia. In hindsight, a hunch tells you she isn’t involved—at least directly— in the candidate’s death. But it could give you some clues you may have overlooked.

“Are you going?”

“I might.”

You absentmindedly nod, acknowledging his answer.

“Got it…” You play with the phone’s cord. “I’ll see you there, I guess.”

The chapel shimmers with almost blinding lights. Even though the nature of a funeral is dull and gloomy, the contrast is obvious. The whole setting is the perfect opportunity to show off, once again, the money that was being spent on it. The air is filled with raw indifference and overall pure narcissism.

The lack of mourning and tears throw you off, especially when you feel like an outsider, you don’t belong here. Besides the fact that, of course, no matter how much you worked you could never afford the type of brand every individual was wearing—there is this feeling you can’t brush off.

Your eyes travel over the room, searching for the wife now a widow. It is easy to get distracted by the mingling of certain guests and hushed laughs. Time and place… you thought.

What is supposed to be a thousand agonies and a sea of sorrow turns out to be the perfect act of grief. Let God be the judge of these people who surround themselves in the miseries of others.

Amidst your judgment of everyone in the room, your task of finding Mrs Clark comes to an abrupt stop as a figure you recognize makes its appearance. Now wearing a dark blue suit, Leon’s frame is unmistakable.

He’s next to a woman, brunette hair that reaches her back. A black fascinator is perfectly placed on her head, a wave of cringiness washes over you for the choice of fashion she went with. That must be Patricia Clark.

Confident but subtle, the cackling sounds of your high heels mix with the hushed chit-chat of those in the room. At last, it comes to a stop as you find yourself behind the widow and Leon who had previously acknowledged your presence.

And for a moment, your eyes lock with the agent’s who wears an expression that could only be described as an attempt to warn you about something. But for now, you drift your attention towards the task at hand.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Clark.” You extend your hand while you introduce yourself. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Manners, of course. You couldn’t feel sorry, especially now that you know that besides being an empty-headed politician, Robert Clark was an almost-murderer.

However, you regret the fact that you chose the polite way of approaching as soon as your hand reached the air instead of the brunette-haired woman’s hand. Then, you realized this wouldn’t be as easy as you had thought.

A bemused expression forms in your face but it fades rather quickly as you remember your objective here. Taken aback, you pull your hand away before bringing them both behind your back.

Leon doesn’t seem surprised by the blatant uncordial treatment Mrs. Clark just gave you. A sneer is present in his face as if he were saying ‘I told you so.’

“Don’t take it personal, darling.” Her voice tone reeks of arrogance and a know-it-all feeling. “I’ve been here for God knows how long. My hand may as well fall off if I keep shaking hands.”

There was no reason to feel amused by the whole interaction, you have dealt with these types of people before. But, the coldness and tactlessness of her words throw you off.

“I understand.” You feign agreement as if the fact that her husband is fucking dead is merely a minor detail. “But please, allow me to share my condolences. A woman as young as yourself shouldn’t be experiencing this.”

You resort to false praise words. There’s nothing else these fuckheads love more than people licking their shoe soles and acting like they are the only people living in the world.

“It’s indeed difficult.” The woman brings her hand to her eyes, wiping the nonexistent tears that were supposed to be there. “My husband preferred to shoot himself instead of continuing being the man of the house.”

What a bitch.

Glancing at Leon, you find him crouching down in front of an infant. Given his brown hair, he must be one of the two Mr. and Mrs. Clark's children.

“Is that your son?” You ask.

“Yes…” An exasperated sigh again. As if she doesn't want to be here. In a sense, it is comprehensible but her overall personality wouldn't allow you to feel an ounce of sympathy.

“How's he dealing with everything?” And after that question, you believe Mrs. Clark will snap at you any time now.

“Like every other kid would.” She replies, sparing not even a glance toward her own child. “He prefers her nanny anyway.”

Mentally cursing the mother, your lips tug a forced smile, one that doesn't reach your eyes but symbolizes the end of this meaningless conversation.

Your eyes travel until they land on Leon and the kid. The little one's eyes seem wet with tears that he so bravely holds back.

Talking to children and elderly people was always the most difficult part of this job. Ever since you took it, those were your soft spot and Achilles’ ankle.

Leon notices your hesitation and motions you to join him. Scooting a bit, he gives you some space for you to crouch down too.

Greetings haven't been exchanged yet, instead of a hello, Leon welcomes you with a name.

“Lucas.” He whispers as you lower yourself to be at eye level with the infant.

You nod.

Lucas looks no older than 5 years old. A mop of brunette curly hair adorns his head.

“Hi Lucas…” You give the little boy a gentle and warm smile. He blinks some tears that fall from his cheeks to the ground.

There's no response, which it's okay. Unlike his mother's behavior, you know this innocent human is actually grieving.

You take your time as tiny hiccups and soft sobs keep Lucas from forming actual sentences.

“Lucas, this my friend.” It was Leon’s turn to speak. His usual chatty tone was replaced by an almost fatherly voice. “You told me you like making friends, didn't you?”

You watch as the little one slowly nods and wipes away the tears that keep rolling down his face. But this time, his sobs are coming to a stop.

“Are you daddy's friend?” He finally asks. However, the question was one you didn't expect.

“Yes.” You lie, as a detective you are used to telling white and not so white lies just for the sake of finding a bigger truth. But lying to a child wasn't something you were looking for.

“Okay…” Lucas responds and looks at both of you and Leon. A flick of light between the living hell of those pretentious people who act like they care.

“Daddy must be proud to see how strong you're right now.” Leon speaks once again and you witness how he ruffles Lucas’ hair in an attempt to cheer him up.

“You think so?” Lucas’ voice, for one, is higher than just a whisper. And for the first time, you notice how he's missing one of his teeth. “Daddy always told me to be as strong as him every time he went to the doctor.”

The word doctor set both of you and Leon off. According to Robert Clark's medical history, he was a healthy individual. No illness and not even allergies.

“Doctor? Was your daddy sick?”

“Weren't you daddy's friend? You should know…” You didn't expect to be outsmarted by a kid.

“Your daddy didn't want us to worry.” Second lie on the day, you're keeping count. “That's why he never told us.”

A pause lingers in the air as you reply to the child. It takes a while before he can answer your question as if conditioned not to talk about his father's doctor visits.

“He sometimes went to the doctor,” Lucas explains after a few seconds of reluctance. “He told me not to tell mommy or nanny. Maybe he didn't want them to worry too.”

“Was your daddy sick?” Leon asks in the same gentle tone he has kept throughout the conversation.

“Dunno…” Lucas pouts. “Doctor was also daddy’s friend.”

The kid’s naivety is providing you with more information than his mother could give you. Of course, his guileless wouldn’t serve any purpose legally speaking. But, it can give you some insight into Mr Clark’s background and motive.

And once again, you don’t have time to process the information as the rumbling of a stomach guides your attention toward Lucas.

“Sir?” Lucas’ eyes meet Leon’s blue ones. “Mommy said she’s busy… But I’m hungry.”

Leon offers Lucas a kind smile.

“Tell you what, kiddo. There’s a coffee shop near here, I’ll buy you something to eat.”

Lucas’ eyes seem to get brighter at the prospect of eating, it leads you to think how long has it been since he last ate something.

When you are turning your back to follow Leon out of the chapel—because there was no way would stay there for a second longer— you feel a tiny hand wrapping around your sleeve.

“Miss.” A pause and a deep breath. “Do you think daddy’s in heaven?”

“...”

“Yes, he is.” The third and last lie.

You tag along with Leon, both of you walking down the street until you reach a coffee shop. No words are exchanged and a rather awkward silence sets between both of you.

Your mind is somewhere else while your body works on its own. You don’t even notice when Leon asks you something, too worried about the case, too scared something bigger than you may eat you whole if you keep poking your nose where it doesn’t belong.

However, as stubborn as you could be, justice needs to prevail.

While biting the inside of your cheeks, Leon’s words bring you back from your trance. “Hey? I asked you if you wanted something.”

You come to notice that you have already walked towards the cash register. Both the cashier and Leon’s eyes fall on you.

“An Americano.”

You come up with the quickest answer you could think of. You watch Leon take out his wallet and pay with cash.

Eventually, both of your orders plus Lucas’ are called and you decide to take a break albeit your attempt at telling Leon there was no time to lose.

“So… any luck with Mrs. Newly Widow?” Leon asks as he takes a bite of his sandwich.

“Nope.” You stir your coffee and blow some air. “Didn’t know she would be so difficult to deal with.”

“Well, she’s no more difficult than you.” He replies jokingly with a feeble smirk on his face.

“Oh, you’re funny. How many times have you used that one with other people?” You retort, the sarcastic answer flying so gracefully out of your lips as if you have been ready for one of his remarks.

“See! That’s what I’m talking about.” He gestures at you. “I’m trying to be friends with you but you push me away.”

Silence dawns upon both of you as you exhale. Although Leon has been nothing but respectful—in his own way— the fear of looking polite and weak with a colleague is still very much present.

Dropping the act of being cold and emotionless isn’t something that you are looking for nor planning to do. Not until you could show the world that you are, in fact, as capable as any other man.

“Look, Leon,” You speak in a calm tone. “I don’t make friends, not in this field and especially not with men.”

As you say so, you reach for a sugar packet. No americano tastes good without sugar.

“Sorry.” You add.

There is nothing to feel sorry about. Your feelings and boundaries shouldn’t depend on someone else. Yet, a part of you couldn’t help but regret your bold choice of words.

“Hey, nothing to apologize for.” And even though he was the one who suggested the whole friendship thing, he is also the one who is soothing the waters. “I know men in general can be a pain in the ass.”

That causes a huff to slip out of your mouth. “Trying to win points?”

“Not really.” He says while chewing on his sandwich. “Besides, you’re too smart for that.”

You chuckle, finally ripping the material of the sugar packet. “Finally we agree on something.”

Drumming his fingers against the hard wooden material both of your gaze into the distance, not adding anything else to the conversation. The aroma of coffee fills the area where you are sitting with Leon.

“Lucas, Mr. Clark’s kid… you were good with him.” It slips off your tongue rather easily. A tinge of sincerity washes over your statement.

And you can observe how Leon’s face went from a resting and soft expression to a stunned one. However, after your previous comments, the awkward and uneasy feeling shifted into an amiable one.

“Was I?” Almost incredulous and even insecure. A slight trace of a vulnerable side you haven’t seen nor expected. “Thanks.”

Judging by his expression, Leon either had a soft spot for kids just like you or there’s something else you don’t know. Most agents show themselves as cold-hearted creatures who give no shit about anyone but themselves or their missions.

But it’s none of your business.

“What Lucas told us, about the doctor. Do you think it may be related to the case?” You ask, back to your normal and professional self.

“I believe it can help us to investigate further,” Leon replies. “but I fail to see how this doctor could be of any help in this case.”

“Maybe not on this one…” You murmur not even noticing the words that fell from your lips.

“What do you mean?” Leon notes your slight behavior change. Clearing your throat, you shake your head dismissing your previous words.

“Nothing.” For now, the missing civilians’ case doesn’t need to be exposed. You fear the government is behind it and the one you’re currently investigating. You don’t need Leon to follow each step you take, especially given his association with the nation’s leaders.

Taking one last sip of your drink, you raise your wrist and read the time. Going back to the chapel wouldn’t bring you more information. Not when everyone seemed more focused on their conversations rather than helping.

Searching through your wallet, you pull a 10 dollar bill and place it on the table, next to your empty cup of coffee.

“What is that?”

“For my coffee.” You respond, getting up from the chair and looking back at Leon. “I don’t like owing to people.”

“You don’t have to, you know?” Leon chuckles and shakes his head. “It’s on me.”

“Well…” You reply. “Then make sure to give it back to me one day.”

Ephesians 6:10-18

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might. Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil. For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm. Stand therefore, having fastened on the belt of truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness

Leon’s hands are clean, metaphorically speaking. But his mind is not.

He wasn’t directly involved in the numerous deaths of politicians and CEOs. He just provided the right amount of information for them to kill each other. Playing God amongst them, in a way only he could recognize and embrace.

Death has rejected him but he brings that destiny upon those who sought to destroy the peace settled in the city and therefore nation. That’s the role he accepted once the curse of immortality ran deeply in his veins.

It all started with hints he would drop in the middle of conversations. Twisted words that would seed doubts among elitists. Alliances were broken easily, that he needn’t worry about. But some partnerships were harder to break, sly statements would get him anywhere.

So, direct accusations were made. Obviously, under a fake name or rather an anonymous identity which would prompt people to feel paranoid even in their own homes. It took less than a week for lesser pawns to be found dead or disappear under odd circumstances. Of course, those who own the city would leave no trace of their crimes—so even for him, a federal agent, it was impossible to reach them without his mission being discovered.

So, as soon as he was assigned to help you in this mysterious case, he was delighted. He’d play his pieces right and boom, he’d wriggle his way into the elite that control the city with their tainted and bloody hands and root out the evil.

However, he wouldn’t have thought that his “eternal suffering” disease would act the first moment he saw you.

Ever since he was transformed, the adaptation path was rough and difficult to deal with. Nonetheless, he made a promise to never act upon his instincts, no matter how unbearable they could get.

When he first saw Mr. Clark’s body, it wasn’t surprising. He knew he would choose the path of dying instead of facing his crimes and past. They’re all like that. Cowards, good for nothing, worthless, usel—

A sugary and pleasant aroma flooded his senses which immediately put him at ease amid the gruesome scenario lying underneath his frame.

It wasn’t coming from the dead bastard, that he knew. So what is it? The smell was getting even more prominent each second that passed. It made him dig his short fingernails into the palm of his hand, forming tiny half-moons on the thin skin.

His senses were never that heightened nor his body was that sensible to even the softest of draughts.

And his body worked on his own as soon as the doorknob tweaked, he turned around and acted as if his work was the only thing on his mind.

As if his eternal life wasn’t about to change forever. When forever only meant pain and sorrow, at least for Leon.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil x reader #resident evil

75 notes · View notes

mikanotes · 2 years

Text

— GAME OF TRUST

banda x gn!reader

genre: friends to enemies to ?

warnings: mentions of death, killing, blood, manipulation, alcohol usage, aib stuff, barely proofread sorry lol

synopsis: Being at the Borderlands wasn’t enough, you just had to meet the person you’d told you would kill if you saw him again. Seems like the way you saw things changed during that time.

author’s note: yeah. so i’ve been writing this for days and i’m still not satisfied w it much but i wanted to post it so there you go. i might edit it but! yea!!

Three years prior to the Borderlands.

“Seriously.” you scoffed, bandaging the arm of the boy sitting in front of you. “How many times do you plan to do this, exactly?”

‘This’, referred to Banda, your close friend and unofficial roommate, coming to your apartment unannounced with injuries and blood all over him. Every time, he’d greet you with a sheepish, barely-apologetic smile and get you to let him in with an innocent tilt of his head. You’d have him sit at the counter of your bathroom so you could clean up his wounds.

It’s not that you blindly trusted him. You just couldn’t care less what he did to get injured. What bothered you, however, was—

“I don’t know. Depends on whether or not you’ll continue to take care of me when it happens.” he said, taking advantage of the short distance between the two of you to try and catch your gaze.

— Him. In general. He was a problem in itself. You were used to him, sure, but that didn’t make him flirting with you every other day any more bearable. Especially since you liked him. It was obvious to everyone including the two of you that you had always been friends who were maybe-more-than-that. But nothing ever happened, really. That was just the dynamic of your relationship.

“I’m not your personal nurse.”

“Aw.”

You indulged him and met his eyes, albeit yours were filled with a mix of annoyance and tiredness— A cocktail he seemed to like considering the smile that pulled at his lips.

“You’re so annoying. God.” you whispered, not noticing where your eyes fixated.

“And you’re staring at my lips.” he replied, teasing, “What? Want a taste?” he asked and suddenly got so close to your face you almost stumbled back. Except you didn’t. You looked at him with wide eyes and his smile widened.

Then you calmed down, scoffed, and pushed him back.

“Stop looking at me like that.” you spoke, tone low but not entirely threatening. You clicked your tongue when he only raised his eyebrows, like he didn’t get what you meant. “And stop acting innocent.”

“What about me makes you think I’m not?”

You grabbed a cotton ball of disinfectant and roughly pressed it into a cut on his cheekbone. All that did was make him wince a little and close his eye. You sighed and tossed the cotton ball away. “I don’t know. Everything?”

“Come on.” he exhaled as you grabbed a band-aid at the side. The TV in your living room was quiet, but loud enough to be heard in the beat of silence that passed.

“ — A man from Tokyo College was found dead in a residential area near the university. He died from blunt force trauma after seemingly getting into a fight. Reports say he was at a bar with friends before this. The police suspect a drunken fight with a classmate that turned sour.”

Your movements slowed to a stop.

Banda was getting drinks with some upperclassmen he didn’t like tonight. You knew it because you’d asked him why he even bothered going a few days prior. You knew it because he’d told you he wouldn’t be able to make it to your study session because of it. You’re not sure why all your senses pointed an accusatory finger towards the person you considered your best friend at this moment but you couldn’t help it.

“Sunato.”

“What is it?” he asked.

You didn’t feel your gaze move up to meet his. When you did, he was already smiling at you. You wondered if he had made it a point to intentionally stop speaking at that moment.

“Hm?” he tilted his head.

“Sunato.” you repeated, the name sounding a sour shade of uncertainty on your tongue. “What happened tonight?”

He wasn’t smiling anymore. He didn’t seem annoyed, but you couldn’t read him. The silence that followed your words was suffocating— Unbearably so. Each second of quiet staring was making your ears ring. It was deafening. You wondered if there was any sound at all. Even the TV felt like white noise at this point.

Banda stepped down from the counter.

One step forward.

One step back.

Your bathroom wasn’t the definition of big. But when your back hit the wall, Banda didn’t move more. There was a safe distance between the two of you that he didn’t seem to feel like crossing. Nevertheless in this moment, his mere presence felt overwhelming.

“Things.” he finally answered, quietly. “I pretended to drink a few shots with those third-years. Didn’t try to pretend to like them. They got annoyed and we fought.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “And?”

He took a step forward and came so close you felt all your sensed melt away for a moment. A short moment that felt as long as ever.

Then he grabbed the band-aid from between your tightening fingers and looked up at you. He smiled casually, moving back with a shrug of his shoulders. “And nothing.”

You felt like a weight was lifted from your chest, but the tension in the air didn’t dissipate entirely. Banda peeled off the plastic bits of the band-aid, before staring at himself in the mirror above your sink to carefully place it on his wound.

Then he glanced at you in the reflection. “What? Why are you stuck to the wall like this? You scared?”

You pushed yourself up instantly. “No. Why would I be?” you spoke quietly, turning away to walk outside the bathroom.

“Because you think I killed that man.”

A chill ran down your spine.

“I didn’t.” he said casually, lifting your worries a little, before plunging another knife into your chest, “Mean to, I mean.”

“Sunato.” you scoffed, turning around, only to realize he’d gotten impossibly close to you. Your voice weakened, much to tour dismay, “Stop joking around.”

“Should I?” he mused, tilting his head and searching your eyes. “I’m not joking, though.”

You shoved his shoulder and he only smiled. This didn’t feel like seeing someone you didn’t know. It just felt like he revealed a part of himself he hadn’t tried to hide, but hadn’t spoken about. Like something both painfully obvious and incredibly easy to miss. Banda was serious— He would have killed one of those people if he felt like it. And from the amount of times he’d showed up bruised and bloody at your door, a part of you that made your stomach twist told you he might’ve killed someone already.

“Leave. I won’t tell anyone.” you said, “ But if I ever see you again, I’ll kill you myself.” you spoke before you could think about it.

He didn’t argue, seemingly pleased with your response.

“If you try to kill me, be certain I’ll do the same.”

Present day.

Jack of Hearts.

You sighed audibly as you let the choker click around your neck. Getting used to playing games so much it was a routine was almost worrying. Alas.

You walked up the stairs to the guards’ room and took a long look at every person present. They all seemed to either be grouped up, having come over there with someone, or alone. You walked over to a spot with less people, and leaned against the wall of the corridor. On the other side of it, someone was staring at you.

You turned to meet their gaze. Then your eyebrows furrowed. “… The tag game?”

The boy in a white jacket chuckled. “Nice to see you again.”

You laughed a little as you turned back around. It wasn’t often you met people from previous games again. In this case, it was almost comforting. He didn’t seem all that bad.

Footsteps echoed from the stairs and your attention moved there. You stared at the staircase— People around you didn’t seem really attentive, not really caring about the last player for this game joining in. You had taken the second to last choker. So it could only be that. You figured making sure you saw every player could be useful.

Your eyes widened once you caught sight of the new person’s face. Your gazes met for a split second and you could swear you both scoffed— Although he seemed more like he was laughing.

The first round went by swiftly.

As expected, no one tried killing anyone. It was too early— Too risky. You stepped out of the cell with a deep sigh. You’d joined Urumi’s group so she wouldn’t try and turn the group of annoyingly naive followers she had against you at some point, but no part of you was pleased either. Everything about that girl screamed manipulator.

You started to wonder how many manipulative people were present in this game. Almost unfortunately, more naive ones seemed to be there— Which meant bigger groups to deal with if their leader was against you.

While the first one round went by calmly, you didn’t expect the rest to follow that rhythm. And just as expected, while everyone fell in mostly quiet conversation, the brute from the beginning of the game brought the person he’d decided to pick on to the main room with undeserved punches and kicks. You heaved a sigh at the sight.

The next few rounds were the real start of the game.

When someone told the poor guy to lie to the man who’d been beating him to know the suit on his collar, you weren’t against it. If that man was to die, it would be even better for his victim to kill him. Your only problem with this, really, was Banda Sunato staring right at you as his lips worded out the synonym of ‘kill him’ to the man. You’d chuckled dryly and he only gave you this unreadable look that made you want nothing more than wrap your hands around his neck.

Round four came around.

You were getting tired. You sighed deeply, chest heaving. You tried to focus, really. But it would’ve all been easier if you hadn’t been in the same game as him. Your hands touched the bottles of flavored drinks on the shelf in front of you. “They would taste awful warm. Couldn’t they refrigerate them?” you mumbled, complaining to yourself.

Footsteps slowed down next to you. Irritatingly familiar.

Fingers brushed against the nape of your neck briefly, sending a chill down your spine. “Your suit is Spade.” Banda’s voice whispered close to your ear, “You should be careful of who you trust.”

“Like I should trust you.” you spoke quietly, kind enough not to announce to everyone here that he was just as suspicious as they probably though. You turned to look at him and he smiled.

“Am I not trustworthy to you?” he breathed out a laugh, “That’s five years of friendship you’re ignoring.”

“Fuck off.”

“You’re sweet.” he hummed, leaving you alone nevertheless.

Years. Years without seeing him once. And this is the first conversation you have. It’s almost fitting.

You went and sat at the table the boy whose name you learned was Chishiya Shuntaro was sitting at, along with Ippei Oka. They seemed to be the most two trustworthy of the bunch.

Chishiya was frank. Blunt to a fault. This was assurance that he wouldn’t lie to you. Following the way he seemed to think from the few times you’d talk and overheard him, it didn’t line up with him to lie just to kill. Except if he was the Jack of Hearts and took his time gaining your trust.

Ippei was honest. Overly kind and unable to harm anyone. Your doubts of it being a facade faded once the girl manipulating an entire group of people— Urumi, told them to kill someone. You’d made it a point to stare at his eyes when she finally showed her true colors. There was no faking the terror in his features. Except if he was a really good actor.

You hated to admit but only one person in this entire prison had your entire trust. Ironically enough, it was also the person you told yourself you trusted the least.

You made eye contact with him across the cafeteria and he raised his eyebrows like he was asking you ‘What?’ then a smile, ‘Missed me?’.

You looked away.

Urumi was getting her group to kill someone again. A murderer or another, really. This was a prison, after all.

Round ten.

The cafeteria was probably the nicest place to be when it wasn’t suffocatingly crowded. Which it was, at the moment, despite the amount of players that had been killed already. You grabbed a box of chocolate Pocky and walked out of the cafeteria swiftly. There really was nothing good that came out of staying with people. Especially in these games.

Walking up the stairs, you tore off the packaging before grabbing a stick and holding it between your teeth.

Then someone grabbed you. They pulled you into a corner you hadn’t been paying attention to, and in a second, Banda was leaning against the wall and you were hovering over him. He leaned forward and took a bite out of the Pocky that was still in your mouth and smiled. “Thanks.”

“Really?” you scoffed, finishing the rest as you pushed yourself up, “What’s wrong with you? What do you want?”

“Your cooperation.” he said. You felt your defenses fall the moment he spoke. To be honest every time you two would exchange a few words, the same thing happened. You weakened in front of him. It was like letting him watch you crumble down into his hands without him even having to try— You hated it.

Even after all this time there was a part of you that was too attached to him. Too much to simply move on after the way you ended things. Before everything he was your best friend. He used to be. And that’s why the genuineness in his voice felt this important. Banda Sunato was a liar when he wanted to. He lied as easy as he breathed but preferred to dance around the truth. However this time, he really wanted your help.

You couldn’t see why.

“You have that guy following you around. He looks like he’d trust you even if you held a gun to his head, why are you asking me for anything?” you asked and the usual bite left your tone, unconsciously.

Banda did that thing— Searching for an answer to questions untold in your eyes. He stared and stared and all you could do was freeze in place. Then he would look right at you. Properly.

“You’re the only one I can really trust.”

“So now we’re just lying?”

He chuckled, tilting his head a little, gaze wavering. “I don’t know if you should be talking about lies. Didn’t you say you’d kill me if we saw each other again?” he looked back at you, “I’m still standing. What’s up with that?”

“You would’ve seen right through me. And killed me afterwards.” you only half-lied, “I didn’t feel like risking that.”

He raised his eyebrows. He wasn’t buying it. “I wouldn’t kill my best friend.”

“Banda.”

“Oh, we’re on last-name basis? Sorry.” he said emotionlessly, “I guess you really did mean it when you said you didn’t want to see me again. I thought you were joking.”

You made a face and he chuckled, “Come on. Turn around.”

“That’s awfully authoritative.” you mocked him. He raised his eyebrows, then pushed himself off the wall, closing the distance between the two of you just like that. You flinched a little but he only took a step to the side, then walked behind you.

“Let’s see.” he near-whispered. His fingers settled on the sides of your neck softly but enough to make your chest burn, “That’s Heart.” he said, impossibly quiet and close to you. There was something in his voice when he talked to you sometimes that you hated. It was quiet and low and touched parts of your hearts it shouldn’t. Even years ago, he always acted like this. He played around with your feelings, testing your reaction, for seemingly no reason at all.

Just for fun, you guessed.

You turned around just enough to look at him and he waited. You heaved a long sigh, before grabbing his shoulder and turning him around. He chuckled as he followed the movement, clearly amused by your behavior.

“Diamond.”

“Mm.” he hummed, spinning on his heel to turn back around, “Thank you. I’ll probably need your help in the last round.”

“Who says I’ll help you?”

“Do you genuinely have a good reason not to?”

You took a breath. And then left him.

Round thirteen. Or the last round, according to Chishiya. You were tense— Awfully so. It’s not that you feared dying. Or at the very least, not entirely. But it was more so the quiet plotting, revelations of alliances, last-minute decisions made based on instinct alone that scared you. Chishiya and Banda had both implied this round would be the last.

“Spade.” you spoke clearly. Ten seconds passed.

You tilted your head once the time was up and walked to the door, before waiting. Ten seconds more. Then you carefully and quietly opened it. You were careful to close it just as silently once you heard two familiar voices talking on the floor below you.

“So you do trust me, after all.” Banda said, stepping out of his cell. He was the one to tell you to wait. You almost regretted your decision the second you heard him claim you trusted him again.

“And you trust me.” you replied, reffering to the fact that he was clearly alive after trusting your word on his symbol. “Surprising.”

You looked over at him and saw the man he had seemingly become the ally of walk ahead of him. Banda tilted his head, “Unsurprisingly. Will you wait for me when we leave?”

You looked downstairs for a moment, seeing the suspected Jack of Hearts get cornered, and then looked back up at Banda. “Hm.” you hummed, looking around, “Should I?”

He simply shrugged before walking away, leaving you with just a smile. In a world like this one, was killing people really something to be shocked about anymore? After three years without him and more than a month in this place, were your thoughts on the matter that made you cut him off really still the same?

You scoffed. Of course not.

When the airship exploded above the prison, you stayed at the entrance to wait. And when Banda finally came, he smiled more genuinely than you’d seen him in years.

“You’re bloody.”

“Nothing new.”

“… Annoyingly so.”

#banda x reader #banda sunato x reader #alice in borderland x reader #aib x reader #x reader

867 notes · View notes

avatrice-week · 1 year

Text

Avatrice Week 2023 Masterpost

Day 1 - Fake Dating or Undercover

Title: Tell Me You Don't Know Me Author: quietblueriver Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Summary: Ava and Beatrice run into Beatrice's parents.

Title: Always a pleasure Author: orphan_account Rating: General Audiences Summary: “And this is the, uhm, wife, I presume?”

Title: Serenading in the Trenches Author: spaceosshy Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Summary: Beatrice and Ava are reunited after almost a year apart. They're immediately tasked with going undercover, posing as a married couple of prolific assassins in the hopes of putting a stop to Adriel's criminal activies.

Title: Missions and Love Author: Creativityx Rating: General Audiences Summary: Ava has been assigned to work with the OCS' top agent, Beatrice. It was a simple mission, pretend to be girlfriends, capture one of Adriel's followers and return to the OCS. What Ava wasn't planning for was her fake girlfriend being so beautiful.

Title: when dividin' up the universe (you could have mine) Author: organicdonut Rating: General Audiences Summary: “Okay, so. I have, uh, some updates,” Beatrice does not like the way Ava said updates, “About last night.” “Will the updates explain why everyone in the bar is looking at me like I’ve forbidden alcohol?”

Title: Will you be my fake girlfriend? Author: jessnope Rating: Not Rated Summary: “Wouldn’t people think it weird?” Ava asked, looking genuinely thoughtful. Somehow, Beatrice could sense it was a trap even through the state of tiredness she found herself, Ava had a spark in her eyes.

Title: Philanthropy for the Heart Author: SharonSharpe Rating: Explicit Summary: The Areala General Hospital is hosting its annual charity gala and everyone is excited for the social event of the season. That is everyone except Dr. Beatrice Young. When she makes the mistake of saying Ava is her date for the gala the two are forced to address their flourishing feelings for the other.

Day 2 - Injured or Sick

Title: Life is About More Than Just Fighting Author: strongwomenunited Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Summary: At the end of 2x06, you can see that Beatrice clearly had an injured side, yet in 2x07, it's magically healed. In this story, Ava finds Beatrice after Mother Superior has been brought back to life trying to get her armor off, but her side is in pain. So we will see some hurt/comfort, but you know emotions come out and their relationship changes...

Title: A Sick Day Author: strongwomenunited Rating: General Audiences Summary: During the two month period, Beatrice gets a cold after a busy night at the Bar, do they end up training or does Ava make her rest?

Title: That Lilith Voice Inside My Head Author: quietblueriver Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Summary: AU - Lawyer!Bea tries to bring Ava soup. Lilith helps. Sort of.

Title: I'll Hold You (Blood, Bruises and All) Author: spaceosshy Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Summary: The Halo pulses as Ava roars with rage, knocking Beatrice’s assailant backwards into the stone wall. He falls, limp and unmoving. Ava can distantly hear all the times Mother Superion has told her to check the body but she doesn't care. She's already halfway to Beatrice’s side.

Day 3 - Jealousy

Title: What Love Feels Like Author: strongwomenunited Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Summary: In 2x02, what if Miguel didn't walk into Bar La Vasseur while that woman was flirting with Beatrice? What if Ava took things into her own hands to end that conversation...? This story explores the idea of Ava spilling some drinks on a certain woman flirting with Beatrice. How will she react?

Day 4 - Soulmates

Title: Soulmarked Author: Creativityx Rating: General Audiences Summary: That fateful day when she was seven, saw her soulmark left incomplete with only the letter 'B' on her wrist. Ava learns to wear long sleeves that day. With little hope of finding her soulmate, she puts herself to work as a mechanic fixing cars to stop anyone else from experiencing the same as her.

Her life is ordinary until one client walks through the door with a need for repairs.

Day 5 - Hear Each Other’s Thoughts

[None}

Day 6 - Smut or Creator’s Choice

Title: I Can Taste You In My Rage Author: spaceosshy Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Summary: Lilith returns to the Cat's Cradle in the hopes of making amends. Beatrice has some things to say.

Title: The One Time She Knew Author: JetpackingPenguin Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Summary: Five times Beatrice didn't think Ava returned her feelings and the one time she did

Day 7 - Domesticity

Title: The Teddy Bea-r Author: Lapincobra Rating: Not Rated Summary: Fanart and a little draft for Day 7 Of Avatrice week - Domesticity

#avatrice #avatrice week #ava x beatrice #beatrice x ava #ava silva #sister beatrice #warrior nun #masterpost

224 notes · View notes

princescribbler · 1 year

Text

YOUR DYNAMIC IS YOUR DYNAMIC: IT DOESN'T NEED TO FIT ANYONE ELSE"S IDEAS!

(Pre-emptive content warning: discussions of depression, fetishism, ABDL, D/s, fairly extreme Ageplay and regression dynamics, and broader power exchange dynamics)

It's often hard to explain to people what my kink dynamic looks like with my fiance/ partner/ mommy-domme @giggle-byte. Am I her little? Yes. 24/7 diapers? Absolutely. Do I wear a chastity cage most days, and follow detailed routines and rules? ABSOLUTELY! So do I feel like she's the only one in charge, I'm this completely regressed and controlled 'slave', and we're 24/7 D/s? Absolutely not, and I'll try to explain why a bit further below. But also... kind of yes? But not in the way people seem to think!

See, I've been into forced regression, unpotty training, pretty intense ABDL and MD/lb things for as long as I can recall. Heck, most of my dating history I was the daddy domme like 70% of the time or more, instead of like 10-15% in my current dynamic. So finding a full-time mommy-domme and lifelong kink partner would, in theory, result in extreme lifestyle changes. Sure, some happened...but nothing i didn't ask for, beg for, PLEAD for over years of my life. Nothing was done i didn't consent to, agree with, and even generally DESIRED to have! The point i'm trying to make is this: I expected a specific 'version' of what it meant to have a mommy-domme, and especially a 24/7 dynamic, and i was just...wrong! See, my dynamic is based on MY needs, not the ones my penis thinks of when it's hard, and not the ones i read about online. my needs are mine, and they don't necessarily MATCH the expectation online! So why bother getting my partner to give me detailed rules, give me structure, etc? because it WORKS FOR US, and IS WHAT I WANT! Why do I have a bedtime? Because i struggled with tiredness at work in the morning and thrive on routine. The chastity? Well, i had panic attacks around sex, and momma suggested at first it would take my mind off the idea of having to 'perform'. Soon, i liked the whole idea, the control, the teasing, the build up...but i also didn't like actually feeling denied, and frankly when we first started, i had a pretty low sex-drive....so weirdly, my amazing fiance @giggle-byte actually helped me 'regain' some of that sex drive, enjoy and embrace...via CHASTITY! And now, it's actually her who is the amazing, controlled, thoguhtful one who handles that for me. I can ask to lock, unlock, etc...but the truth is she knows what i can and can't cope with and gives it to me without me needing to ask! But it's NOT about denial...she unlocks me every day, with few exceptions. It's not about control: I have the key, a backup key, a third backup, even in play where i 'lock the key away' in a timer lock i genuinely can't get into...it's never off my keyring as a spare. The idea is the DYNAMIC is there...but the daily rules are more open, flexible, and based on our mutual desires and needs!

Every time we reassess our dynamic we run into this over and over. Too many online stories, too many fantasies, and not enough realistic reality or even modern and flexible dynamics crept into our expectations...and suddenly, we realized that we aren't doing a 24/7 ABDL and MD/lb (and switch DD/lg dynamic, though she's slightly more private about her little side) relationship the way anyone was expecting...but it was WORKING for us very well, DESPITE that?!

The point I'm trying to make is this; Your dynamic, relationship, and needs are YOURS and won't look like a cookie-cutter idea. For some people into MD/lb, they want chastity, denial, cock and ball torture, humiliation, degradation, and the like. For some, it's purely non-sexual, cute, and loving. For us...it's sometimes very flexible, but generally it's more focused on cuteness, structure, routine, and supporting us both in our mutually shared kinky desires!

To wrap this rant up: Let's go through a few quick examples of what the EXPECTATION of a dynamic like ours usually is, and then compare it to what MY relationship looks like. Expectation/archetype against the reality!

Chastity Expectation: to be locked, denied, teased, humiliated, left wanting and desperate or degraded or even cuckolded! My Dynamic/Chastity Reality: momma uses it like a sex toy, it's not required, it's a thing i only wear for a few hours most days, but i CAN feel the desire for more...and one wore it the better part of a month, without prior experience with that, and loved it!

Diapers 24/7 Expectation: Public humiliation against my will to forcibly infantilize, regress, and humiliate or control me! My Dynamic/Diaper Reality: It's my fucking kink, i CLEARLY enjoy it and momma helped me stop feeling ashamed and worried. in fact, it's not a profound comfort and sort of security-blanket.

Switch Relationship Expectation: To constantly swap roles, or to only stay in one role at a time, or to at the very least struggle with who is 'big' and who is 'little' at any given time. My Switch Reality: It's fluid, happens without a ton of effort (admittedly this took time to establish), i can be 'baby prince papi' while she's still my 'princess'...even if it's 'momma princess'. Our roles don't match the traditional expectations.

24/7 ABDL and MD/lb Expectation: A lifestyle of complete submission, regression, denial, control, humiliation, and sexual frustration in order to become more and more needy and desperate...Eventually usually implied to end in either permanent regression, cuckolding, etc. My 24/7 ABDL and MD/lb Reality: Basically just the fun parts of that, without sexual frustration, plus my sex drive went from 'once a week' to '3-5x a day' and has made me happier, healthier, more confident, cute, and self-accepting. Oh and i get all my kinky desires met, fulfill the love of my life's kinky fantasies, al while getting MORE sexy fun, MORE relaxation, and IMPROVED mental as well as physical well-being. You know...NOT what i was told I'd receive!

So fuck the idiots who demand you follow their idea of kink. Well, don't actually fuck them, they don't deserve it, but i mean....ignore and disregard them! You don't have to have a dynamic that fits any traditional guidelines, rules, etc. If you want to have a unique dynamic, CELEBRATE your uniqueness and finding someone who shares it with you! And for god's sake, don't expect each other to fulfil a role neither of you signed up for, ok? It's OK to have a fantasy and yet find the reality unpleasant, preferring to live in a gentler, nicer lifestyle. Give yourself permission to be unique, creative, and DEFINE your needs rather thna having them defined for you! I promise: it pays off in spades!

As always, stay happy, stay healthy, and stay kinky!

-Scribbler

#ab/dl babyboy #ab/dl lifestyle #ab/dl kink #giggle-byte #24/7 diapers #cg/l relationship #mdlb relationship #giggle byte #md/lb #mdlb dynamic

123 notes · View notes

randomwriteronline · 1 year

Text

Ko-Wahi was a short variety of generally not necessarily pleasant things: it was desolate, cold, harsh, and - when the winds didn't rush after one another through the icy peaks with low howling shrieks, cutting through the frigid aether like claws of an enormous Rahi reaching out to grasp any wayward Matoran foolish enough to dare wander in its territory - it was abnormally quiet.

So it reasoned that if Kopaka, Toa of Ice and Hating Being Around People, was not found anywhere else, he had to have secluded himself to a place that at the very least resembled the environment he had first felt at home in.

He didn't even flinch at the rush of air that accompanied the stomps which suddenly stopped by his side.

"You're late," he only commented.

The jovial jab Pohatu had ready for him froze in his throat, and he tilted his head slightly in genuine confusion: "Late?" he repeated.

"I expected you to be here five minutes ago," Kopaka replied.

"You were expecting... Me?"

"Of course I was," the other replied matter-of-factly: "If there's something I can depend on, it's the fact you'll chase me down to the ends of the silver sea just because."

The Toa of Stone blinked quickly a few times, eventually smirking back: "And if there's something I can depend on, it's that I'll always find you somewhere snowy and deserted."

He then leaned a little closer and proceeded to add, in a goofier tone: "Like your heart."

The gentle elbow punted in his side made him snicker as he successfully evaded it the first time; he cackled a bit louder when the second jab actually hit.

His friend did not dignify his amusement with any verbal response. Instead, he extended his finger.

Pohatu followed where it was pointing, staring at the same vast expanse of white he had just sped through (luckily without having to skid through any frozen snow - perhaps one of the very few things he certainly did not miss about the island of Mata Nui), and found nothing.

At first.

His pinprick pupils, so used to the desert sun, struggled a little more, trying to tighten even harder or widen ever so slightly: even with the clouds shielding his eyes from the sunbeams turned blinding as they were reflected on the candid coat of snow, the uniformity of the colors confused and unified all that supposedly existed before him with only few exceptions. There was snow, snow, snow, more snow, a leftover Visorak web, even more snow, another patch of snow, something looking vaguely disgusting half covered in snow, some more snow, a lance of light reflected from a point just outside the clouds' range, a vast amount of snow, a smaller amount of snow, snow, snow, and one last puff of snow over there. Riveting!

But Kopaka seldom pointed at nothing at all just to stretch out his finger; and once he truly focused on the exact location he was indicating, Pohatu saw.

He saw a jagged thing, sharp end splintered and jutting towards the sky like a blade, ever so slightly greyer than the pallor surrounding it; he saw its missing half laying mournfully among the powdery ground, defeated, cracked, open wide.

He saw its entrails, eroded by the weather, far too small to properly distinguish one object from the other from this distance - still they glittered grey and blue in the lack of color as if to remind in silent screams of their existence, once, as tools and furniture and inventions of scholars, before they'd found themselves abandoned in the wake of their master's leave as strange crystalline gore only partially hidden away in the haste of a half hearted burial.

He saw dozens of the jagged corpse's kind - once pillars, columns, immense bastions, now nothing more than ruins. Enormous animals frozen in place, never to thaw awake once more.

He saw frail, beautiful exoskeletons awaiting with such tiredness to be crushed, replaced by larvae in the bowels of which knowledge would thrive.

The wind passed between them without strength, not even lifting a snowflake.

"Breath-taking, isn't it," Kopaka murmured.

Pohatu nodded in silence.

They simply stood there for a long time, side by side, looking upon the carcasses of Ko-Metru's knowledge towers.

Looking upon what was left of a city of legends.

There had never been a Matoran called Kopaka, in the Turaga's tales.

He had never competed with Ehrye as they rushed to run errands for the seers in the hopes of one day being allowed to stand beside them at the top of those magnificent crystal constructions, spending days pondering and reading stars, uncovering the secrets of the future to the point of turning the very idea of tomorrow into such a mundane thing; he had never known Nuju, never looked at him with awe, or respect, or burning envy. He had never walked those streets, or skied down those slopes, or travelled to the Colosseum inside of a protodermis chute.

And yet he had found his chest aching as he had listened to those descriptions, from a nostalgia that wasn't his own. As though Vakama and his stories had handed him a coal that had long singed the Turaga's hand, still weakly sizzling, that now burned his palm in turn.

Mata Nui had been all he'd ever known as far as he was concerned. There had been nothing before; and if there had been, it wasn't the land the Matoran had been forced away from.

Yet despite knowing as much, despite the attempts to soothe the dull pain that had no place in his logical mind, in the long last hours he'd gotten to spend on the chiling peaks surrounding Mount Ihu the Toa of Ice had been unable to keep himself from wandering away from the material world into absentminded daydreams, trying to construct a memory that had never been there, a life he had never lived.

He had imagined Ko-Metru many times. He had imagined Metru Nui as a whole many times, the orderly archives, the silvery canals, the smoky furnaces, the dangling cables, the unmoving statues - a world for smaller eyes (like his never had been) to see. He had imagined the Colosseum, its inner mechanisms, even the Vahki guards, despite their presence being nothing but an annoyance at best and a source of uneasiness and dread and outright danger at worst. He had imagined himself getting in trouble with them often - who would they have been, to tell him what to do? What made them any different from a Bohrok?

He had imagined them often, but he had never seen them. Never whole. Never alive.

As he stared at what remained of a city of seers, he ached to have been there. Maybe he would have understood better. Maybe it would have hurt more. Maybe it would have felt more like home.

But would he have noticed? Any of the beauty, the lack of strife? Would he have liked a life such as this, spent either pondering on who knows what, or reading pages of history before they were even written, or running around tirelessly for people who did both former and latter? Would this sight have stirred something deep in him now, or would his amnesia have kept his feelings at a distance?

His chest hurt. Something inside it ached terribly, pushing hard against his muscle and metal, like a fish suddenly rushing to break the still frozen surface of a lake in a bout of claustrophobia.

He felt strange, uncomfortable.

Like something misplaced.

Kopaka's eyes wandered over the crystal towers, suddenly overwhelmed. He let out a shuddering, watery breath, as quiet as he could.

He needed not worry about being heard.

Pohatu was too enthralled by the sight before them to notice his momentary frailty.

He gazed on, unable to tear his his eyes from what his brother regarded as an enormous grave he could not mourn properly, and beheld only a thing of beauty.

It was not the vast expanse of Po-Wahi's desert, nor the infinite lushness of Le-Wahi's jungles, the burnt forests of Ta-Wahi, the Ga-Wahi reefs, the cavernous labyrinths of Onu-Wahi - it could not even compare to the frigid landscape of Ko-Wahi despite all their similarities, and he could tell from a first glance.

Ko-Metru and its siblings could have never been what the Koro of Mata Nui had been - they were not a breathing nook interwoven in the world around them: they were carefully constructed bubbles, encased, entrapped within themselves, the wild nature that once had run through it tamed carefully only to cry out despite its weakened form once the binds upon it had been snapped to pieces and left to rot.

It was not beautiful in the way he knew a land to be; it was not open and grand to the point of being frightening. It was shut on itself, broken, a pale imitation of what it had been.

And yet he found it all so gorgeous.

It had embarrassed him at first - not feeling. Remaining still and unfazed as the Turaga had longingly described what the Toa of Stone should have regarded as home, a field of statues tirelessly carved by artisans of his people. He had struggled to imagine it properly, managing only hazy scorches of some undefined place, like a mirage in the desert; and hearing his brothers and sisters wonder aloud, so curious, of how they would have expected their Metru to be, he'd been all but mortified at his own lackluster enthusiasm.

Had he really grown so self centered? All the world seemed to feel as though it had only started existing with his birth upon that fateful shore.

A city of legends on the other side of the sea... He could not have ever pictured it.

But now he was there, walking upon its streets, traveling across its lands, and it looked nothing like it had been described: it looked shattered and lost, and broken, and rusted, and standing still where it had once stood so proud and shining only to spite the cruelty of time that wanted it to bend and turn leveled.

Pohatu had lost himself between scattered remains of monumental statues, details sanded down until unrecognizable, or filled with what little life could make its home in such a crevice. He has searched between the broken Kanohi nobody had ever melted down again, seeing his and his siblings' likenesses over and over and over and over, he had followed broken cables back to the towers from which they had once served a purpose, raced along empty canals to make a sense of them, peeked into tunnels the roofs of which had been torn open like dissected anthills.

Metru Nui had never been whole, not for him.

It had always been this gorgeous wreck, this beautiful ruined landscape. He could not imagine it as anything less; he could not see it as anything mournful, or dead, or ugly.

Each toppled building was where it should have been. Each destroyed spire was exactly as the Great Spirit had intended it to be.

Such a frail, stubborn, lovely, wild thing.

A tragedy and a celebration.

Glowing brighter than the twin suns with every ounce of its incomplete, breath-taking beauty.

Kopaka felt something tug very gently at his arm. When he turned, he noticed Pohatu still hadn't taken his eyes away from the shimmering remains of the towers.

"Did you want to show me this?" the Toa asked, quietly, quietly.

His friend looked back to the sight before them and swallowed a heavy knot in his throat: "I did," he replied.

The grip on his limb tightened ever so slightly.

Comfortingly.

"Thank you." Pohatu whispered.

Kopaka did not answer.

They looked on.

#bionicle #pohatu #kopaka #metru nui #random writing #second hand nostalgia vs finding beauty in ruins: fight (the opponents start kissing each other tenderly)#in other news hi ive read 7 bionicle books in abt a month and im not even remotely mentally stable about these guys #both of these feelings in regards to the past are ones i experience and consequentially im feeling them abt bionicle too #it was never properly alive for me so im entranced by the story and the works and the fans and everything as someone from After It Happened #but at the same time i feel an ache to have been there at the beginning even though i physically couldnt have been #anyways sorry if stuff is ooc. i love these two lads but ive never written for em before #big shoutout to my friend rabid. i love you. thank you for letting the Fleshy Annotations swallow me whole

68 notes · View notes

0alanasworld0 · 2 years

Text

Wedding Night (Hakim Ziyech x reader) *smut

Request 1: Smut w ziyech about ur first time? You’re nervous and he’s really gentle and reassuring you and then you guys take a bath together.

Request 2: wedding night the reader loses his virginity well after the wedding night hakim teases her that she is shy except that it is totally normal it is her husband

Warnings: smut, loss of virginity

The pair of you, having finally managed to escape the wedding reception with the help of the guests flocking to the desserts buffet. Your heels are in one hand and the other is tightly holding onto Hakim’s. You run together from the Wedding hall and to the lift that would take you to the floor of the penthouse suite he booked. You laugh breathlessly, leaning on each other when you finally reach the lift together and the doors close.

“There had to have been an easier way to do that.” you say with a smile, still trying to catch your breath and your head resting on his shoulder.

“But this was the fun way!” he explains, placing a hand on your back. You lift your head to glare at him. He holds his hands up in surrender and you shake your head, returning it back to his shoulder. The tone can be heard when the elevator doors open to your floor. You whine as the day in general has left you shattered and the final walk to your shared suite suddenly feels like miles away. Everything just feels heavy: the dress you changed into after the main ceremony felt like a cloud at first but now it's reminding you of the weights Hakim gets you to try whenever you work out together. The makeup feels suffocating on your skin and you’re so glad that the hair is minimally styled at least.

The day went without a hitch and you couldn’t be happier that you were now officially married to the man you adored with every cell in your body. It was a blast from the very first minute of the occasion; you will fondly remember Mason among other teammates of Hakim’s trying to woo your single Moroccan friends only to fumble so badly on the dancefloor that all of you were tearing up from laughter.

If the pair of you couldn’t make it any clearer just how madly in love you were, neither of you were even paying attention to the speeches as you all took your seats. You grew a little tired and opted to lay your head on his shoulder and play with his hand on top of the table. You were so engrossed with admiring his hand and he was so busy admiring you that neither of you even realised the guests eyeing the pair of you. During the main ceremony, he would hold up your nose ring so you could drink and eat, his hand always resting on yours otherwise. The photographer certainly got some good shots of the night, to say the least.

Ahe whole day was a dream but the energy of the day was wearing off and quickly.

He takes note of your state and opts to carry you bridal style for the remainder of the journey. You sigh out in relief, closing your eyes until he reaches the door. You take the key card out from your small purse and stretch down to unlock the door. Hakim kicks it open, tossing you onto the king-sized bed. He takes off his blazer and works quickly to unbutton the crisp, white dress shirt he donned. You sit up, already reaching back to unzip your dress but he’s there before you, pulling it down your shoulders, letting his fingers graze your arms. You close your eyes as you saviour the feeling. Your mind vaguely registered where this was going but it wasn't enough to overcome your tiredness. You pull it down the rest of your body, letting it fall to the floor, too tired to grab a clothing hanger and place it in the wardrobe. He helps with the jewellery next, unclasping the heavy necklace and carefully placing it on the bedside table while you do the earrings and nose ring one by one. Once again, the feeling of his hands lingering on your upper back sends a chill down your spine and you shift slightly. You were starting to liven up a little now, thoughts registering properly.

You didn’t really know what to say to him, to put it lightly. You had definitely imagined this moment for a very long time and so did he. You didn’t regret waiting until marriage with him one bit, it was never something he pressured you about and it certainly didn’t stop him from expressing your love for each other. But once again, you had built this moment up in your head for a while now, you couldn’t help but overthink things. The last thing you wanted was to disappoint him and ruin such a special day.

“We don’t have to do this today, sweetheart.” he says softly, wrapping his arms around you and kissing the side of your head. You trace the veins of his forearm as you think. You gently remove them and turn to face him. Your heart starts beating a bit faster as it's the first time he’s seen you like this.

“No, I want this.” you reassure him and with that, his hand cups your cheek, bringing your face towards his in a soft kiss. You can’t help but melt into it as you close your eyes and savour the feeling. His arms pull you closer and you wrap your own around his shoulders, letting your hands glide over his toned body. He slowly leans towards you until you’re resting on your back and you finally break apart for breath. He’s still very close and you can feel his warm breath on your face as he pants slightly.

“I knew you were stunning but this is something else.” he comments with a smile, eyes trailing up and down your body, and you preen in response, nerves slowly melting away into nothing.

His eyes frantically search yours for any indication of wanting to stop but you still look comfortable, even when his hands move further down and reach the cups of your bra, a thumb circling the hardened bud that was clearly poking through the delicate fabric. Your eyes flutter closed and you let out a breath you didn’t even realise you were holding. The barrier in between you begins to get on your nerves so you quickly reach your hands back to unclasp it. He helps pull it from you, throwing it someplace else in the room without giving it much of a thought.

Your face heats up under his intense gaze as it falls to your breasts, now fully exposed to him. He pulls you in for another kiss, more desperate and needy now as the moment catches up with him. His hands wander over your chest, feeling the weight of your breasts in his hands, teasing your nipples and you gasp slightly into the kiss. He begins to trail teasing butterfly kisses from under your ear and slowly down to your neck. Once he reaches your collarbone, he leaves an experimental bite that has you arching your back in surprise and bliss. You feel him smile against your skin.

“Say the word and I’ll stop.”

“Okay.”

“At any point.” he clarifies, and you nod with a small smile. He continues with small sucks and bites that have you quietly moaning, taking his sweet time with you and trying to commit the moment to memory: the feeling of your soft skin, the little marks that decorated you, the way you sounded. He needed all of it.

Once he reaches your breasts, he rolls his tongue around the bud before sucking it lightly in his mouth, his hand gently pinching the other. You can’t hold off the sounds anymore and release a fairly loud moan as you arch your back and hold the back of his neck, chasing after his warm mouth. You slap a hand on your mouth when you come to your senses, face heating up in embarrassment. He tuts and gently holds your wrist, pulling it away from your mouth.

“I want to hear everything, my love.” he reassures you before continuing the trail down to your tummy. His fingers trace the waistband of your underwear and although you haven't given any indication of discomfort, he feels as if he has to ask. He looks up to make eye contact with you and you nod your head slightly. He pulls it down your legs quickly and you immediately close your legs when you feel the air against your centre.

“Sweetheart, I promise that you have nothing to be ashamed of.” he reminds you, moving back up to trap your lips in a passionate kiss. He lets your hands trail down his chest and abdomen, reaching his slacks. You fumble with the button and zip but you finally get there eventually. He moves off you to quickly remove them along with his boxers and you suck in a small breath at the sight of him. He returns to his original position, continuing the kiss as both of your hands wander over the other’s body, admiring the lines and dips that adorn you both, enjoying the feeling of your soft skin pressed flush against his with nothing in the way. One of his hands trails down to your centre, taking a swipe through your soaked folds. You gasp into his mouth and his eyes open, concern evident in his features.

“Shall I stop?” he whispers against your lips, already removing his hand but you quickly wrap his wrist and move it back to its original place as you shake your head vigorously.

“No! Please don’t! You just took me by surprise, that's all.” you explain and he nods slightly, mouth returning to yours. He can feel your muscles twitching already as his finger circles your clit and you whine into his mouth. If the sight of you wasn’t enough to excite him (which it was), the sight of you writhing and squirming from the pleasure he was giving you definitely would. You feel him press against your thigh and move a hand down to return the favour for him. He moans into your mouth, hips bucking slightly in response to your warm hand around him for the first time. The finger on your clit gets rougher and rougher and your soft moans increase in volume with every brush of it against your swollen bud. He switches to use his thumb as his index feature teases your hole.

“Is this okay?” he asks, eyes flickering over your face, looking for signs of discomfort as he slowly pushes the slender digit in. you wince slightly and he immediately stops, on the other hand smoothing over your heated cheek as you get used to the feeling of the intrusion. When you regain your breath, you quietly ask him to continue his movements. Soon he’s thrusting 2 fingers in and out of you, hastily rubbing your clit in tight circles while you writhe in pleasure. It’s like nothing you had ever felt before and you just can’t hold back your moans. As the tightening in your stomach climbs, your moans grow louder and more desperate as you gently buck your hips to meet his fingers. He catches onto the changes and stops his movements, slowly removing his fingers from you entirely as you whine.

You turn silent when you feel his tip swiping up and down your folds, teasing your hole.

“Do you want me to keep going?” he asks, eyes once again filled with concern at your silence. You nod your head vigorously, opening your eyes to meet his sparkling brown ones, pupils now blown as he stares at you.

“Please… I need you” you mutter breathlessly, bringing his head down so you could feel his lips on your once again. You feel him prodding at your entrance but his kisses distract you, putting you in a comforting trance as he slowly pushes in. your mouth falls open at the stretch and you squeeze your eyes shut. The sting is a stark contrast to how soft he’s being. The grip you have on his shoulders tightens, nails digging in and leaving small crescent shapes carved into them and he hisses, pausing his movements to allow you to adjust. Soon the wait becomes unbearable for both of you and he gets his confirmation.

“Can I keep moving, please” he asks, nearly begging. The nod of your head is all he needs to keep going until he’s finally bottomed out. Your legs shake lightly as you get used to the feeling of him inside you. You can barely kiss him back as you huff and pant, the pain slowly but surely transforming into pleasure as he’s nestled against your spot. A small shift of your hips sends him into a pleasureful haze as he feels your warmth and wetness shift around him.

“Move.” you whisper, barely audible and he thinks he knows but he has to make sure.

“What?”

“Please move?” you whimper, shifting your hips again to relish the friction. He nods gently, hands taking their place on your hips as he pulls out to deliver another slow thrust. The feeling of you clamping around him has Hakim seeing double. He tries another experimental thrust, looking at you face to make sure you’re not in any pain anymore and he’s delighted to see no such thing.

“Does that feel good?” he asks, smiling at the way you moan in response.

His thumb circles your clit again and he slowly gets into a rhythm that sees you get louder and louder and your legs trembling. Now that you’ve finally adjusted to him, the roll of his hips against yours feels heavenly sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout your pliant body as continues to kiss you.

“I love you.” he sighs, forehead pressed against yours.

“I love you too.” you breath out, hands smoothing over his back.

The room is filled with both of your blissful moans as you revel in the feeling of finally having each other in such an intimate way. The slow pace grows frustrating for the pair of you so he speeds up the roll of his hips, getting rougher and rougher with the addictive feeling of you pulsing around him and you cry out.

“Hakim I-” you gasped as he grinds himself impossibly deep into you.

“Me too, let go for me sweetheart.” he mutters softly, eyes fluttering down to where you’re both connected. They return to their own before he crashes his lips into yours again. You both moan loudly into each other's mouths as you reach your highs. His thrusts continue, albeit much softer, as he works to ride it drawing squeals of delight from you until you come down from it. You lay there together for a while as you try to catch your breaths, warm bodies pressed against each other until your breaths slow to normal

He manages to pry himself off you, calming down your whining with words of reassurance and gentle caresses before he leaves to grab a damp, warm washcloth. You hum in satisfaction at the feeling of it against your sensitive skin. Once he’s finished, he throws it to the side and lays on his back next to you, getting comfortable under the covers. You shuffle to lay your head on his chest and sigh happily, finally being able to snuggle with your husband.

“How are you feeling?” he asks nervously, hoping that he didn’t overstep or or hurt you at any point. the idea of causing you any pain or not noticing it made his stomach churn. he can't describe his relief with your response.

“Amazing.” you gleefully reply, eyes drooping as the events of the day fully catch up with you. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head with a smile before falling into a peaceful slumber not too long after you tap out.

You wake up in the exact same spot, eyes struggling to adjust to the light that was starting to flood into the room. On first instinct, you look up to see your husband peacefully sleeping and you can't help but smile. Your hand moves to trace his facial features and admire him. The feeling of your soft hands leaving feather-light touches eventually wakes him up with a smile already plastered on as he looks down to meet your loving gaze.

“Good morning, Mrs Ziyech.” you roll your eyes at the cheesiness and hide your head.

“Good morning Mr Ziyech.” you mumble and he chuckles quietly, it's still too early to be any louder. His hand draws random shapes on your back as you lay in silence for a while, the events of the night prior flicking over, widening the smiles on both of your faces.

“We need a bath.” he declares and you nod your head with a sigh, shortly moving off him to stand but you’re immediately unsteady. You huff, quickly opting to sit on the bed again. With this, he quickly rises, carrying you once more to the luxurious bathroom, placing you down onto the closed toilet seat as he gets the bath running to the right temperature. He gives you a choice between the different scented bubbles and you opt for lavender, to which he obliges, pouring some of it into the warm water. He gently places you in first before getting in behind you and hugging you, nose pressed into the crook of your neck. His hands wander over your figure, gently massaging the sore muscles, once again trying to commit everything to memory as the water lulls you both into another peaceful silence, soreness washing away already.

Neither of you knew what the future held but you had enough faith and hope in each other to feel excited about it. You trusted each other with everything, the bond keeping you together held strong and you felt confident that so long as you had each other, you could take on anything. You two were truly a match made in heaven and this was only one step to reaffirm it. All you needed was each other.

This was a very highly covetted request haha. i hope i did it justice and i hope u enjoy, lovelies xxx

#footballer fic #footballer imagine #hakim ziyech #hakim ziyech imagine #hakim ziyech imagines #hakim ziyech x reader #chelsea

168 notes · View notes

oneshotnewbie · 2 years

Note

Can you also do a oneshot where R falls asleep ok Scars couch in her trailor and Scar is all motherly once she sees you?

Authors note: Posting something small and fluffy today because I feel like crap. Enjoy reading! ♥

---

It was 3.30am and the alarm clock woke you up rudely. Still half asleep, you opened your eyes and roughly pressed the switch-off button on it. You wished you could sleep a littler longer, but you knew work was calling- today was another day on the set of Black Widow. With an annoyed and tired grumble, you weakly rubbed your eyes and sat up under the covers in your bed. Immediately, a strange heat hit you. As you touched your forehead, you felt the heat and sweat pouring out of your pores.

-Damn it. Why are you getting sick now?!- you pondered annoyed and got up. With a yawn and aching limbs, you opened the curtains of your bedroom and let the sun in. The warm rays felt good on your skin but quickly sending a shiver down your spine, goosebumps forming on your body.

A look in the mirror told you that you were not looking good at all. Dark circles under your normally bright eyes adorned your pale skin. The blood had rushed to your cheeks and generated the inner warmth that you had experienced a few seconds ago.

You groaned briefly and averted your gaze from the mirror. -I cannot afford to be sick. If anyone notices, they will send me home and production will be put on hold for the time, that is not possible. If Scar and Flo will notice anything, they will worry- you murmured to yourself and laboriously began to get ready.

Less than thirty minutes later, you were done and tiredly dragging yourself down the stairs while holding on to the banister. Your legs felt heavy and shaky, unwilling to carry your body. Your step was sluggish and there were a few moments when you had to lean against the wall or stop in your tracks to catch your breath.

Quickly preparing your water bottle and your bag with car keys and yesterdays prepared lunch in a Tupperware, you nervously walked out the door. You knew that you only had to be in a good mood so that you could overshadow your illness, which would be quite exhausting and tedious in the long run- after all, your day lasted until 6pm today and both of your colleagues had eagerly eyes and a sense of your well-being.

---

Your lunch break rolled around. You tried to act out your scenes as best as you could and were now briefly free while Scarlett and Florence acted out their infamous fight scene in Budapest.

With trembling hands, you opened the door to your trailor and entered it before you heard the door close again with a gentle kick of your foot. You staggered to the sofa at the other end of the small room and flopped down on it; the exhaustion was too high.

You felt the unbearable heat all over your body combined with an coldness stretching all over your body and the throbbing pain of your headache. Added to this was the even greater tiredness that suffocated you. You just wanted to sleep during your break and so it happened that you fell asleep without further ado.

Except that it was not really your trailor- you did not pay attention to the name written in black letters on a piece of paper by the door. You just wanted to rest and sleep so badly.

---

Worried, Florence and Scarlett had been searching desperately for you after you did not come back to the set. Calls and messages they sent you went straight to voicemail, they found your phone without you in your trailor which had been empty.

"Her car is still here, she can´t be gone." the younger one indicated and Scarlett nodded in acknowledgement. Her lips were pressed together and her brow furrowed as she chewed the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. "Her bag is still here, her lunch and water.. all untouched."

A thought immediately came to Scarlett´s mind and she smiled briefly. From the beginning of the recording, you had confused her place of retreat with yours, you had often accidentally burst in on her when she was conducting conversations and interviews. "Come with me, I know where our kid is."

Both literally jumped out of the car and Florence walked after the older one like a puppy.

Scarlett´s caravan was right next to yours and she quickly pulled open the large, aluminum door. They both entered and recognized your figure in the farthest corner immediately. A deep laugh escaped the Briton at the sight of you; you were crouched like a small burrito in a fetus position, facing away from then, sleeping peacefully and unconcernedly on the leather sofa.

Scarlett twisted her torso back towards the door, gently placing her index finger on her plump lips and nodded her head towards you. Florence understood and tried to take her steps hesitantly on the creaking trailor floor, not wanting to wake you up.

Slowly, the red-head walked towards you, placing her hands on your shoulders and gently pushing you onto the sofa before pulling her coat off her shoulders and carefully spreading it over your body, noticing the chills and tremors of your it underneath her delicate touch. Your cheeks were flushed and warm, your body temperature lower than it should be.

"She is running a fever," she whispered as she sat down in the vacant seat next to you and placed her cool hand on your forehead. "No wonder she´s so calm and silent today."

Florence nodded in concern and pursed her lips while jerking her head to the side, walking towards you with worry. "What do you think she has?"

"I guess it comes from the stress. Due to the constant strain of job and study, her entire organism is in a permanent state of alarm." the younger blonde sighed in confirmation and rolled her eyes at the thought that you had not taken care of yourself lately, had put your health at risk and were now quietly torturing yourself without telling them.

Both were silent for a moment and watched at your sleeping figure; both Florence and Scarlett thought you looked so terribly hurt at that moment.

Although you were the smallest and shortest of the tree of you, you were the sportiest and fittest. You were the one who actually had the healthiest lifestyle and who, despite your incredible strength, also seemed weak and fragile at one point.

Both encompassed the sudden feeling of needing to protect you and to help you get a regular and healthy daily routine back, even if it meant that from now on they had to pay even more attention to you and see how you were doing. Much more than usual.

After all, you had become one of the most important things in their lives for both of them. At just 27 years old, you were like a daughter to Scarlett and a younger sister to Flo.

343 notes · View notes

zingaplanet · 1 year

Text

I've seen bits and pieces of Nadal's movistar interview and it's very fascinating. He's always more open and expressive in Spanish but there's just something that's different. I knew he was a realist and has a very grounded/realistic outlook on his life, I just can't help feeling a bit sad on this one. Though he's literally stating nothing but facts, it hits too close to resigned acceptance this time and feels a bit like a retirement interview.

I've always seen him as the accept-the-problem-let's-move-on kinda guy, you can see this a lot in his tactic discussion during laver cup matches and it's what makes him a great player I suppose. He's a problem solver, he doesn't really worry about things outside his control, "He's hitting a good serve, that's fine nothing you can do about it, you have to wait it out," "the wind is not perfect today but that's tennis, nothing you can do you have to adapt" etc etc. He was never really one to dwell on the past, always with the it happened let's move on kinda attitude, which I think is crucial for top level atheletes to not get bogged down by your wins or losses.

But it seems like he talks a lot about regret in this one. He said there are times he prioritised his competitive urges more than his health and life, like in Roland Garros this year where he shouldn't have stayed that long. He talks about pain, about the tiredness of living with chronic pain, about not being able to walk down the stairs, about making life choices of what really matters and what doesn't.

He's very honest and raw, he said he didn't congratulate Djokovic yet on his 24th slam because it honestly hasn't crossed his mind and because he might also had to adjust to someone new having the most GS.

What's perhaps more painful is what seems like this feeling of resigned acceptance that the sport is moving on without him. He's being very realistic, fair and honest about it. He said he's very proud of Alcaraz and congratulated him for his achievements but then admitted he's not that in the field anymore. Tennis will always be a part of him, but he doesn't really have friends left in the sport, except for Federer, who he calls from time to time. It's fascinating that he referred to tennis in general instead of just the current next generation ATP players who he never really competed against (and hence wouldn't have known anyway) as Federer is clearly also no longer in the sport.

I have no idea what his life is like these days but it gives the impression that he's seemingly trying to make peace with no longer having any relations with professional tennis (apart from his secluded academy of course) and Roger's the only one he still occassionaly keeps in touch with. He talks about the future a lot, about the many things he could decide to become tomorrow if he wants to, about being president of Real Madrid, about his academy that he cares deeply for, about maybe one day getting into coaching.

If I'm to make something at all out of this, Rafa seems.. ready. He says an illusion is for him to come back and win another Australian Open or Roland Garros (still with that little twinkle of hope in his eyes 🥺), but what's not an illusion is him trying his very best one last time to go back on court, to enjoy the ride, play the sport that defined his life, compete in the stadiums he loves the most, to properly say his goodbye.

#ah this interview will end me i think #it feels truly like the end to an era #everything is changing #when he said i don't have any acquaintances on the tour anymore and you realised most players you grew up with already retired #man this one's gonna hit hard #rafael nadal #tennis #fedal #roger federer #nadal

36 notes · View notes

monstercampus · 11 months

Note

SORRY I FORGOT ONE THING

I kept meaning to send this ask but I wasn't sure if I already had and had just forgotten, but you mentioned that Lydia had made some enemies after "what happened with her and Jude" ... 👀 What did happen exactly? 👀 Or is that character lore not unlocked yet 🤭

lore! lore! lore!

Lidya & Jude - Origin Stories

(cws: bullying, suicidal ideation, murder, character death, mild sexual implication, unholy world lore)

Lidya never really had friends before she went to MC--as a succubus of her pedigree she had never spent time in the world of humans, nor had she really left the Underworld at all. When she started attending (encouraged by her dear old uncle Lucifer) she had such a bad attitude and a terrible reputation off the bat that nobody would be caught dead hanging around her. She'd show up in class, hang out behind the counter at the arcade, and lock herself in her dorm until the cycle repeated. Day in and out, never changing her routine and constantly harbouring a deep, lingering resentment towards the monsters that would make fun of her clothes and her makeup and everything else about her. She'd scroll past photos and videos people would take of her in class with cruel captions of all kinds, until eventually she just ended up smashing it and started flipping through comic books instead. "Rage Demon" painted on her bedroom door that was meant to hurt, but she ended up turning the insult into embroidery on her t-shirts and jewelery she crafted in Silver & Finery class.

That was before she met him. Although the culture of the campus has been prized for generations, the bullying situation hasn't been the greatest--Judas was no exception, although the two of them only knew of each other when he wandered into the arcade for the first time.

Jude was, in some ways, the complete opposite of Lidya. When they met he was all smiles all the time, laughing and joking and teasing her in that affectionate way when they'd only known each other a couple minutes. He'd been the closest she'd ever gotten to a human, because he wasn't human anymore, but was a long time ago. He told her stories of his flaming red hair and piercing, steely eyes and the sword he carried with a golden handle, a human who was a hero long, long ago, reduced to something lesser now. She always thought they were bullshit but they still made her smile, and so he would come day after day and interrupt her routine just because he felt like it. They'd have fierce competitions for hours on end and after just a few weeks of friendship, they'd put their hands on every single cabinet multiple times over. They'd disagree and argue and scream at the top of their lungs but they would never be serious--sometimes it would blow over in minutes, sometimes it would just be to scare people away from bothering them. But they knew each other inside and out and it would make their lives so much harder from then on.

Although he loved to boast his strength and his valour with a sword and called himself a knight, Jude knew he would never live long enough to graduate. As a former fount of lichen power that had now been drained back into its master, Judas' body had started degrading and the slope of his health was only getting steeper. His classmates and other students would prey on him just as they did Lidya, mocking his terrible attendance and the gaunt look in his eyes as the telltale signs of a cheap junkie; little did they know that he was dying, and that every breath became a mountain he was growing further and further from climbing. He'd gotten so good at masking his tiredness, depression, and fear, but it wouldn't be long before Lidya would notice just how sick he was and that he wasn't long for this world.

And how ironic! Because as willing as he'd once been to end this wretchedly unassuming existence he had lived, Jude's last year of life had been the most fulfilling of any he'd lived before. He had a friend whom he loved more dearly than family, more than even a lover, yet it was the sickest he'd ever been and the most painful days he survived. She would play him her angry, violent, rumbly music that blew out his eardrums, and he would read her those long, stale, sappy fantasy poems and prose until she fell asleep, and neither would be nearly as happy alone anymore. One could not be found without the other. They were inseparable, and swore to be so in death as well as life.

But even as a denizen of the Underworld, Lidya had no control over the strings of fate. The promises she made to him that she would keep his soul safe when he passed were destined to be broken. He was, after all, a servant in service of a lich--whether by his choice or not, he would pay the toll of highest necromancy magic the Underworld offers: being fed to Chaos and sent into the throes of darkest oblivion forever.

One could imagine how poorly that went for the Fated Ones themselves, laughing in the face of her frenzied plea to let innocent Judas free. Lidya could have passed for the once-freed Chaos himself on that day as she razed the Fates' dwelling in a blinded rage, violently tearing each of their ancient selves apart in response to their callous disregard for his tender victimhood. He would have accepted that fate just to reassure her regardless of his own terror of his soul being chewed into a void, yet instead he would be greeted by his closest friend half-dead on his doorstep but victorious. Clutching the precious treasure she had ripped from the ring of the eldest fate; a pearl of life now empty in death, a priceless soul orb.

Anyone who has even the slightest knowledge of demonry and soul collection knows of the elusive soul orb. Perhaps the only way one could house a soul free from influences both holy and unholy, the soul orb seals and protects the life stored inside it eternally, if and until it is shattered by enough force to move mountains. Scholars often consider the pearl that sprung Eden as the very first of this creation, or at very least the legend of it, but few have ever encountered one--much less one of the pure and unshattered variety, suitable for housing a chosen spirit. Perhaps the one Lidya fought for was the only one remaining of such purity. It could have forever been priceless in the hands of the right buyer, placed in the perfect museum to teach and inspire the masses.

But instead, Lidya offered it to her best friend on his deathbed, and in a moment of weakness and selfish fear Judas accepted the gift. In a contract bound by most unholy tenets, Lidya......"extracted" his soul, in the way that succubi do, and interred his spirit forever in the purest form of magic known to the modern and ancient world. Thereby royally pissing off each and every scholar, suitor, noble, and legend in both the Holy Lands and especially the Unholy ones, every finger pointed at the rebellious error of demon inheritance to Lucifer's throne. Lidya's sacrifice of one of the Underworld's most precious artifacts, not to mention the killing of the few ancient gods that remained since the old age, all in the name of a worthless surface monster would ensure she would never outlive the ire and violence pitted against her by all her godly acquaintances and relatives.

But was it worth it? Of course. Worth every moment of agony and every eon she has yet to suffer for her crimes. Worth each and every glare in the royal halls and on campus grounds, worth the venom spat from her kin and the whispers between her classmates as they gossip about her betrayal--not just for the artifact, but for the soul she clearly manipulated that poor, sick monster into handing over who she was just stringing along. Definitely worth the days and nights she spent locked up in the arcade's back room, her blood pumping with excess caffeine as she worked her fingers bloody to construct a proper body for Jude's new chapter of life. For hours he sat as nothing but a misty, warm-to-the-touch orb perched on a pillow off her bed, his voice a whisper she leaned in to listen to as he would give her tips on what to add. How to angle her brush to paint those gorgeous, flowing scenes down the sides of the cabinet. The colour of his hair in the pixels. The gleam off his sword as it shone in synthetic light. Lidya worked tirelessly and in weeks it was finished; The Adventures of Jude she wanted to call it, but with only a dabble of paint left she could only spell out "JUDAS" in those big, blocky letters. But he liked it. He loved it. It was his dream and it had all come true.

And that was all she ever really wanted. As she slotted Jude's orb into that safe, protective casing inside the machine she built for him, booted him up, and watched as his pixelated self came into his own, she could finally breath a sigh of relief. To build a world where he could live his dream every day, unburdened, free from the binds of body and soul, was worth every drop of blood spilled and every black mark on her permanent record without a shadow of a doubt.

#lidya (mc)#judas (mc)#cyberpunk (mc)#monster campus lore #monster campus origins #succubus girlfriend #monster girlfriend #monster boyfriend #ellie writes #anons #phantom-ofthelibrary

34 notes · View notes