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guyfieriii · 11 months

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Get Us Strung

We're back to our regularly scheduled programming with another angst-y piece. Inspired by the song Dirty Love by Mt. Joy comes the tale of John Price and his best friend. My apologies if it seems a bit disconnected, it was originally much larger but I decided to scrap a lot of it (See? I can be nice sometimes.), but I tried my best. Also, this was edited on pure audaciousness, a bottle of wine, and a pitcher of margaritas. Do with that what you will.

Lastly, the biggest thank you to @mvtthewmurdvck for once again tolerating me bombarding her with snippets galore and supporting me as she always does.

(Can we consider this as a somewhat happy ending? My original one was A LOT worse.)

Pairing: John Price x f!Reader Warnings: Explicit Sexual Scenes and a gallon of pain :)

Nostalgia is a cruel consonance of sentimentality and longing. A honeyed trap you could easily get caught in if you aren’t careful.

You weren’t.

All it took was one precarious step forth into its birdlime confines and you’re stuck, forever adhered to moments gone by. Try as you might to break free, to rid yourself of the persistent fog that looms and live in the present — you’re simply unable. The struggle of it brands ropes into your skin. A chemical burn that scabs eventually, but it leaves you debilitated of every ounce of strength you have to leave.

With time, you make do.

You adjust to the circumstances you’ve found yourself in. It’s easy enough — to simply give in. It’s like the call of a warm bed on a cold winter morning. The arms of a man you love held open in an invitation. It’s the perfect balm to your stinging disappointments and embittered thoughts.

Witness, reminisce — rinse and repeat.

A moment here. An admission of love there, just not the right kind. Not enough to keep you satisfied, just enough you keep you—

There. Still. Stuck in time. Recycling the same out-of-date echoes through your trench of despondency till they fossilize.

It’s his eyes that do you in, really. Lapis set in moonstone white reminding you of the ebb and flow of deep ocean currents that gently coax you inwards to drift among the waves.

They were the first thing you noticed about him.

A skinny kneed boy of eleven, head full of bistre-brown hair, and the bluest eyes you ever saw that suddenly wanted to be your friend. He was loud and brutish in contrast with your more reluctant and constrained demeanour and yet—

He was your best friend. Your first. Your only.

Is your best friend.

Five years later, he left to join the infantry.

He departed, eager to prove his worth. While you stayed back with a poor facsimile of a supportive smile as he promised his eventual return.

I’ll be back on leave before you know it.

But—

I’ll be back.

And I’ll be here.

You clung to him when he told you he was enlisting, fingers curling into the sleeves his Fleetwood Mac t-shirt — a gift from you for his fifteenth. He’d asked if you wanted to keep it, as a reminder of him.

Wouldn’t need to if you just stayed, Johnny.

In the fortnight leading up to his departure, you prayed for a last-minute change of his mind. Maybe the realization that he couldn’t stay without you would finally come to the surface.

It had to. Eventually.

You couldn’t bear the thought of walking up the morning after he left, just missing a part of you. Feeling a crater right in the middle of your chest grow wider and deeper as the distance between you and him extended.

But as the days counted down, his excitement grew nearly as fast as your despair.

It began with you pulling out all the stops, reminding him of the comforts of home, of you. To him, it was only the perfect gift farewell.

It wasn’t until just the day before that you decided to take the cheap shot and just beg.

Don’t leave. Just— please just stay, okay? You don’t have to go. You don’t have to leave me— please, Johnny. I can’t—

He stood at an arm’s length and listened to you in silence, watched you scrounge every ounce of emotional ammunition you could, until your voice ran hoarse, and your tears ran dry.

The pained expression that your outburst gradually chiseled onto his face left you shamelessly hopeful, and you took a step forward to close the distance between you and him.

He wordlessly took a step back.

The time slowed, and the seconds hemorrhaged until he finally spoke.

All he responded with was—

I have to.

You saw him standing out on my pavement by your house the next morning, walking across the same yard over and over. He’d glance upward at your window every now and then in such excruciating hope that you might grace him with something as simple as a wave goodbye.

But you didn’t. You simply stood there, watching from the shadows, trying to find some relief in tears shed, but you came up dry.

And he left.

When he returned, he came as Private Johnathan Price.

Nearly half a foot taller since you saw him last. Mostly the same in disposition if only a bit more self-assured.

In the 18 months of his absence, all you had was a shoebox full of unopened letters and that chasm left behind that grew deeper, still. Every week, unquestioningly, there’d be an envelope addressed to you. And every week, you’d hold it with measured trepidation and excitement. The first one brought you relief to know that you hadn’t lost him in your near ruinous parting of ways. But as you felt the weight of it in your hands, your fingers prudently tracing the ink, you couldn’t bring yourself to read what lay inside. It felt it would be ripping the bandaging off of a wound that had barely begun to heal.

So, you kept it aside.

18 months. 72 weeks. Every corresponding letter that followed underwent the same approach. You held them, appreciated them for their infallible arrival, and locked them away with repentance as the pile grew.

The letter that followed, came hand-delivered.

“You could have written back at least once, y’know.” He says with a smile.

“I’m—”

Sorry, Johnny. Forgive me. Forgive me. Please—

Your ensuing apology dies at your lips, and you nearly suffocate under the weight of it until—

“It’s okay.” He promises.

“It’s not.” You assert back.

His gaze softens and he tries again. “Hurt ya when I left, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“So, it’s okay.”

He means to placate. You know this and an infinitesimal part of you appreciates it. But what takes more prominence is one blazing question left behind.

It blisters and leaves behind the blackened soot of your unmatched expectations. A skeletal impression of his well intended albeit anticlimactic confession.

All you’re left wondering is—

Why didn’t it hurt you to leave me, too?

You met him in London to celebrate your collective 21st birthdays some time halfway in between them.

It took some coordination, between your school and his training in Sandhurst. He never told you — said he wanted to keep you detached from that part of his life.

How’re the— I don’t know what to ask, John. You never tell me anything.

I tell you plenty.

He does well— his mother informed you as much. But the details remained vacant. You try to fill in the blanks, hazard a guess — a poor approximation of the real thing, you’re certain.

It wasn’t something you liked, but never fought him on it. It felt as though your paths diverged at too steep of an angle and you were the only one trying to get them to realign. He seemed content in this compartmentalization, while you worried your margin in it would grow smaller still.

The disconnect it created left you unsettled. Like a trail down the woods that suddenly ends midway. You’re disoriented and unanchored, forever caught in an abridged narrative with his part missing.

But you couldn’t keep waiting around—

Something you tell yourself to make it better.

“Didn’t bring him with you, then?” He slides a glass of ale across the table to you, the bottom of it catching on the adherent buildup of many a spilled drink, causing the foam at the top to dribble over.

“You asked me not to, John.” You mutter, indignant.

You wouldn’t have asked to begin with, but for appearances sake—

“Didn’t want to have to share you with some other bloke, is all.” His self-satisfied grin tells you he sees right through it.

The implications that simmered beneath that statement cut through you instantly.

He didn’t want to have to share.

What would happen if you told him that it was never even brought to question? That you were his, and his alone.

Would he make it come true?

Would he—

“I’d like for you to meet him eventually, y’know.” You opted for a safer route. Something more dependable. Everything John isn’t.

That’s a lie. He’s nothing but.

“If he stays around long enough.”

“Johnny.” You snap, irritably.

“Been a while since you called me that.” He murmurs, his grin slipping into something less presumptuous and more unshielded. Vulnerable.

“We’re not kids anymore.” You turn your gaze downward, nails digging into the chipping laminate on the cheap bar top until he flicks the side of your palm to make you stop.

“No, we’re not.” It’s his tone that makes you look back up— hinting at some kind of unspoken understanding that you recognize right away.

Let’s not pretend, then.

It’s in the dimming obscurity of alcohol when it finally happens. With your dress hiked up over the curve of your ass, and panties pulled to the side — he fucked you in a rush, outside in the cold fall air. The grain of the brick wall scratched your cheek with every thrust he buried himself in you. His ale-laden breath at the cusp of your ear, his hands cupping your breasts, squeezing — they were your only source of warmth.

“Fuckin’ hell, I’ve wanted to—” He confessed.

“So have I, Johnny.” You matched his revelation with your own.

But this wasn’t how it was supposed to—

You’ll take what you’re given. Even if it’s just this once, just tonight. A fleeting taste is better than the fantasy of him you’ve held on to.

He’s better than what you’ve had in the past. Better than what you’d thought he’d be like.

Or maybe, it’s just how well knows you.

He knows how deep you need to feel him, no matter if it hurts just a little. It’s the kind of hurt you enjoy.

How many women have you been with, John?

Does it matter?

Yes. No. Maybe?

It was you that crossed the line. A temerarious lapse in judgment, a flick of a wrist that knocked down an already precipitous house of cards when suddenly your lips descend upon his. He tastes of stale beer and the cigarette you bummed off an old man at the pub. With a grunt of surprise, he reciprocates, his tongue invading past your lips.

In a flash of somewhat sloppy adjustment, your back remained firmly pressed against the brick wall of the side of the pub, while his hands to the side of you effectively cage you in.

It’s not soon after that he takes the reins.

His mouth is everywhere — your lips, glossing over your jaw to the underside while he firmly grasps a fistful of your hair at the root, tilting your face upwards. He lays siege to the delicate column of your neck, armed with a stinging bite and the consolatory swipe of his tongue after.

John. Johnny.

The straps of your top hang loosely off your shoulders as he pulls the front of it down haphazardly to latch on to your nipple. You helplessly mewl beneath him, fingers trembling as they undo the buckle of his belt.

“Tell me to stop, love. Tell me, or I’ll—” He groans. Your hands sink in past the zipper to palm his erection. Warm. Solid.

“Please, don't.” You sink to your knees with the excitement, the need to taste him chafing at your rib cage with every beat of your heart.

“Fuck— fuck, okay. Just slow down—”

“John. Please.”

“I’ll make it good, yeah? For you. I will.” He swears.

I know you will.

You moved to Liverpool a year later. Something about staying in Hereford without him just kept you trapped in a state of inertia. Spending your time waiting more than anything else. It was time to move on.

Or try to, at any rate.

Humble beginnings for you — a modest apartment, a job that paid the bills and nothing else.

You settled into a routine — oscillating between work, home, and bisected friendships that you formed.

It’s not the same. It’s not the same.

It’s hard not to hold him somewhat accountable for your perpetual state of futility. There’s an essence of banality that follows you wherever you go. A life lived in half measures, mediocre and prosaic. It isn’t fair, and yet—

Why couldn’t you just stay, John?

It’s usually at night when the bitter tendrils of your regret slink up your limbs, like stalks of Golden Pothos, that collect around neck and squeeze.

A fire that kindles all too easily.

Can you even call it your own, when it’s caused by the choices of another?

It’s when you think back to that night in London, the weight of his cock in the palm of your hand— the way his eyes pinched shut and his head tilted back as you attempted to take him all the way in.

“Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?” He’d asked in a choked groan.

Had the head of his cock not been pressed against the back of your throat you’d have answered with:

Upset you weren’t the one to teach me, aren’t you Johnny?

Whatever remnants of that night that weren’t washed away by the glassy comber of one drink too many, replayed themselves a hundred times over. Every reiteration leaves you breathless and wanting — the evidence of it clearly shining on the inside of your thighs and the tips of your fingers.

Until—

A knock.

“You moved.” His voice was weight down by many an unspoken accusation.

“I did.” There’s no point in an apology— he’s here now.

“You never said.” Anger. Hurt. Betrayal — all in coalescence that lacerates you so deeply, you might stain the walls blood red.

“I— Do you want to come in—?”

He walked across the threshold, brushing past your shoulder before you even finished inviting him in.

“You— it’s not much. I’ve only just—” You stumble your way through some kind of explanation as he sheds himself off his duffel and coat. Any reasoning you were able to muster trickles back down your throat as he makes himself comfortable on your sofa, the floral embellished cushion sinking under the weight of him like it’s his right to be.

“It’s nice.”

You’d have expected him to feel out of sorts in this new home of yours, but he finds his place in it so naturally it fucking stings.

It really could have been that easy— a life with him. It’s a dangerous thought experiment but you wonder if he also aches for that near miss of a surrogate life. A peripeteia of decisions that might have led you down a different path entirely.

“How long are you on leave this time?” It’s a jibe and he notices. There’s an unmistakable clench in his jaw, a steely look set in his eyes at your question like he’s willing you to challenge him.

You almost do.

Good of you to waltz by after a year, Johnny. I’ve been waiting.

You really have.

“Two weeks. If you’ll have me.”

You considered turning him away simply out of spite. A laughable thought, really. An egomaniacal deliberation you pretend to have.

You’d never—

“Aren’t you going home?”

Don’t say yes. Please, don’t say yes.

“Would’ve — yeah. But you moved.”

Fuck. Don’t—

“You make it sound like I’m the only reason you come back.”

The words decamp themselves from you without any realization. Subdued embers relight themselves. Veiled desires now unwrapped — a festering infection that itched beneath near-mended dermis now touching air simply because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.

“Would— would it be so bad if I said yes?” He asks, wavering slightly in his footing only to gauge your reaction, and you pray you’re not giving anything away.

Yes. Yes, it fucking would, John. Because—

It means nothing in the scheme of its payoff. You don’t know what he expects, because to you his disclosure only exacerbates the acridity of his absence tenfold. It makes his eventual departure seem like a harsher slap to the face.

You could accuse him of pretense. Tell him how hollow it makes you feel.

Or simply—

“No. Of course not.” You lie with a smile, instead.

He believes you.

His parents pass within a year of each other. He attends both funerals in uniform — having only singular days granted to him in lieu of bereavement.

It might have been a personal choice in his father’s case, which happened to be the latter.

The first was an open casket, the second closed — both lowered into the ground while his hand firmly grasped yours.

And after—

On both days, he found himself buried in you, however in polar opposite ways.

It began gentle, with his need to be held and your need to oblige. You straddle him in the backseat of your busted-up Mondeo Estate, soaking in his silent grief as you whisper condolences. He finds his home in the crook of your neck, bedewed with the warmth of his breath and his tears.

He tastes of grief.

Regret, even.

Maybe, one day, you’ll tell him it didn’t have to be that way.

Imagine what we could’ve been, John.

Only seven months later, you find yourself in circumstances alike only in one solitary way. This time, it’s his anger that transcends the grief. You’re turned away, bent over the disjointed desk in the corner of his childhood bedroom. His fingers etching your skin in a mosaic of blue and purple, willing you to acquiesce to his baser instinct rather than envelop him in comfort. He fucked you, brutally — bare teeth, white knuckles. A lacquer of vitriol to coat you in. Only apologetic in the aftermath.

And—

He wouldn’t let you kiss him.

Change is a weight borne poorly by most relationships.

You try to blame the distance between his visits, and the fact that he always seems more worse for wear than the last. A chronic transformation with every visit, like rust on iron — sandstone shaded corrosion bleeding into his edges.

He tries to shed himself of it when he’s in your company but it’s ever-present, like a phantom limb. An undeniable extension of himself.

You tell him not to pretend.

Not with me, John.

You might as well be white noise.

What started out as concern he’d brush off with a ‘this isn’t something you need to be worrying about, love’ slowly evolved into disregard which concluded with blatant contempt.

This isn’t what I—

He stopped himself a moment too late.

“This isn’t what I came back for.”

“Glad we’re both disappointments to each other.”

Finally, some truth spilled out. It felt oddly cathartic, even if it meant having your worst fears confirmed.

He makes an implicit plea to retract what’s been said, undo the hurt caused, and return to your perpetual state of synthetic decorum. Two people who tip-toe around each other, chat about the weather, and when all redundancies are through and done with—

Let’s just leave it be. Dinner’s nearly—

He feasts on your cunt like a man starved.

It’s funny how rarely you consider the sheer probability of his safe return. Is it simply denial? Is he so deeply rooted within your being that imagining him not being there isn’t an ending you can enumerate?

To you, there is simply no finality to John Price. Forever seems like a paltry presumption to have in his line of work and yet, you can never imagine the alternative.

You’ve tried. You even asked him once.

Just once.

“You’ll be informed if— I — they know you’re my— you’ll be informed.” He spoke with such unambiguous apathy like he was reading it off a manual.

Ten different ways to prepare your loved ones for your eventual demise.

“I’ll be informed?” This isn’t the hill to die on, but you just can’t help yourself.

“I don’t know how else to—”

“I’m glad to know I’ll have the privileges of being your widow without you having to marry me, John.”

He recoils away like you just struck him.

It was an unscrupulous remark to make. Atonement is futile, he’d see right through it. All you can do is wait for the dust to settle and carry on.

But he—

“I’d marry you tomorrow if I thought it would fix things.”

It wouldn’t.

Some things are just predestined to remain broken, you suppose.

“I know you would.”

You find yourself at an impasse. Anyone pragmatic might think to cut their losses and retreat. Start anew.

That’s just not who you are.

You find other ways to meet each other halfway, on an equal plane of vulnerability and certitude. Nothing to hide behind in the arms of one another. There are shared breaths, harmonies of impassioned confessions and you find yourselves in the other once more.

You shed the pain you wear like a second skin, disrobed in ways both actual and metaphorical.

He’s kinder and you’re more forgiving.

He tells you it’s his last night with you for a while and you request your goodbye before the morning. You need something to remain unsoiled.

He leaves before you wake.

Sometimes, he leaves a note.

I’ll be back soon, darling.

Empty words. Hollow promises. An interminable echo in a cave that ripples in the subterranean waters you float in.

Except—

I’m doing the best I can.

And that’s enough.

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flutteringphalanges · 1 year

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Aydith

Adam Warlock x Star Lord’s Sister/Reader

Summary: Adam and reader have a baby.

//I started working on one where the reader actually gave birth but put that on hold because I wasn’t sure if I should finish it. I may make this a series because I kinda want to explore dad!Adam more and uncle!Peter and the rest of a the Guardians as aunts and uncles. If people are interested. Anyway hope you guys enjoy! (next time I think I will do present POV and not past, but whatever lol!) EDIT: This is now a series. Here is a LINK to the master-post with links to all of the one shots.

Aydith

You and your older brother, Peter, had practically grown up with Yondu and the Ravengers. Seen things, some being terrible at that. Found a new family with the Guardians. Experienced battles. War. The destruction of whole societies. Planets. But any of those old fears were nothing compared to what you were experiencing now. The heavy, nervous thumps in your heart as you stared down at the tiny being in your arms. Thumps that were equally as terrifying as this strange new feeling of overwhelming, unbridled love.

Her skin was a brilliant shade of gold--something she had inherited from her father. What little hair she had was more so copper, but that could easily change with time. Even through her golden skin, the rosiness of her cheeks blushed like petals. And her eyes…for the past nine months you had been anticipating they would be his. But the very first time she opened them, they were the most intense shade of_____. Just like yours. She was beautiful. Far, far beyond that. She was yours. Both of yours.

“She’s so small.” Adam’s voice cut through the silence. “Is that…is she okay?”

You glanced over at him from where he sat on the edge of your bed. Everything had been a blur up until this moment. The birth had not been an easy one. A lot had happened. It was certainly unexpected. And the chance that something horrible could have come from it all was a fate no one wanted to think about. But you were safe, and more importantly she was, so in the end that was all that mattered.

“Yeah.” You assured him, watching intently as he gingerly touched one of her clenched fists. “She’s perfect, isn’t she?”

“More than anything in the entire realm of galaxies.” Adam agreed with a small smile, clearly mesmerized. “And she’s ours.”

“Yeah.” You breathed, looking at her. “She is.” Silence fell between you for a brief moment before a thought suddenly came to your mind. “Do you want to hold her?”

Adam blinked, looking at you in almost comical surprise. “I can hold her?”

It takes everything within you to keep from bursting into a fit of laughter. Being exhausted and sore helped with that. “Of course, she is your kid after all.”

“What if I…” He hesitated, glancing from you to the baby. “What if something…”

“You won’t hurt her.” You promised, wincing a little as you lean forward to place her in his arms. “They aren’t as delicate as they look. Or, at least someone told me that…”

Adam took her gently, going rigid when she let a little noise. Slowly, you watch as his posture relaxes. The way he gazed at her, watching with such intent and adoration. You never thought you could love him more until now. You couldn’t help but question what you had done to deserve them both.

“I…I thought I was going to lose you, Y/N.” Adam said quietly, finally meeting your stare once more. “Back on the ship. I really thought…” And the way his eyes have begun to water causes a swell of emotion to find you. “All of us really, and if something had…your brother would’ve never forgiven me.”

“Hey, I’m okay.” You said softly. “Both of us are.” You paused, before adding. “It’s going to take a hell of a lot more to get rid of me. We Quills are pretty resilient.”

Adam chuckled softly, stroking the top of the infant’s hand. “As I have witnessed.”

“You know, she kinda needs a name.” You reached over, lightly brushing your fingertips against the top of her head. “Any suggestions?”

He hummed thoughtfully, adjusting your daughter in his arms. “My mother’s name was Ayesha.” Adam began to talk faster as if he thought you’d interject. You wouldn’t. “I know she committed horrible acts and was not the greatest of all beings, but…she was wonderful to me and I loved her. I…can understand if you are against it, however.”

“It’s a pretty name.” You told him, giving him a smile. “My mother’s name was Meredith. I didn’t get to know her, she died when I was really young. But Peter talks about her, a lot more than he used to.”

“Meredith…” He mused, studying the baby’s face. “That is also a nice name.”

You took a moment to consider the two. One could easily be the first and the second a middle. The problem would be, in that case, which one you would call her. Suddenly an idea comes to mind, one that you hope didn’t sound too ridiculous.

“What about Aydith?”

Adam looked at you with a brow raised. “Aydith?”

“A combination of the two.” You explained, shrugging your shoulders. “We could honor them both…It doesn’t sound too funny does it?”

You watched as he glanced down at the baby, remaining silent for a moment. “Aydith…” He said slowly, as if testing out the name. “I like it. Aydith is a good name.”

You smiled softly, peering down into her little face as Adam leaned over.

“Hello, Aydith.” You whispered gently. “Welcome to the universe.”

#Adam Warlock #Adam Warlock x Reader #Reader x Adam Warlock #gotg vol 3 #gotg vol 3 fanfiction #Aydith Warlock

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hellsslibrary · 1 year

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♡Headcanons on brothers's yandere fan clubs and their relationship to / with MC♡

(little brothers edition)

DNI: Minors.

!! Warnings: yandere(obviously), mention of murder, death, sexual themes, praise (Asmo), pet names (Satan, Asmo), semi-public/public sex, jealous, possessive reader(Asmo, Belphie), reader strong enough to carry Beel on hands (or is it an adrenaline rush, lol), Asmo in a skirt, oral sex (Satan, Beel).

Tags: @idontwantoeatspicy

Part 1.

Satan.

He is probably the demon who will be loved for his knowledge, he can answer almost every question, with a few exceptions. As well as his beautiful containment of his own sin. They find it beautiful and worthy of great respect, love, praise and worship.

But they didn't even try to contact him somehow, because... Because we're talking about Satan, what the hell if he gets mad at their persistence? It won't end well for them.

So they only watch him from afar all the time. Enjoying their beautiful man from afar.

But then you show up. Some ordinary person. And you just change it, so you also fix their relationship with Lucifer. He started to become more calm, especially around you.

After that, their surveillance worsened to the worst level. Especially if you are with him, his boyfriend, whom they managed to hate with all their heart. Every time they looked at you, they just imagined tearing you to pieces, how you would writhe, cry and scream from it all...

One day, they were following him again. This time he was feeding the kittens and playing with them while squatting in front of them. They were smiling, their eyes were watering from the sweet sight that they were witnessing right now. But then you appear and sit down next to him, catching your breath.

"Sorry, kitten, I got a little lost..." - you breathe loudly and quickly, which makes him laugh, stroking your head.

"It's okay, anyway, at least you found this place," - he starts stroking the kittens again, which makes them purr. - "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You look cute when you enjoy yourself and their fur... " - you also start stroking the kitten, which immediately climbs into your lap, putting its front paws on your stomach.

"MC, don't make it up. You look much better," - you just roll your eyes and continue stroking the kitten's fur on you.

Should I say that it caused them to have an uncontrollable desire to kill you? I think not. But they're not so reckless as to kill the Avatar of Wrath's boyfriend too easily and openly, damn it, so they made it a little harder.

They pretended for several weeks that you also have a kind of fan club (although MC already has one, but let's imagine that they don't), but they never showed up, so as not to give themselves away. So, having gained some of your trust, they finally did what it was intended for.

"Are they back again? " - the blonde asks, looking over your shoulder at some of your favorite sweets.

"Yeah. But how did they even know that I love it? I'm still wondering, " - you unwrap the wrapper, but after a few seconds it is torn out of your hands. - "Satan? "

"It's poisoned," - he begins a short story about some kind of poison that has a very strong effect on the central nervous system and it doesn't matter who eats it, even a person, even a demon or anyone else.

"Oh... Thank you, kitten. " - you kiss him on the cheek. - "What should we do about it?"

"It doesn't matter, I'll get rid of it. Wait a bit," - he quickly leaves and returns a few minutes later.

"Finished? " - he nods, sitting on your lap, or rather falling.

You laugh lightly, stroking his neck and back, which makes him moan contentedly. A surprised moan falls from your lips when you feel his lips on your neck.

"Satan..." - he just shushes, hinting to be silent.

"I saved you, so be a good boyfriend and let me take my reward..." - he frowns slightly, pulling away from your neck, but then slightly purses his lips. - "It's okay, right? "

You nod and involve him in a kiss, from which he almost purrs, wrapping his arms around your neck.

And at the same time, the members of his fan club are sitting in their makeshift club room.

"Do you think it has already worked? Did he eat it? " - One of the demons asks, impatiently snapping his fingers on the table.

"Of course he ate it! It's his favorite treat, since even all the brothers say so... " - they look at each other and get up at once, silently heading to the room where you should be.

Your dead face, the body that writhed in death throes from the poison, are already flashing in their heads. How great it will look when they finally see what they've been waiting for for so long.

And here they are at the door. One of them is about to open, but hears a loud groan. They look at each other, look into the room, but they see absolutely nothing, they only hear moans that are painfully similar to their beloved.

"M-mc, don't stop, damn..!" - he groans once more, grabbing the back of the bench.

Their eyes frantically run around the room until they hear the moan of Satan, completely covered by his hand, because he was too loud, and then a soft whimpering and rapid breathing.

"Did you like it? " - you ask, getting up from your knees and wiping the remnants of sperm from your lips.

"Ha... Are you still asking? Sure... " - he swallows and helps himself to sit down with a trembling hand, and then begins to fiddle with the belt, fastening it.

Their eyes open when he turns an irritated look at them and they run away from there like a bullet. But then he just sighs and stands up, gently kissing you on the lips as a sign of gratitude.

After that, they realized that they had to accept your existence and your relationship with him. He will always be there to protect you.

Asmodeus.

Oh gods... The biggest fan club, probably. Well, like, who doesn't admire Asmodeus himself? The Avatar of Lust himself, the former pearl of Heaven and probably the most attractive being existing in all 3 worlds.

And they are also the only ones who managed to have a relationship (sexual and for one night, of course) with his object of adoration.

Although they understood that he was not interested in them, except as a free fleshlight/dildo for one night. But they were glad anyway! They were eventually noticed and even more, they had sex.

Asmo was hardly in a serious relationship, where he did not cheat on anyone and did not run for momentary pleasure. And all the members of his fan club knew it. But, as usual, you appear, dear MC.

They're so angry. He didn't even cheat on you, judging by their surveillance. He even tried to flirt less with others so as not to make you jealous (although sometimes he did and probably intentionally). You became his partner, for whom he drowned out his own sin, damn it, although not to say that without consequences for you, but I will hope that you have excellent stamina, lol...

"He didn't show up? " - not yet. - "And now? " - no. - "And now? "

"Shut up, will you! " - some succubus shouts in a loud whisper. - "He'll show up sooner or later. After all, he and the man were talking about something yesterday. "

The other girl just sighed and sat down with the rest of the girls, guys and other personalities in the bushes.

"What exactly do you think he meant by something new? " - the same impatient girl asks.

"Can you shut up? We'll see him soon and find out! In the meantime... Shut up... Holy—..! " - the eyes of all those present immediately widen when they see something new in Asmo.

They follow him as he leisurely hurries to you to show what he meant by a little surprise for you.

Their hearts are beating fast as they glance at his figure, or rather, at his lower half. Where did he even manage to get a skirt from the RAD uniform? Unknown, and unnecessary information.

He opens the door, elegantly entering the office and they hurry there, sitting down at their desks, pretending that they have a lesson here and observing the situation.

"MC, dear! "- you turn around and your eyes immediately widen as you look at the black skirt resting on his waist.

"That's what you were talking about, right? Where did you even get this? " - you ask, feeling the skirt, realizing that it has the same material as the trousers.

"It was simple, but costly. I just asked Levi to sew this in exchange for some new Ruri-chan figurine that can't be bought online. " - he pouts a little, but then he laughs. - "But it was still worth it, wasn't it? Does it suit me? "

You mumble contentedly in response and your hands descend from the fabric of the skirt to his hips, feeling them. The members of his fan club are sitting in shock. Why are you reacting so calmly at all?! Do you see him like this so often?!

"Well, I definitely have to thank Levi for that later. " - he giggles and bends down to your sitting figure.

His already short skirt lifts up, exposing his hips completely, but not his ass, fortunately for you and unfortunately for them.

"And that's not all~," - he runs his finger over your chest and leans even closer, putting one knee between your legs and rubbing almost fleetingly. - "Be a good boy and I'll show you, okay? "

You roll your eyes and see several demons staring at you, who immediately hide behind overturned textbooks. You laugh and pull Asmo to your lap, from which he grunts in surprise, but hugs you by the neck, looking at you in surprise.

"It's more like you have to be a good boy and not shine your ass in front of anyone but me, is that clear? " - your voice drops an octave lower while you whisper it to him, which makes pleasant goosebumps run down his back.

He nods and mumbles something that others can't identify, but they see how his cheeks turn red and how you squeeze his hips after these words. And then he gently kisses you on the forehead and leaves, grabbing his bag, to his office.

After that, the members of his fan club are clearly sitting with problems between their legs and go somewhere, leaving you to laugh at them.

They were just in shock. Of course, they thought that Asmo would play with you and he, of course, would not listen to you and in general he put it on not only for you, but no. He didn't bend down or bend down in front of anyone. And when someone teased him for it or praised his appearance, he just laughed, thanked and plunged into his thoughts.

It wasn't like him at all. Every time he wanted to understand something, he went and found someone and got rid of his excitement. But now he was just sitting and, albeit impatiently, he was waiting. The avatar of Lust of all beings sat and waited for a certain moment.

They didn't want to accept it at all. So they quickly called a meeting, after lessons and after getting rid of the problem under their trousers or skirts, of course.

"We need to do something... Asmo is changing for him, it's very scary... " - sighs a girl who is almost crying.

"Don't go limp here! And don't cry! I have an idea... " - so they started the plan.

Since probably the majority of Asmodeus fans are succubi and incubi, it didn't cost anything for them to come the next day in something more open (probably short skirts and shirt with a deep, eye-catching neckline and tight trousers). Although they will still have to avoid the eyes of Lucifer or Barbatos, otherwise it's scary to think what they will do to them for such a school uniform.

And they literally did not come off Asmo, stuck to him like leeches and constantly tried to cause him some kind of reaction. Either they bent down in front of him in skirts, showing their underwear or maybe his absence. Or rubbed against it in different places. His ass, chest, cock, inner thigh, palms, face.

And it annoyed you terribly, although you understood that Asmo didn't really want it when he sent you a repentant smile, and also wrote to you during the day that you would make up for all the lost time after school.

"Do you think it worked? MC thought he was cheating on him? Or maybe Asmodeus realized that we are what he needs? " - the same girl asked.

"I don't know, they are at home now and around this time Asmo is posting photos with news, so... wait. " - she is humbled by a stern look under which she cringes, but opens devilgram and waits for the post.

Their eyes widen when they see the photo and the inscription under it. Photo of Asmo in a [too small/normal/too big] shirt that clearly doesn't belong to him. It is slightly lowered from the shoulder, and hickeys and bites are visible along his neck and on his shoulder. The signature reads: "Is that reason enough to get you off my back, you dirty demons? Of course I love you and your affection, but you make my boyfriend angry and he makes my skin so stand out🥺🥺🥺" Sorry—...

"So stand out, right?" - you kiss his skin along his hickeys when after the photo he lands on his bed to you.

"You know what I like this..." - he fleetingly kisses you on the cheek. - "And you probably care too much about the sight of me in a skirt, I'm just sure that tomorrow someone will complain about my screams, you know? "

"It's your own fault. " - he giggles, and you roll your eyes, but hug him, kissing him on the top of his head.

Well... Or after that, they realized that they absolutely could not interfere with your relationship. You're too perfect for Asmo, since he wants to change so much for you. And you love him too much to share. Either Luci or Barbie noticed their school uniform after all...

Beelzebub.

Oh my God, this sweet baby. Well, look at him and tell me why you can not love him? He's just wonderful. Handsome, kind, caring, strong, takes care of his family and of course his wonderful appetite.

Although they are still afraid of him because he is quite tall compared to the lower demons who are in love with him.

He knows about them because they put something delicious on him every day (although he will eat LITERALLY anything, so I don't think it makes sense) with a note from them.

But then they see Beel eating something they gave him again, and then some [tall/medium/low] guy and Beel just shares the food with him... What?

In the future, they will find out that you are his boyfriend, and not just some exchange student from the Human World. And jealousy awakens in them, why the hell is he sharing food with someone at all, he's a literal Avatar of Gluttony, what the fuck?

They do it a couple more times, put food on him and watch. And everything turns out to be right, if you are next to him or within his sight, then he will definitely share food with you. Well, not always, if you don't like it / allergies or something else, then of course he will eat himself.

But he's still sharing. It's very strange. They gather a meeting very quickly and start brainstorming about how to rid him of your bad influence.

"So, who has any ideas? It's all terribly strange. And I don't even know what surprises me more. "- some guy walks back and forth while several more pairs of eyes are watching him.

"How about we check if this weak idiot can handle him? " - everyone turns around at the voice. - "I mean, listen to this..."

The idea was terrible. But they didn't have a better idea. Yes, and there was a chance that you would die there on the spot, so they started the plan.

You and Bell were walking down the corridor when the gaze of one of the demonesses turns to the demon and she winks at him, he nods and prepares. And the next second, he flies at you with a sigh of surprise, landing in your hands in a wedding style. The demon quickly runs away. But the demoness is in shock... You don't even tremble, you don't even try, you easily hold him in your arms...

"What? " - she says with her lips, slightly approaching you to eavesdrop on your conversation.

"Sorry, MC, I wasn't expecting it. " - he says, rubbing the back of his head with a silly smile.

"It's okay. Are you hurt?" - He shook his head negatively. - "Well, great. Shall we go then? "

"In this position? Am I not heavy?" - you shake your head negatively, confirming that there is no or pretending.

And the demoness is in shock when you just walk down the corridor with them in your arms, as if nothing had happened.

But of course, they still don't despair! They are thinking about other ideas, which of course will be worse than the previous ones.

After a very long discussion filled with screams, fights, broken chairs, bruises, blood, a broken window and a broken handle, they came to an agreement. They'll just kill you.

So they just went to the gym that Beel goes to, and then to the men's locker room, but they didn't find him there. And as soon as they wanted to go to the hall, a groan came from the shower. But since all the showers were separate, they couldn't just go in there, so they put their ear to the door, trying to hear something other than the sound of water.

"Fuck, Beel, this is incredible, don't stop, I'm now...!" - they hear a slight cough, followed by some kind of slurping sound, and then the water is turned off.

He only hears heavy breathing and swallows, which lasted several seconds.

"Are you satisfied? " - you ask, helping him to get up from his knees.

He nods with a soft smile and a bright blush on his cheeks, looking at you [from top to bottom/bottom to top] while you lean against the glass wall of the shower.

"Then let's go out. "- you grab towels, tie your thighs (and/or breasts, if you need to) and throw one to your boyfriend.

Demons are running out of the locker room like a bullet. They look at each other with a shocked expression on their faces.

"And what should we do now? " - some guy asks, sitting on the floor and almost crying.

"Waiting for the moment when a human dies, it shouldn't be long. " - everyone looks at him with a disapproving look, but then they nod.

Yes, these are definitely the stupidest yanderes that can exist.

Belphegor.

Damn... Yandere club for yandere sounds insanely ironic, but! Still interesting. Well, in the end, who, after looking at his sleeping muzzle, will not fall in love with him?

Of course, they were very annoyed, upset and confused when he disappeared. They had a lot of assumptions. That he was sent to the Human World after all, that he switched to homeschooling because of Laziness, or that Lucifer locked him in the attic. But, to be honest, everything sounds so improbable. Yes?

And they were so glad when he finally appeared, but accompanied by a man... To whom he constantly apologized and tried to somehow make amends for something. And no matter how much they eavesdropped, they couldn't figure out why exactly.

And in the end, you did it. And after a few weeks or months, they see him lazily kissing your lips, pulling your face to him.

"What the hell?! " - one of them flashes, already assuming his demonic form, but he is immediately stopped.

"Are you going to run into them in the open like that and kill this man? Are you completely crazy or something? " - he sighs, but reincarnates back, quietly watching.

"We still need to do something about it. " - he muttered through his teeth, to which the others only nodded.

They tried their best to find out what he found in you that they didn't. But we found absolutely nothing except the difference in your worlds. So what the hell?

They are also kind, caring, smart, funny, curious and self-sacrificing for others like you (they are not). So what is their problem?

They begin to follow you even more, trying to find the reason why the Avatar of Sloth fell in love with you after all.

"Damn, how could we have lost them... It even sounds like nonsense. " - this guy is still not happy.

And, of course, by the law of meanness, they hear the moan of their beloved Belphie. They look at each other and very quietly approach the door, behind which there are moans or rather screams.

"Come on, Belphie, you can say it. " - you whisper, biting his neck, which makes him whine, shouting your name.

"I'm yours, mhm, o-only yours... Really! " - he screams, grabbing your back with his nails and digging into it, causing you to hiss.

"Well, fine, I don't know what I'll do if... " - then they heard nothing but Belphie's screams and moans.

So they decided to pretend that they study here and do not hear any sounds at all from behind the doors of the office. They put on headphones, but did not turn on the sound on them. And after 30-40 minutes, their wait paid off. The door opens and Belphegor comes out of it, straightening his shirt and yawning. His entire neck is literally covered with hickeys and bites. He looks at them with a lazy look, watching as you come in front of him and take his hand, pulling him along.

"I'm only his..." - he whispers to them, but they are ready to swear that they saw a sarcastic grin on your face.

They didn't even try, he was too clingy, he even went to the same lessons with you, justifying that he forgot his pillow, and you have a painfully comfortable shoulder/chest/laps. And also his look... They'll just wait.

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aurae-rori · 17 days

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aventio detective au?

I MIGHT toss superpowers into this like how bsd does because I was rewatching season 1 through edits and then I realized that there is SO much potential for aventio as detective partners. Now, before you scroll, hear me out- I'm not going to copy from bsd, I'm definitely going to be taking my own spin on this, because what kind of author would I be if I didn't? Anyway, let's get down into my actual idea so that I'm not just rambling about the random details.

Detective partners Aventio - Dr. Ratio, who does logistics and banks on his knowledge, and Aventurine, who relies on his gut and good luck to find the heart of cases. Aventurine, who goes out to bars and talks to people, manipulating and scheming his way into getting information, an invaluable member of this agency that is amazing at what he does, yet annoys the shit out of Ratio.

Dr. Ratio, yes, a doctor, still in this au - who hopes to give criminals knowledge by capturing them and then speaking to them, set them straight with new ideas and philosophy. Dr. Ratio, a detective, and yet still a helper of the common people, getting through the nitty and gritty in order to bring new light to people who thought they would only have to steal and kill to survive. Dr. Ratio, who does not only believe in justice, but believes in helping others, and who has to sit down after his words cannot reach yet another 'mediocre' mind with a drink. This job is a hard one. Going out and speaking to people and picking up on details and helping the survivors who had to witness the horrors of situations is never going to be easy, but he is nothing if not a persevering man.

Aventurine, who grew up abused and taken advantage of in the slums of the city, who grew up being the crime that he now gets rid of - knowing that these people, sometimes, are just what they have to be, and yet, he does his job in hopes that maybe, his companion, who saw the hope in him, can set alight hope for others. Aventurine, who pushes through his bad habits and holds children who suffer in the aftermath, seeing a reflection of himself from the past. Aventurine, who vows to save the people - saving them, so that maybe, the child inside him can be salvaged as well.

Also, lots of drinking together and smoking. This is a fucking hard job, but they have one another, and they go out onto the field and stop stupid shit from happennig. They banter, they have childhood trauma, they kiss while being idiots, their coworkers help them stop cases, and maybe, MAYBE, I will give them superpowers.

#aventio detective au #aventio #ratiorine #raturine #veritas ratio #honkai star rail #hsr #dr ratio #aventurine #dr ratio x aventurine #hsr aventurine #hsr dr ratio #detective au #lowkey going for bsd season 1 vibes with this #tw for abuse

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daisysliv · 2 years

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now or never | eddie munson

word count: 4035

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: eddie's plans to confess don't exactly go to plan

warnings: swearing, angst, fluff if you squint, mentions of drugs (not specified), smut, p in v, protected sex (wrap it before you tap it mfs)

notes: sorry for being so ia for a while, i just started working, and by the time i get home, im too tired to even write, but i managed to get this done over the last few days. this was my first time writing smut, let me know if you like it! this is one of my personal favorite fics i've ever written, so i hope you like it <3 there is a part two for this in works so let me know if that's something you would like and as always, not edited, so all my mistakes are my own

library

stranger things bookshelf

Standing outside the burgundy-colored door of his best friend’s home for what felt like hours but was merely a couple of minutes as he gathered the courage to ring the doorbell. He released a puff of air that he had been holding and lifted his finger to ring the bell, only to hesitate and lower it again. He repeats the same action a few more times. He was shaking, not from the cold breeze that nipped at the exposed skins of his hands but with nerves. His heart pounded against his ribs so hard he thought it would burst out of his chest at any given moment.

Truth be told, he had no idea what he was doing here so late or what he was going to say if you answered the door; all he knew was that if he didn’t tell you how he felt now, then any and all courage he felt would be gone. He could already feel it slipping.

He shook his arms out in some lame attempt to get rid of the nerves that coursed through his veins. He had been nervous and overthinking this all day, but it didn’t compare to how he currently felt now that he stood outside your house. Muttering a few words of encouragement to himself, he finally rang the doorbell and turned his back to the door to try and gather his jumbled thoughts before it inevitably opened.

The door opened with a low creak followed by a velvet-like voice that had taken over his every thought, “Eddie?” Spinning back around, a nervous smile tugged on his lips, and—fuck.

You looked beautiful, which wasn’t anything new. You always looked beautiful without even trying. He stood there in awe, his lips parted as his eyes danced over the woman in front of him. You looked like you had just finished getting ready for bed. You wore a Black Sabbath that he recognized as the one he gave you at school when you claimed to be cold while sitting in the cafeteria, paired with black sweats and her face bare of the makeup you had on earlier in the day. “Did we have plans or something?”

Snapping out of his trance, Eddie shook his head, his eyes never straying away from you. You smiled at him and moved out of the way, opening the door wider to give him room so he could enter. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“No, everything is good. I just…” He trails off, his back facing her as he surveys the living room for any signs that your parents are there. “Are your parents here, or did they leave already?”

You shook your head as you shut the door, making sure to lock it. “They left a bit ago. Got the house all to myself for the next few days.” You followed him to the living room and moved around picking up the disregarded trash that was piled on the coffee table. “I meant to call when they left and see if you wanted a movie night, but I fell asleep. Why are you asking?”

“Well, I didn’t really want anyone to witness possible failure on my part because I…I have something to tell you,” A warm smile tugs on his lips as he watches you dump the trash in your arms into the nearby trash can. “So…can we sit and talk?”

“Yeah, just let me finish throwing this shit away. Robin and Steve came over after school before my parents left, and I couldn’t be bothered to clean after they left.” You rambled while carefully placing some dishes in the sink, the alcohol into the fridge, and threw away a few more pieces of trash that you found lying around. Eddie paced the living room, rubbing his hands over his jean-clad legs to wipe away from the sweat that gathered on his palms. “Do you want something to drink?”

He shakes his head and darts his tongue out to wet his dry, chapped lips. He could feel his nerves taking over the longer he waited to get this over with. He could feel the courage he took weeks to gather slipping away with every second that ticked by. “Princess, please just… just come here.” Eddie pleaded, his eyes on his best friend, hoping you could see the desperation in his eyes. Fortunately for him, you knew him and could hear the desperation in his tone. You moved towards where he was and took a seat on the couch, folding your legs under your butt and adjusting the hoodie you wore. Eddie followed you in sitting on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, and he ran a hand over his face.

He hadn’t thought this through all the way, and he didn’t know how to approach it. You were able to sense his nerves, so you reached forward and grabbed one of his hands. “Eddie, what’s going on? Whatever it is, you know you can tell me.”

“Shit, uh… I hope that what I’m about to tell you doesn’t ruin anything because I value our friendship more than anything. And I know I’m not the easiest person to be friends with, but–”

“Eds, spit it out.” You cut off his ramblings, your eyes locked on his, and he could feel his heart speed up in his chest; that same pounding feeling from earlier. He was certain that one day he would go into cardiac arrest around her.

Now or never, Munson. He thought. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out, his throat feeling dry and scratchy. He felt sweat form in the palm of his hands and felt his cheeks heat up. You looked at him with concern carved into your features, your eyes scanning his face, looking for something, but he didn’t know what.

“Are you high or something?” You blurt, pulling your hand out from his.

“No! I’m clean. I just… I’m nervous.” He spoke, his brows knitted together. “Why would you automatically assume I’m high?”

You shake your head, letting out a breath of relief. “I’m sorry, it’s just that you’re all jumpy and won’t get to the point, and I haven’t seen you like this since the day before that… that night.” His heart clenched at the mention of the night he reached rock bottom a year and a half ago. It had been a hard week leading up to it all around, and he finally reached his breaking point where he felt so alone and unwanted that he took everything he could to not feel that way anymore. Eddie could hardly think of that night without being bombarded with the image of his best friend's face when she stumbled into the trailer and found him barely breathing on the couch.

He was awake but unaware of most of his surroundings. He could speak, but it came out slurred and incoherent. His complexion was turning bluish-purple, his lips already blue, and a thin layer of cold sweat coated his body. His pulse was barely there, and his breathing had turned shallow but erratic.

He barely remembered anything once all the drugs kicked in, but he remembered waking up in the hospital a few days later with flashes of that night swirling through his head, but there were only a few things that stood out the most. The sound of your voice cracking while begging for him to stay as sobs racked your body was one of them. The broken and distraught look on your face was another. That one haunted him weeks afterward. It still did sometimes. The doctors told him that wouldn't have made it if you would've arrived just a few minutes later.

After that night, he never wanted to see that look on your face or his Uncle Wayne’s face or hear the way your voices broke ever again. He didn't want to feel himself slipping away slowly and not being able to move or call for help again so he made it his mission to stay away from that shit. You were there for him through every single step he took. You never left his side even when he had his mood swings, and he couldn't have asked for anyone else.

“I know, and I promise you, I'm okay. I just have something important to tell you, and I'm scared that it'll ruin everything.”

“It won't. I promise, so just tell me.” Placing your hand in his once more, you intertwined your fingers, smiling at the warmth that shot through your body. Eddie smiled at the same feeling, not realizing you did the same.

His eyes flickered down to your lips for a moment, the urge to just press his against yours, to know how they felt and tasted, grew stronger with each fleeting second. You, however, didn't notice the not-so-subtle action as you were too focused on the warmth your body felt whenever you made skin-to-skin contact with the man. It was like a warm blanket was being draped over your shoulders after being in the cold longer than you should be. It was like curling up next to the fire with the warm blanket and the comforting smell of cookies floating around the room.

Looking up, you force your eyes away from your locked hands and stare at him, your eyes finding his light brown eyes already staring at you. At that moment, he felt a surge of confidence wash over him, all his nerves disappearing, and he lifted his free hand to cup your jaw, the pad of his thumb tracing over her cheekbone.

He watched your face contort from concern to curiosity the longer he stared. With a nervous smile, Eddie leaned in closer, pressing his forehead on yours, your noses touching and mouths hovering over one another. You were so close that all it would take was one wrong move from either of you, and your lips would touch. His eyes darted back down to your lips, taking note of how yours did the same, the once nervous smile now a smirk.

He looked back up to your eyes, searching for anything that told him that you didn't want this to happen; he didn't find any. “Eddie,” You whispered seconds before he surged forward and pressed his lips to yours in a searing kiss, full of pent-up tension you had been suppressing for years, your eyes immediately fluttering shut. You moaned quietly at the feeling of his lips on yours, your free hand immediately gripping his long hair, tugging at the root while the other disconnected from his hand to wrap around his neck.

He hummed against your mouth, the groan building in the back of his throat making itself known. Your mouth opened with a gasp when he placed his free hand underneath the hoodie you wore, on your waist to pull you closer; the warmth of his touch sent a shock up your spine.

Despite the awkward position you were in, your lips moved against his in perfect sync until the need for air became too much, and, with a lot of hesitation, Eddie slowly pulled away. His eyes opened slowly to look at you while he dragged air back into his lungs. Your eyes fluttered open shortly after his, your chest heaving as you fought for air.

“So beautiful,” He murmured, wearing a dopey grin on his face.

A smile pulls at your lips, and you tighten your grip around his neck, pulling him down to connect your lips once again, now craving the feeling and taste of them more. Eddie responded quickly, removing his hands from where they were on your body to grip underneath your thighs to pull you into his lap, swallowing the noise of surprise you made when he did. He smiled against your lips, his heart still beating rapidly against his ribs.

Your hands tangled themselves into his hair, tugging at the roots and eliciting a groan from the metalhead. He leaned back on the couch, his hands going to your waist to hold you still when he felt you move. You were the first one to pull away this time, your eyes remaining shut while gasping for air for a minute before diving back into his lips. “Hmm,” He hummed against your lips.

You giggled at the vibrations it sent through and down your body. You pull away, keeping your hands tangled in his hair. “Does this mean what I think it does, or do you go around kissing all your friends like that?”

“Only the real pretty ones.” He jokes, and you remove a hand from his hair to smack him in the chest, throwing your head back in a laugh. Eddie took the opportunity to duck forward and attach his mouth to your neck, your laugh quickly turning into a gasp.

“Upstairs.” You said through gasps while he worked on your neck, nipping and sucking gently. You were sure he left marks behind.

He reluctantly pulled away, and you took the chance to disconnect from him, pulling him up off the couch. “Lead the way, princess.” He smirked.

As soon as your bedroom door closes behind you, his lips are on yours again as he presses you against the door. “Are you sure about this?” He asks breathlessly, his lips already back on your neck.

“Yeah, fuck, please.”

“Just making sure.” He leans in again, covering your lips with his. You wrap your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against him. He was warm, despite the cold air that filled the room from your cracked window, and you felt like you were dreaming.

He moves his hand under your—his hoodie, running his hand over your skin, and you can't stop the shivers going up your spine. You're tingling everywhere, all your senses zeroing in on him. His scent, the way his body felt against yours, the way his lips felt. Everything.

You throw your head back, giving him more access to your neck, and it doesn't take long for Eddie to suck and nibble on your skin. “You're so beautiful, princess.” Eddie leans his forehead against yours, his chest heaving with heavy breaths.

“Eddie…” Your eyes dart back and forth between his own, your heart pounding against your chest. “Kiss me.” He obliges and plants a quick kiss on your lips, and then he picks you up with one swift movement, making you squeal.

Your back hits the mattress as he lays you down, a giggle tumbling past your lips. The chain he wore swung in your face, and you reached up, hooking a finger through the chain to pull him closer. You meet in another kiss, all tongues and teeth, while you busy your hands with his undoing his belt. Eddie uses one of his hands to support his weight on the bed. “What do you want?” Eddie lays his forehead on yours, his cheeks flushed.

Instead of answering with words, you wrap your hand around his and run it down your body until the heat of his hand is seeping through your sweats, and you feel the gentle pressure on your center. You feel yourself get even more turned on. Eddie rubs his hand over your sweats ever so slightly, but it’s enough to make your heart pound faster against your ribs.

“I see. You want my hands?”

“Please,” You nod quickly, bucking your hips into his hand.

Eddie huffs out a laugh with a slight shake of his head. “I have no choice but to oblige.” He quickly gets to work with undoing the strings on your sweats and hooking his fingers into the waistband, and pulls them down, exposing your underwear that you were sure was soaked through at this point. And you couldn’t bring yourself to feel embarrassed about it. He takes off the fuzzy socks that you wore to keep your feet warm before pulling the sweats off your legs completely, kissing his way back up until he’s resting between your legs. His hands are on your hips, yours in his hair as he gets closer to where you need him the most. “You’re so wet for me, princess.” You could hear the smirk in his, but you don’t get the chance to think more over it, let alone say anything in return, because in the next second, Eddie is running his tongue over your covered core.

You let out a curse when the tip of his tongue finds your clit. “Right there.” Your grip on his hair tightens, and you feel his fingers press into the skin of your thighs.

“Hmm, I think I’ll have to get closer.”

“Fuck, please.” You wouldn’t be surprised if you turned into a puddle at his touch. With nimble fingers, Eddie pushes your panties to the side, his breath now hitting your wet folds directly, causing you to let out a high-pitched whine.

“So fucking beautiful. Definitely worth the wait.” And then he spreads you with his thumbs and dives in, circling your clit with his tongue, lapping and sucking on it. You can feel sweat begin to form, your whole body growing hot under his ministrations.

“Fuck, I love the sounds you’re making, princess.” He replaces his tongue with a thumb, and the sudden change in pressure makes you moan loudly, your thighs clenching. “I'll take my time with you next time, but, right now, I gotta have you.”

You definitely were not complaining. As much as you enjoyed the foreplay, you needed him inside you, reaching the places you couldn’t. Eddie sits back on his legs and pulls off his jacket and shirt. Just as he leans back down to cover your lips with his, he stops, his brows knitting together. “Condom?”

“Fuck, uh…my bathroom. Top drawer.” You tell him.

He smiles and lifts himself off the bed. “One second.” He disappears into your bathroom, and you reposition yourself so you’re on your knees, waiting patiently for him to return. You hear him rummaging around through the door for a moment before he reappears, a foil packet in his hand, stopping in his tracks at the mere sight of you sitting nice and pretty for him. His eyes visibly darken. “Fucking hell, sweetheart,” He groans.

You don’t take your eyes off of him as he walks over with a triumphant grin on his face. Your eyes flicker down, catching the outline of his hard cock visible through his pants, a low whimper passing your lips.

“God, you’re so hot.” He pulls his bottom lips prisoner in between his teeth as positions himself behind you, placing a kiss on your shoulder blade. His lips sent a shiver through you.

You look over your shoulder, watching as his stomach flexes as he unbuttons his jeans. “You aren’t too bad yourself.” Your mouth waters when he pulls out his cock. His eyes never leave yours as he rips open the condom wrapper with his teeth.

You watch him roll the condom on, and then he’s got a hand on your hip while the other wraps around the base of his cock. “Are you ready?”

You could only nod as he ran the tip of his cock through your folds a couple of times, nudging your clit, and causing you to tighten your grip on your blanket. “Please, Eds…” You whimper, your eyes squeezed shut, and then he’s slowly pushing into you, filling you up.

Both of you are breathing heavily as he pulls out a bit before sliding in deeper, repeating that until he’s sheathed all the way inside you. A loud groan tumbled past his lips.

“You're so tight, sweetheart; feels so good.” He pulls you up by the hips, so your back is against his chest, and he moves one of his hands to your cunt, his middle finger playing with your clit, making you clench around him. “So fucking good. Better than I could imagine.” His words make you smile. You place one of your hands on top of the hand he has on your hip, and he withdraws himself before thrusting deeper into you. His hips build up a rhythm that drives you insane. You push your hips back, meeting his thrusts as you widen your legs, wanting him even deeper.

Eddie picks up the pace, the sound of his skin slapping against yours and both of your moas filling the room. “Fuck, the things I wanna do to you.” Eddie grunts; his deep, gravelly voice sends a shock through you.

“Why don’t you do them then?” You look back at him, a challengingly glint in your eyes.

Eddie lets out a strained laugh. “Oh, I will. Next time, you won’t be able to walk for days. I’ll have you in all the ways I could only imagine late at night with just my hand.”

“Tell me about them.” Your words are followed by a moan as he hits a particularly sensitive spot within you.

“I wanna make you cum so many times you can’t remember anything, not even your own name. Wanna have you so cock drunk, you can’t form proper sentences. Gonna have you bent over in front of a mirror and make you watch yourself fall apart on my cock.” You never thought you’d hear Eddie speak like this, and you can’t deny the way it makes you feel. Hearing him say these things while he fucks into you drives you insane. “Wanna see you on top, riding me with your tits bouncing with every movement, fuck.” He grunts, his thrusts speeding up. He moves in and out of you without problems. Each fantasy he’s told you makes you wetter than before, making it easier for him to slide in and out of you.

The coil in your stomach is wound tight, and it looks like Eddie isn’t gonna last much longer either. “I’m gonna cum, Eds. I’m so close.” You collapsed onto your elbows, your upper body no longer able to stay up.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” He wraps his arm around your torso, moving you back up against his chest, and you’re able to hold onto him better. Being back in this position allows him to find the spot that makes you throw your head back with a moan.

“Right there.” Eddie’s whole body is tense, his skin covered with a sheen of sweat as he pounds into you. And then his thumb finds your clit, and you’re done for, an intense orgasm washing over you. Your walls clench around him, and that’s all it took for him to fall over the edge. He grunts into your ear as he thrusts into you a few more times, his cock twitching as he unloads into the condom.

Both your chests are heaving as you slowly recover. You’re now lying flat on your back, your head on your pillow, and you run your hands through your hair, brushing the strands stuck to your face with sweat away, looking up at the ceiling as you try to comprehend what just happened.

You just had sex with your best friend. And now everything might be ruined. God, you felt so stupid. You just ruined everything, and for what? Something that probably meant nothing?

All these thoughts run through your head whilst Eddie lazily caresses your thighs, letting out a deep breath before he finally removes his hands from you and stands from the bed. You hear him walk into the bathroom, and you take the opportunity to sit up, the fabric of the hoodie you still wore stuck to your skin. Eddie walks back into the room, wet washcloth in his hand, his face still flushed a pretty pink, and you realize he has put his boxers back on. He opens his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it, your voice hoarse, “it’s late…you should go.”

He stares at you in surprise for a moment before his face falls, and he slowly nods. You lay back down, not having the will to watch as he puts his clothes back on and leaves. You wait until you can hear the roar of his engine before you let the tears fall.

part two

notes: since tumblr apparently has a limit of how many people i can tag, if i noticed i had you in multiple taglists for stranger things, i removed the duplicate so i can tag more people!

PERMANENT TAGLIST ( if it's crossed out that means i couldn't tag you )

@prettylittlemoonlight @drayshadow @evanbuckbuckleyhowlett @wildestdreamcatcher @mushroomdemon9 @levylovegood @1-800-prostitutes @AllieAprilKnox @alexxavicry @hallecarey1 @moshpot24x @AlohaStitch_626 @lucyispan @linkpk88 @juneb3rry @loveshineslikethesky @liyinzen

STRANGER THINGS TAGLIST

@hehehehannahthings @polarisfae @Pinksloosh @mushroomdemon9 @bvmbshell @lilahloopsy @yeosangs-left-ass-cheek @angelbbygrl @wandamaximoffs-deadchild @marauderssworld @watchingteav @moshpot24x @scorpfairy @cherrypieyourface @soph69420world @itsquinoa @linkpk88 @milkiane @daffodil0darling @pastel-abyss-x @maruushkka @kiwi5335

EDDIE MUNSON TAGLIST

@polarisfae @spookyconsultingcriminal @findleynovadachs111 @1-800-prostitutes @marvel-starwars-nerd @marauderssworld @lovelyladymayyy @mcueveryday @watchingteav @ts1mikas @moshpot24x @scorpfairy @WolfOstar @pettyassbitch @pumpararapam @karagrace @susbuttercup @cherrypieyourface @cupidlvrrr @eddiemunsonhellfire @soph69420world @itsquinoa @lucyispan @centralperksfunds @daffodil0darling @pastel-abyss-x @zervopoulouu @3belladonna

#eddie munson #stranger things #joseph quinn #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #stranger things 4 #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things blurb #steve harrington #robin buckley

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apotatouwu · 2 years

Text

ok ok so, I'm going to stray SO FAR away from canon right now but hear me out skhddbvd

warnings: violence, sumeru chapter act iii quest spoilers, scaramouche lore but I messed it up a bit, scaramouche himself, can be seen as either platonic or romantic, and the reader's gender isnt specified (i hope), but you do work as a shrine maiden and i don't know if that counts as gn!reader

edit: forgot to mention that this wasn't proofread so there will be grammar mistakes

edit edit: nvm was just told that this does not count as gn!reader, sorry D:

imagine being a puppet created by Yae for the sole purpose of protecting. To protect what? you don't know.

So when your creator leads you to a young boy in front of an entrance that you know nothing about, you piece together your pupose, and that is to protect that boy.

more utc!

When he wakes up after a few days, you greet him as best you can with no knowledge of outside communication; a smile while towering over him at his side.

He asks many questions, most of which you do not have the answers to. You only tell him how you were brought here by your creator with a purpose, and that you were a puppet like him.

You two begin to travel after that, until you meet a yoriki with whom your friend had befriended. You were sure that your friend would be safe, so you began to make your way to the Grand Narukami Shrine to visit your creator.

From that day on, you would journey between (what you think is called) Tatarasuna and Narukami Island, working as one of the shrine maidens. As a fox envoy like your creator, your other form made travelling much easier.

It was only until a certain event occured at where your friend stayed that changed everything. This caused him to make his way to Narukami Island to get help, and for reassurance from you. He made his way, encountering a young child that reminded him of you in the meantime, and spoke with both you and Yae Miko. Yae promised him of gathering help, while you followed your friend back to offer your own assistance.

You two returned to a forgery in chaos, the man who led the swordsmiths threatening to rid of you both out of fear. You drew your own blade and ran with your friend out of self-defence. He cried as you held him in your arms, with mutters of "why?" and "he betrayed us." being heard.

You two wandered again after a while, staying far away from Tatarasuna after such events. It was when you met with a sickly boy that you two halted your travels.

Now it was back to your old routine of travelling between Narukami Island and (what you believe it is called) Serai island. The help offered by Guuji Yae was thought to have "been ambushed" she said, while you were saddened by the fact that you and your friend fled the conflict.

Your world changed once again when you came across your friend returning to his and the younger boy's house at the time with lavender melons in his arms. You two greet each other after the temporary separation and walked back together, talking about what you had encountered so far.

He stopped his tracks as he opened the door however, as the sight he witnessed caused him to still as if he were eternity himself. You understood why he was like that though as you saw the view yourself.

The sickly boy you two met long ago was now laying on a bed of sakura petals.

You fought with your friend for the first time now. Him uttering "betrayal", "he promised!", whether it was at you or himself, you didn't know.

You eventually surrendered when he dropped a lit candle on the ground.

This "betrayal" led to your friend naming himself "Kunikuzushi" and this began the worse era of your life.

Too ashamed at your lack of strength to prevent the fire, you dragged yourself to follow Kunikuzushi instead of returning to the shrine you loved to work at. You had forsakened your creator and the purpose given to you the moment Kunikuzushi went mad.

It was when you first met with the so–called "Fatui" that you found your real purpose, and that was to protect others from Kunikuzushi. You were shocked at the news of locked power within your old friend, but to fulfil your motivation, you followed him into the Snezhnayan organization's ranks.

What you didn't know then was that this very decision would lead to your possible downfall.

As Kunikuzushi turned into Scaramouche, and in turn "the Balladeer", the Sixth of the Eleven Fatui harbingers, you became his most trusted assistant.

It doesn't sound that bad, you get to stay right by his side right?

While that statement is true, it WAS bad.

You two had recently returned from a failed mission, and currently kneeled down as you spoke with the Tsaritsa. You don't remember what she said, but you did hear a "your assistant will be replaced with one suited for your level" before being grabbed by the arm and dragged away to who knows where.

Scared to death in a nation where all you could see is snow, you only pleaded with the one person (or being? seing as he abandoned you.) you were the closest to for help. You only saw clenched eyes as you turned a corner.

The door shut, and you met with several scientists who will later lock you in a giant glass container for the rest of your immortal existence.

Scaramouche only felt a hollow feeling is his chest. He didn't understand why it was there since he had no heart to begin with. "I had nothing to lose" he said to himself over and over again. It was only when you passed by him in a hallway, not even saying a simple "hello." It was only then where a sense of pity grew in him. He abandoned you, and he only realized that.

But what he didn't know was that that... "person" wasn't you, but was a mere copy of your now withering body.

this turned into a fic now lmao I'll try to make it a full on fic once I have the time after 3.2 or 3.3 come out since I am just hooked on this little au(?) of mine akdhdndv

#potato-writes #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #genshin angst

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wardenparker · 1 year

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 7

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.

Rating: Explicit for violence Word Count: 11.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Canon typical violence. WARNINGS CONTAIN SPOILERS! Kidnapping, torture, burning victim with cigarettes, broken bones, a whole lot of gun pointing and talk about murder, medicine by injection. Summary: When the divide between you and Jack becomes big enough that a well-intended question causes an explosion of anger, you decide to get out of dodge for a while. Unfortunately, this decision has consequences that neither of you could ever have anticipated. Notes: I cried writing it, I cried editing it, I cried putting this post together. Consider yourselves warned.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

It's been a month and Jack Daniel's is a miserable fucking bastard. You've been told about the marks being detrimental to his job and refuse to get rid of the tattoo or the scars. Claiming that it wasn't your problem, and he considers that to be true, even if it pisses him off because he can't escape you. Stuck here at Statesman and being a firsthand witness to you dating. He swears he's seen half a dozen different men picking you up from your cabin and every goddamn time his stomach churns with jealousy until there's nothing left to do except get blindingly drunk.

There have been good days and bad ones, of course. You and Jack don’t ignore each other but you don’t ever do anything more intimate than having an occasional drink or taking a break from your day to have lunch together if he stops by the restaurant. Your staff has been hired and menu set, interior painted and linens picked out. Now that opening is just a few weeks away, it’s about finalizing and finesse, and your staff has been amazing.

The dating has been…touch and go. You had gone out with Ginger’s brother Lewis on almost every night of his visit, enjoying each other’s company much more than you had expected. Apparently he was just getting out of a relationship and had accepted Diana’s attempt to fix the two of you up gratefully. Without any kind of stress as to whether or not the relationship would be perfect – or even lasting – you and Lewis were able to have fun and relax on the nights you went out together.

With Jack not wanting to have anything romantic to do with anyone else especially and including you, you had no reason to say no to most of the invitations you got after that. A concert or a dinner or a movie or a special event - they were all nice things and the men were equally nice about half the time. Sometimes they stayed over and sometimes they didn’t, but none of them ever saw you more than twice. The guilt and the regret would creep in, reminding you that you have a soulmate and that he’s a good man, even if the two of you are at odds. The fact of the matter is, even with the casual and extremely platonic time that you spend with Jack, you do find yourself falling for him a little more every day. Whether that’s because you’re bound to him or because you just do love him, you really can’t be sure. And it wouldn’t do you any good to say anything anyway. So you do what Statesman employees do best and drink away the guilt.

******

Jack sighs, rolling his shoulders back before he opens the door to his house and steps outside to face the day. This time of year seems to weigh heavily on him and it doesn't help that he had watched you disappear into your cabin with some man last night while he sat on his porch. Not seeing either one of you emerge when he had finally gone to bed well after midnight.

Catching sight of Jack as you leave your house in the morning isn’t uncommon, but today when you do, guilt pools deep in your gut. Waking up with someone other than your soulmate is a special kind of self-torture, and the green-eyed, blonde-haired man curled around you this morning definitely was not Jack. This morning when you glance toward his house, you accidentally catch his eye and end up awkwardly waving as you leave your house alone. The blonde had been politely kicked out before breakfast.

Jack sends back that half-hearted wave and tries to keep the scowl off his face for your sake. Knowing that you will think that it's directed towards you instead of towards the man who had snuck out of your house this morning with a jaunt in his step that Jack certainly recognized.

A thought has been gnawing on you for a while now, and you hustle to catch up to Jack on the sidewalk that leads away from Statesman housing and heads toward the main area of the company’s campus. Trying to maintain a friendship with Jack has been agonizing for you, as you realize the actual depths of your feelings for him, but you’re also trying to respect his wishes. If he doesn’t want to be anything but a platonic pair, you aren’t going to forcibly change his mind. Either he wants to be with you or he doesn’t. End of story.

He hears your quick footsteps behind him, the effort for you to catch up to him and Jack sighs to himself. Not in any kind of mood to play nice, not when he's going to see that 'freshly fucked' glow that you seem to get when you bring someone home. Acid churns in his gut and he wonders if he's developing heartburn for how often he's eating antacids to keep it moderately tolerable.

He slows down only slightly, but you catch up to him by just the last few steps that land much harder like a schoolgirl trying to casually match the stride of her upperclassman crush. It’s a fairly apt comparison for how you feel about him sometimes, but that’s not a thought you want to have to nurse today. “In a hurry today?” You ask, knowing he isn’t late for his usual day. His 9-5 is the same as yours.

"Just wanting to get my heart pumping." Jack doesn't look over at you. "Not getting much exercise being stuck behind a desk." He tells you. "Champ still won't clear me for field work."

That’s your fault. You know it is. You’ve had full conversations about it. But as long as Jack insists on acting like you mean nothing to him, you’re going to maintain the same behavior. If he doesn’t want a soulmate, then he doesn’t get any of the benefits of you being that person. Including, but not limited to, an understanding heart.

“I had something I wanted to ask you,” you admit, shoving your hands in your pockets as you walk. Something that is very much above and beyond the call of a normal friend, but you’re telling yourself that that doesn’t mean anything. He’s not the only person you’ll be asking about this, so it’s fine.

"What do you need to know?" Jack rolls his eyes, noticing that you are avoiding him mentioning the fucking tattoo, but he didn't expect you to.

“I know it’s not really your thing…” He looks annoyed, and you wonder if he didn’t get enough sleep last night or if he skipped breakfast. The fleeting thought that he might be jealous of your date is flicked away with the reminder that he doesn’t want to be connected to you. He’s probably glad you’re finally leaving him alone. “But I’m asking my friends, which you did say you wanted to be,” the reminder comes with an awkward smile that you drop when he doesn’t respond. “Gabriella’s birthday is coming up, so it jogged my memory. I’m just asking my friends what they want their birthday cakes to be this year so I can plan ahead.”

"I don't celebrate my birthday." Jack manages to say the words without anger or devastation in the inflection in his voice. "Don't worry about it, sugar."

“I know you had said that, but I thought…sometimes it’s worth revisiting an old tradition. Who doesn’t like cake and presents, ya know?” Walking beside him, you feel like you ought to be clutching your textbooks and twirling your hair or something equally ridiculous. But all you want is to show him that you’re not the enemy.

Jaw clenched, Jack stops short and whirls towards you, obviously startling you from the way that you jump but he doesn't give a damn. You just push and you push and you push, not giving a damn what someone else might want. "I don't fucking celebrate the day my goddamn wife and baby boy died." He growls furiously. "Forget the goddamn day exists."

You feel knocked over even though all you've done is freeze on the sidewalk, wide eyes staring at him in shock while you're not sure if your jaw is trembling in shock or dropped fully open. "I—" The way your chest clenches, it feels like you might dissolve inwardly. "I didn't know. I'm so...I'm so sorry..."

"You didn't know because you didn't give a fuck." Jack sneers. "All you care about is yourself, what you want. What you think is best, damned what anyone else might think."

"Where do you get that from?" From bottomless sympathy, you bounce back to shock in a very different way. "I was trying to do something nice for you!"

"I told you I don't celebrate and you couldn't let it go." He shouts. "You won't get rid of the fuckin' tattoo so I can do my goddamn job. Maybe if you did, you wouldn't hafta worry about a fuckin' soulmate because I would be dead like I deserve to be!"

"This is the first and only time I've asked since the day we met." This time you know for certain that your lip is trembling, and that it's from oncoming tears. Being screamed at is never something you've been able to take, and this is...it's Jack. Someone you want to make happy so desperately that you're doing things you actively hate in order to do it. "You didn't want a soulmate. You wanted to be friends. So that's all I've done."

“I do want a soulmate. I want my soulmate.” Jack fumes, eyes flashing angrily. “I want the woman who fucking died on my birthday because she was going to get the fuckin’ candles she had forgot to buy for my cake. For me. She died because of me! That’s the soulmate I want!” His own agony makes him blind to the fact that he is crying, tears rolling down his face and his heart about to fucking bust apart, but not because of Abigail, it’s from hearing you say that all you’re trying to do is be friends.

With both of you crying it's almost an exercise in futility to make sense of anything, or to try to hold a reasonable conversation, and you can feel yourself shutting down faster than lightning. The words are there, ringing in your ears, never ever to leave again. I want my soulmate. Not you. Never you. He wants his wife back and you're just standing in the way and insulting her memory purely by existing. "Right." You barely croak out the one syllable, nodding vaguely and already backing away from him while you try not to shake where you stand. "Th—that's...you..." Whatever sentence you were trying to form isn't happening, to the point where all you can think about clearly is how badly you don't want him to be upset with you anymore. And the only way to do that is to walk away. "I'm sorry." Are the only coherent words you manage to murmur, fleeing in the opposite direction as soon as you get them out.

Jack stands there for a few minutes, only moving to wipe away the tears when his breathing is relaxed. Dread curling in his stomach as he replays the cruel things he had said to you in his anger and sorrow. “Shit.” He hisses quietly, wondering if you would talk to him now, but he doubts it.

You have to get yourself under control before you make it to the restaurant, you know that. But the tears rolling down your cheeks are thick and angry and making it hard for you to think, and when you pull out your phone to send a text you can barely read the screen. Hopefully, even if it doesn't make sense, your brother will understand enough to call you later. It's Friday and you need to be anywhere but here this weekend. Hopefully his guest room is free.

******

Jack pauses outside the restaurant, knowing that he needs to talk to you again, but he can’t make himself go inside. He’s fucked this all up. He’s hurt you and his heart aches from that. Instead, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials a number that oftentimes he avoids like the plague. “Hey doc.” He greets the Statesman therapist when the call is picked up. “Do you have some free time? I need to talk.”

A two-hour flight to New York is nothing, but by the time you land it’s late and the sight of your brother standing at the gate waiting for you nearly brings you to relieved tears.

******

It’s not unusual that he doesn’t see you at night. His therapy session opening his eyes and making him see that he’s been very wrong, very cruel to you. Sighing, Jack pushes off the swing with his foot, the tall glass of Statesman in his hand as he watches your dark cabin. He knows you’re in there, the pinging on his phone showing that you are.

There’s no sign of you all the next day, or even the one after that. No movements from your house, no lights turning on or off, no television flickering or even anyone else’s car in the driveway. It’s like you’ve shut yourself inside and locked out the rest of the world.

Jack tries to go about his weekend, but his eyes still wander over to your place. Hoping to see you, not having enough courage to go over and knock. He knows you won’t answer the door and it’s not like he’s given you any reason to. So he waits for an opportunity to bump into you.

But when Monday morning comes, you aren’t there. The bracelet he gave you - the one that was presented as an apology for an argument but actually contained a tracker so he can keep an eye on you - hasn’t moved. According to that tracker you’re still in your house, but it’s 8:40 on Monday morning and you are never late. You should be closing your front door behind you right now to walk to work, but there isn’t any trace of you in sight.

“Fuck this.” Jack slaps his thigh and stalks across the small courtyard to march up your step and - it’s probably a little more forceful than necessary - he starts beating on your door. “Come on, sugar! Open the door!”

There’s no answer. No movement from within at all. A peak through the garage door shows your car sitting there as usual so it’s not like you’ve decided to break your walking tradition and drive to work.

“Damnit.” Jack shakes his head and presses the button on his watch. “Ginger, unlock cabin 6.” He orders, worry starting to curl in his gut though your marks are still on his skin.

“Roger.” Ginger’s voice comes through his com loud and clear and the locks on your front door click open obediently to allow him entry.

His search is quick, getting more and more hurried as he rushes through the space until he’s convinced you’re not here. “Shit.” Jack hisses, sweeping his hat off his head in a panic. “Shit!”

“Agent Whiskey. Report.” Ginger had left the com open when she unlocked your house, knowing Jack would never want her to do something like that for anything less than an emergency.

“Where the fuck is she, Ginger?” There’s an undercurrent of panic in his voice and the bracelet firmly in his fist. “‘Cause she ain’t here.”

"Come into the office," she urges him, knowing that tone in his voice after years of working together. "I'll see if I can track her down in the couple of minutes it takes you to get here."

“Find her now, Ginger.” Jack flies out of the cabin and his boots thump on the walkway as he makes for Statesman at a dead sprint.

The door to the lab slams open with a violent rattle five minutes later but Ginger barely moves in her seat. The control panel in front of her gives her domain across the myriad of screens mounted on the wall, most of which are showing traffic cam footage, sidewalk security footage, or even in-building security footage of you over the last two days. A flight itinerary is pulled up in one corner and the far-left monitor shows a string of text messages. "She went to New York City," Ginger tells Jack, her hands flying across her keyboard. "It looks like she went to see her brother after your last fight."

“How did— you know about that?” Jack huffs, slightly deflated as he catches sight of the texts that you had sent your brother and winces at the stark harshness of his words written out. “Shit. Can you track her phone? Where is she now?”

"I tracked her phone to a hotel in Times Square." That fact makes Ginger cringe, but she glances up at Jack cautiously. "She didn't get on her flight last night and she didn't change her ticket, either. When I called the kitchen with the pretense of wanting to invite her to lunch today, her sous-chef said she hadn't heard from her either."

“Fuck.” Jack shakes his head, pointing at her as he starts rushing for the door. “Get Pony Express fueled up and on the tarmac when I get there!” He orders as he dashes out of the room. In his gut he knows something is very wrong.

Jack dashes out of Ginger’s office right before she gets another ping on your information - something more than cell phone records between your family members like she’s seen this morning. This is a missing person’s report, filed by your brother with NYPD just a minute or two ago. “Shit.” Ginger mutters, furiously clicking at her control panel to notify the hangar to have the Pony Express ready so she can call Champ immediately.

Jack has never run so fast in his life. Breathlessly changing into his flight suit and bolting for the fighter jet. He knows something’s wrong. You would never let your kitchen be kept in the dark, no matter how upset you were with him. No, this is dangerous and it’s all his fault.

******

There are some things television is very informative about: interior decorating, cooking, fashion, even nature or manufacturing. But in no way, shape, or form does it prepare the unsuspecting person for what kidnapping might really be like.

The men who approached you after you left your self-indulgent solo dinner had been overbearing and pushy, asking for your number and where you were going, trying to get you to go with them willingly to their next destination - a bar you had never heard of. When you had politely refused so many times that you had to go from polite to insistent, the one standing directly in back of you had pushed the muzzle of a gun into your back while the leader ordered you to do as you were told so you wouldn’t have your spinal cord severed. In terror, you had obeyed.

The duct tape, zip ties, and blindfold were not enough, apparently. You had been gagged and starved, left tied to a chair in a room you could only describe as drafty and damp, and generally ignored excepted to be threatened periodically or violently interrogated whenever one of them got frustrated. You’re fairly certain that you now know what waterboarding actually is, but you’re grateful they haven’t done worse. The thing is — what they want? Is Jack. And there is no way you’re going to give them that. Even as angry as you can be with each other, if you didn’t realize that you loved him before now, this would have proved it. Literally willing to die for his safety, you haven’t said one coherent word to these mongrels since they shoved you into the back of an SUV in Times Square.

“Come on sweetheart…” The slow, condescending roll of the words come from your left where a man of middle-aged years is watching you, leaning back in his chair as your head swivels towards him. “All you gotta do is make a phone call. One thirty second call. You can be as damsel in distress as you’d like.”

With a gag in your mouth, you shake your head once to signal ‘no’ and raise your head again, determined not to cry this time. You have no idea how long you’ve been with these degenerates, but it feels like days - and you’ve definitely cried a lot during that time. So much that you’re starting to finally feel numb.

“Fuckin’ ridiculous,” mutters someone on your other side. The voice sounds younger. Angrier. And familiar. “She’s fuckin’ useless.”

“No, she ain’t.” There is a low, evil chuckle from the other man. “You said she’s his soulmate.” He hums, pleased with himself. “If she doesn’t want to cooperate, we’ll start shippin’ pieces of her back to him.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. You blink back the fear, cut between the fear that that kind of stunt either wouldn’t work at all because Jack hates you so much, or that it would bring him straight into danger on Champ’s orders. Whoever that man is, he can’t know what Statesman really is - or is that exactly why they came for you? If you could fucking place his voice, that would be a huge goddamn help.

“Aw, look.” One of the other men snickers nastily. “Bitch is gonna cry again.”

There’s a round of chuckling, generally enjoying your fear and upset, “I bet it’s gonna eat him alive.” The older man snorts. “Buryin’ a second soulmate. Another one he couldn’t save.” There’s another round of amusement, harsh and cold. All of them in on a secret you don’t know.

“Go get some dinner.” The first man tells another. “I’m hungry. I’ll watch her, see if she’ll give in.”

There is a general sound of chairs scraping and boots on concrete, the sound of heels clicking so similar to the now-familiar sound of cowboy boots on the sidewalk. They keep you from responding with the gag, and the blindfold keeps their faces hidden, but they always want you to hear. It keeps you afraid, and fear is what they’re banking on. That fear will make you cave. What they don’t know is that your fear has more to do with not knowing whether or not Jack will even care that you’re gone.

“Has he fallen for you yet?” The question comes with a hint of irony in his voice. The need for information that would twist the knife deeper. “Or is he runnin’ from it to keep from gettin’ hurt?”

You can’t help that that brings a fresh set of tears. It seems to be the part of your body you have the least control over. Fucking tear ducts. But this guy’s seemingly endless need to talk and talk and make you as miserable as humanly possible has made you pay more attention to his voice over however long you’ve been here. Some of the others have slightly different accents - but this one is a cowboy.

“Mhm, running.” The deeply satisfied tone settles back slightly as he sits back in his chair and watches you, “just so you know it’s not personal.” He tells you conversationally. “I just want to see the poor bastard’s face as he holds another dead soulmate.”

Without this fucking gag in your mouth, you might have said something that would give you away. That would hurt Jack somehow or prove that you actually are useless to them. They don’t know that you’ve fallen for him despite your very best efforts, and they don’t know that he despises you simply for existing. He’s not running from anything – but you’re not Abigail, so you’re an insult to her memory.

“Oh hell, I’ll tell you since you aren’t leavin’ this room.” Alive is left off the end of the sentence, but the threat is clearly there. “I was the one who arranged for good ol’ Jack Daniels to lose his first soulmate. Her and the kid she was carryin’. Cherry on top of you ask me.”

Your eyes open wide against the blindfold, head snapping in the direction of the voice as he chuckles. The evil bastard is so goddamn pleased with himself. You could scream if you had breath, but the best you can do is fight against bindings that will never break.

“Bastard never even knew it, either. Dumb son of a bitch.” He huffs. “Bought the story of it being meth heads, robbing the store. Can you believe that? But it allowed me to attend the funeral. Watch his grief firsthand.”

Why? Is all you can wonder, as your mind races to try to figure out what the hell Jack could have done to warrant such a vast conspiracy before he was ever even a spy. Diana said Jack hadn’t joined Statesman until after his wife and son had died, so why the hell would anyone want to ruin his life when he was just a normal man?

“Jack Daniels is gonna fuckin’ pay,” the chair scrapes back and the sound of boots slowly comes towards you, ominous in how measured the steps are. “Maybe I’ll stage it for him. Write a note sayin’ how you couldn’t take being his soulmate.” He chuckles and his hand caresses the side of your face. “Pretty neck of yours will look good stretched out on a rope for him to find.”

You grunt, jerking your face away from his touch and wishing you could just scream at him. The muffled noises of frustration that do make it past your lips seem only to amuse him and you twist in your chair in a vain desire to lash out.

“Oh don’t be that way…” he tuts and bends down, smirking directly in your face even though you can’t see it. “You’d even be my type if you weren’t tied to that bastard. Maybe we could have some fun before your usefulness is done.”

That’s a line too far, and you instinctively start screaming, not like you’re trying to call for help but like you would call him every horrible name in the book if you could speak. There’s no way you can move but you take a chance, even knowing it’s a long shot. Reeling back as quickly as possible, you hit your head forward and manage to connect – head butting the bastard and making him stumble and fall backward into some nearby furniture, from the sound of it. Bastard.

“Bitch!” he growls, rushing forward and raising his hand. Bringing it down against the side of your face and slapping you hard enough to nearly knock your chair over. “Fuck with me and I start chopping you into pieces now!” He bellows.

Muffled and muted, the "Fuck you!" you scream as loud as you can is just clear enough to understand. You've gone from terrified to pissed, and it feels like a light switch has turned on inside you. These fuckers aren't getting shit from you. Not even another tear.

******

Honestly, Jack doesn’t remember a time when he’s pushed the Pony Express so hard. Finally setting down on the runway, he ignores the curious and awed looks of the grounds crews of the airport and starts looking around. “Where are my wheels, Ginger?”

"Rye is in the black SUV on the edge of the runway." Ginger fires back immediately. Champ had authorized the rescue mission immediately and sent one of the senior agents from the New York office to be at Jack's disposal.

“Goddamnit this is all my fault,” Jack spots the car and starts running, not bothering to change out of his flight suit. “She should be in her kitchen!”

"I've combed the security footage from Times Square." In his ear, Ginger is clicking through countless screens with images of you from all angles - a large number of them featuring a group of seven men and a large SUV that you appear to get into willingly. "She got into a slate gray SUV with a group of seven men on West 51st between 8th and Broadway."

“Who the fuck are they?” Jack demands, ripping the door open and jumping inside the car. He spares Rye a nod as he waits for his answer. “And did you track the SUV?”

“I’m working on the car. It drops off the traffic cameras after the Williamsburg Bridge.” A few clicks can be heard in the background and Ginger hums. “I have records on four of the seven men. Domestic, drug charges, firearms, breaking and entering, the usual gamut of ‘goon’ crimes. But…” she muffles a groaning sound. “Jack. Some of these guys are from your hometown…”

“What?” Jack slams his fist on the dashboard, sick that his suspicions are right. This is all his fault. “Give me their names.”

"Hank Rollins, Ben Jeffrey, Andrew Kelly, and Sean Perring. All from Lloyd, Montana." Ginger bites her lip, sighing at her screen. "On the sidewalk footage she appears to be going with them willingly, but from your reaction I'm guessing that isn't the case."

“Rollins.” Jack growls out, pissed off to hear the name after so long, thinking that he’d escaped the fucking family feud unscathed. “Haven’t heard that name in a long time. Hoped to never hear it again.”

“They’ve had her for nineteen hours now.” Ginger swallows, not liking how high that number is. “And we haven’t had a ransom note or a phone call of any kind.”

“Shit.” Jack shakes his head. “Take me to where she was taken. Now.”

Rye doesn’t hesitate, throwing the car into gear and heading for the road at a full tilt. Getting close to Broadway at any time of day is a task, but if they have to, he can pull any number of public safety tricks to be able to block off part of the area. Being a Statesman agent in New York City means having a few tricks up his sleeve. “What can we be expecting?” He asks Jack, wondering if the other agent might have an idea now that he knows some of what is going on.

“Anything.” Jack’s teeth grind together. “This is personal. A family feud over land disputes dating back to the fuckin’ 1800s.” Jack hisses, shaking his head. “I left the goddamn valley for a reason.”

“They grabbed her over a two-hundred-year-old land dispute?” Nothing should surprise him at this point, with what he’s seen as a Statesman agent, but Rye still huffs. “What the hell do they want you to do? Time travel?” It’s the absence of a ransom demand that makes him nervous. They took an agent’s soulmate and it’s not money they’re after.

“When my daddy died, I put the land in the hands of the ranch board.” Jack tells him. “I didn’t wanna fucking ranch, not after Abigail died. Rollins wants me to sell to him, but I can’t. It has to be passed down to blood.”

"So what's the idea?" Speeding through the streets as fast as possible without causing an accident, Rye keeps his eyes on the road but frowns. "Make sure she's out of the picture so there's no blood to pass it down to?"

“Did I mention that the entire Rollins family is as crazy as a fuckin’ loon?” Jack huffs, shaking his head and even more worried about you now that he knows that bastard is behind your disappearance. “Who the hell knows? Tried to claim I’d stolen his soulmate at one point.”

“Jesus.” The other agent huffs, continuing to weave their way through the thick New York traffic. “It’s up to you how you want to approach this,” he tells Jack honestly. “She’s your soulmate.”

“She doesn’t get hurt.” His answer is immediate, almost growled out. “Not a fuckin’ hair on her head.”

“Copy that.” His tone says everything, and Rye doesn’t ask any more questions. “We’ll get her back.”

Finally, the SUV comes to a screeching stop at the spot where you were forced into a vehicle. Jack throws open the doors and bolts out, eyes scanning the ground for something – anything. It's a long shot, but there's got to be something here that would show that you were here. Some marker. Anything.

Any street in New York City has trash and debris to a certain extent, and there are traces of people having been through the area just because of how much car and foot traffic moves through Broadway every single day. Broken bottles, cigarette butts, tissues, all the normal bits of peoples' lives that go by the wayside are littered about on steps and in sidewalk cracks. Candy wrappers or coffee cups by the curb. Rye combs the area for specialized clues – a name on a cup or a wrapper from a list of the favourite snacks listed in your file, but frustratingly finds nothing.

“Come on, there’s gotta be something here!” Jack huffs, kicking a trash can and there is the tiny clink of something metal being launched against it. “Fuck, what’s this?”

Rye bends over, swiping up the item as it glints in the sun. "Looks like a bracelet." He inspects it carefully, not finding a serial number or any indication of a designer, except for a small engraving in the tip that looks like a maker's mark. "Maybe Ginger can track down the manufacturer? It's a long shot that it will help, but it's something."

“It’s hers.” Jack stares at the inscription on the inside of the bracelet. “Beautiful girl, you can do hard things.” He reads aloud. “She—she showed me this. It’s a quote her grandmother would tell her.” His mouth is dry and he takes it from Rye to put in his pocket, determined to put it back on your wrist himself. “Let’s hope she can hang on. Just hold on, sugar. I’m comin’.”

"Whiskey. Rye." Ginger's voice in their ears makes both men's heads perk up, listening for a report from their eyes and ears. "The car registration belongs to a shell corporation owned by the Rollins family. They also own a shipping company with containers in the Brooklyn Navy Yard." She clears her throat pointedly. "Right off of the Williamsburg Bridge where we lost the car."

“Get us there now.” Jack points at Rye and starts running back to the Statesman SUV like his heels are being nipped by the hounds of hell. “Ginger, I need you to get me the specs of that building.”

"Sending them now." Her voice is accompanied by the sound of keyboard clacking as Rye and Whiskey jump back into the car, peeling back out onto Broadway to head toward Williamsburg. The heavy traffic doesn't part for them easily but Rye was chosen for this assignment specifically for his abilities as a driver.

“Ginger, is there any indication on how they know that I have another soulmate?” Jack demands, tensing the closer that he gets with every mile to the shipyard. He knows he will kill them; he’ll kill every last one of them to protect you. “They don’t seem to know I’m a fuckin’ spy.”

"I'm working on it." It isn't something that has been advertised, obviously, and Jack has kept his marks from you hidden since they first appeared on his skin. There are few people who know, most of whom have priority clearance. She's gone through all the background checks on the new Statesman employees and the places you frequent, all the men you've dated, even all the way back through the staff at The Whitney months ago who might have seen your marks on your first soulmate before the accident. Not a single red flag had risen, but Ginger hesitates for just a split second as she tries to think through more connections. There was one - just one – the newest line cook for The Rabbit Hole that makes her hesitate. "Have you ever heard her mention a man named Tripp Tanner?" Ginger asks, pulling up the file on the man once more. It's too pristine. Too squeaky clean. Too pitch-perfect. Like it's been manufactured.

Jack is ashamed to say that you’ve not been doin’ a whole lot of talkin’ around him. It’s not like he’s really encouraged close conversations. Keeping things as surface level as he could to not make it more difficult. Even though every day he aches and he hates that he aches. “No.” Though he recognizes the name, he can’t place it. “She hasn’t mentioned him. Why? Is he one of the ones she’s been…uh, seein’?” His ears burn slightly, noticing the way Rye’s eyes cut from the road to look over at him but he tries to ignore it.

"No, he—" Ginger hates that it makes her stammer, feeling like your dating is partially her fault because it started with her brother. "He's on her staff. The background check is clean and his resume is spotless. But it's too clean, so it's the best lead I have. I'm running him through Statesman facial recognition now." The Statesman database is far more complex and complete than any government or criminal database. If her gut feeling is right, it might kick up a result.

“Send me a picture of the boy.” Jack grunts, having already looked at the blueprints of the building where you might be. It’s better than you being in a random shipping container. They might never find you if that’s the case.

"His employee ID photo is coming through now." More taps come from Ginger's end of the conversation before a muffled shriek of dismay. "Shit. Jack— Tanner is from Lloyd, too. He changed his name from Rollins two years ago. Stephen Stuart Rollins the third - nickname Tripp - has a rap sheet a mile long."

“Son of a bitch.” Jack hisses, his grip on the dashboard nearly about to put an indentation in it. “This is my fault. If I hadn’t been avoidin’ her, I woulda recognized the bastard.”

"We'll fix it on this end, Jack." She promises him. "Just go bring her home."

“She hates me.” Jack murmurs quietly. “I was— I wasn’t very nice to her.”

“I’m pretty sure she’ll forgive you after you save her life.” Ginger sighs, watching the dot on her on-screen map that represents her two agents speed toward the warehouse where she’s figured out you’re being held. “Stop these assholes first, apologize second. She— she thinks you hate her. That’s what she told Gabriella, anyway.”

“I don’t hate her.” Jack grumbles, feeling guilty as hell because he knows that’s what it looked like.

“I would suggest telling her that.” Even though Ginger’s voice goes soft, she’s following their movements and watching the Navy Yard security cameras. “There’s movement at the building. I don’t see her, but I’m counting…six men outside the building.”

“Good.” Jack’s voice is grim and his brows are knitted together. “Every single one of them is going in the ground, Ging. This feud ends today.”

******

There is a group of men milling about around a large brick building with the number 31 painted above the bay doors. Cars parked haphazardly nearby with doors flung open present as frustratingly casual, but the large, dark gray van from the sidewalk cam footage is nowhere in sight.

“So what are we doin’ here, Whiskey?” Rye demands, slowing the vehicle down so it doesn’t look like they are barreling into the place. “Are we run in guns blazing or using some stealth?”

Every instinct inside him is screaming to run in guns blazing, but he can’t risk another man inside hurting you. “Shit.” He hisses. “Turn down the service road and park the fucking car.” He grunts. “We’re sneakin’ up on the bastards.”

The service road runs behind the old abattoir buildings and Rye tucks the car out of sight so he and Whiskey can arm themselves out of the trunk before coming up on the group of abductors. “Three doors on the blueprint.” Rye murmurs, tucking a Bowie knife into the sheath on his belt. “Those buildings are big, we gotta be methodical.”

Jack finally shucks the flight suit, changing into his standard jeans and a button up with a sports coat. His double six shooters tucked into their holsters and his electric whip and lasso tucked into his belt. “They are going to keep her somewhere small, like an office. Probably have her tied to a chair, the bastards.”

“I’m followin’ your lead.” Tucking a few throwing knives into the hidden pockets of his jacket for good measure, Rye nods for Jack to step out first. This is his operation and Rye will do what he needs to keep him covered.

He moves silently, deciding that he will pull his weapons later to get as close as possible without seeming suspicious. Crouching low enough that his knees protest, Jack skirts the edge of the loading docks and edges towards the northeast door. The one farthest away from the group out front.

There is no guard at the northeast door. The bastards obviously are either overconfident or underprepared, and Rye picks the padlock in record time to let Jack get inside with minimal noise. No alarm sounds, no person is alerted. It looks to be a storage room, and the two men pass through it easily to find a claustrophobic hallway waiting for them beyond the interior door.

There’s a muffled sound, Jack tensing and hisses under his breath when he recognizes the sound of screaming through a gag. “Fuck.” He murmurs, imagining all sorts of horrible things. “That way.”

The room where the noises are coming from is non-descript now, empty except for some card tables and chairs, and the remains of a meal spread out with some discarded firearms and a bag of who-knows-what open on the ground. Two large men are hunched in the center of the room. Deep, rumbling laughter rolls from them and cigarette smoke is pungent in the air as the muffled shrieks get slightly more panicked. Still blindfolded and gagged, the front legs of the chair that you've been zip-tied to almost constantly your arrival in this place have been broken, leaving you kneeling on the cement floor between the two of them. One who has decided to turn your shoulder into his ashtray, and the other who is deciding which fingernail to pull off with the pliers in his hand. Presumably to send to Jack.

“Shit, shit.” Jack hisses under his breath, the urge to rush in there nearly overwhelming but he doesn’t want to give them a chance to anticipate. Stealth is needed and he slowly starts to pull his pistols out but decides against it. He wants this to be more personal, so he reaches for the whip and lasso.

“I know, I know.” Rollins drawls, holding onto your left hand to inspect your fingernails. “Jack likes his girls done up, so not being able to have all your nails painted is gonna disappoint him.” He tuts, finally deciding that your pointer finger mail is long enough to get a good grip on with the pliers. You’re screaming and crying again after a few hours of putting on a brave face and he’s enjoying it. “If ya like I could just cut off the whole finger? That might be more fun for everybody.”

“More fun if you get the fuck away from her and face me like a man, Rollins.” Jack bursts through the door and squares up, his eyes not even looking at you as he focuses on the man responsible. “Always knew you were a chickenshit, but this is low even for you.”

Jack? You would know his voice anywhere, even as often as you’re at odds you’ve still memorized the tone and tenor. He came. He actually came. As fast as your heart was beating before, the pace doubles now and the tears soaking your blindfold are relief. He came for you. It might not say ‘love’, but it doesn’t say ‘hate’.

The deep, rolling, evil laugh that bubbles out of the man beside you is so pleased that it makes you physically ill just to hear. Rollins, as Jack calls him, drops your hand but stomps on the back leg of the chair you’re tied to for good measure - breaking it and sending you crashing to the ground with another scream. There is no way you can see what’s going to happen with the blindfold, but at least the two men have lost interest in torturing you for the moment.

“Daniels.” The game is up and if Rollins is surprised that Jack has found out that it’s him, he doesn’t show it. Too deep into his madness and he sneers at the man in front of him. “You came with a whip?” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Always knew you were a fucking idiot.”

The man who had been standing in the other side of you drops his cigarette beside you - probably hoping to burn your clothes in the process - and squares his shoulders like he’s planning to make a run at Jack but isn’t sure he’ll win.

“I’m begging you too.” Jack growls out, wanting nothing more than to have them strike first. Give him a reason to cut them into pieces with his tech. Rye moves past the door behind him, intent on taking out the others while he saves you. “Do it.”

“Begging.” Rollins laughs again, taking a step forward. “Tripp, don’t fuckin’ move. Keep a gun on the bitch until I say otherwise.” The sound of the safety of a gun clicking is now intimately familiar to you and you squirm on the ground, trying to push your chair away from it even a little, but a pressure on your ribcage stops you. It’s unmistakably a foot. And you’ve only heard the name Tripp once in your entire life - meaning the jackass you hired to your kitchen to bolster numbers now has his goddamn boot in your side. You knew you recognized that fucking voice.

“It’ll be the last fucking thing you do, Tripp.” Jack hisses, keeping his eyes on the older, more unhinged brother. “Finally gone off the deep end, huh? What’s this all about?” He doesn’t know why the Rollins boys are after you to get to him. Doesn’t understand it. He’s not run the ranch since he was in high school.

"You're a hard man to get through to, Daniels." Hank tells him, smug smirk still painted across his crooked face. "Last time I had to talk real loud to make you listen. Figured I'd have to do it again."

His head tilts, eyes narrowing slightly as he tries to figure out what he means by that. “Well, I’m here now. Whadya gotta say?”

"Y'all got something I want." And even after fifteen years, he hasn't figured out a way other than this to get it. Something that isn't criminal. "Now, the last time I made myself heard, you went off and skipped town with your tail between your legs like a spurned schoolgirl on prom night." Hank Rollins takes out his own gun, the pistol pointed directly at your head when he stretches out his arm. "But I'm sick and tired of a whole world that thinks the sun shines outta Jack Daniels' ass crack."

Jack’s entire world narrows and focuses on his words, taking them and twisting them in his mind. “The last time…” He growls. “My wife died in a fuckin’ robbery.” He hisses, fingers twitching on the whip and hovering over the button that would turn it deadly.

The way Hank Rollins laughs - the wicked, pleased, loathsome way he chortles at Jack's pain - almost makes you physically sick. "I love that you bought that," he gloats, taking another step toward the senior Statesman agent, ignoring his backup altogether if he's even taken a long enough look to see Rye in the room. "Hook. Line. And sinker. Goddamn beautiful."

“What did you do, you bastard?” His knuckles are practically white and he curls his lips back in disgust. “A pregnant woman? Why? What evil did I do to you?”

"You took what was mine." His free hand moves to his sleeve even as Jack watches him more carefully than a hawk. When Rollins rolls up his shirt sleeve, there is a scar there that is burned into Jack's memory as clear as day - Abigail was bitten by the neighbor's dog as a little girl and wore the scar for her entire life. "You brainwashed her against me. And you paraded my soulmate around town like your fucking prize, Daniels. That boy should've been mine, too."

“I wore her marks.” Jack hisses. “Every goddamn one of them and you know it! They would be gone if she was your soulmate.” He always thought Hank was insane, and this just proves it. The marks would have disappeared. They wouldn’t be there, just like they disappeared from Jack when she died. “But you mean to tell me that you murdered her because I had her and you wanted her?”

"I saved her!" Rollins snaps back, waving his gun in your direction as the rage builds in him. "The wife of some city-slicker pretty boy without the sense to keep a single fuckin' eye on the most important woman in the world. She would have been miserable bearing your heathen children and picking up the pieces of everything you ever broke."

Jack scoffs, knowing it won’t make any use to point out that he grew up in the same small damn valley Hank did. That they both worked and lived on ranches. The Daniels spread was more lucrative thanks to his Grandaddy being a smart man and the Rollins have always been a little unhinged. Hank and his younger brother being the worst of them all. “Point the gun at me, not her.” As devastating as it is to hear him talk about Abigail that way, you are the one in danger right now. His heart bursting with the need to see you safe.

"Now, c'mon." Rollins drawls, throwing his brother a smirk from a few feet away. "Don't start pretendin' you like her now. She already knows why you can't look her in the eye. Lyin' piece of shit."

Jack wishes he could see your eyes, but they are covered. All he can hear is the panicked breathing and sobs from your poor body. “Your issue is with me. She ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.”

"Cryin' over a man who can't ever love her." Tutting as he shakes his head, Rollins moves his gun temporarily from pointing at your head to Jack, but goes back again. He's having too much fun watching the man he despises twist. "You been treatin' this one even worse than my Abigail."

It’s in his chest to scream out that Abigail was his, but she’s dead and you’re here, alive and depending on him. His heart clenches and he rocks his jaw. “If you know how I’ve been treatin’ her, why take her? Why not let her go? I’m here now. You’ve got my attention.”

“You want me to let her go?” Hank Rollins scoffs to his brother and seems to weigh his options. As far as he’s concerned there’s no reason this can’t be as much fun as he likes. “I could see my way to lettin’ that happen,” he concedes with another contemptuous chuckle. “You got two options, Daniels. One is I shoot her in the head right now and you walk free knowin’ you’re the reason two innocent women are dead. But two? Two is you take her place. Right here and now. I’ll let her walk right out on outta here. Yer friend there can even get her home safe. Either way, yer signing over that ranch land and the whole business operatin’ on it over to me first.”

“Done.” The word is out of his mouth so fast he’s not even sure if he actually said them out loud. Maybe he just thought it. But then Rollins’ face cracks into a wide grin and he looks like he’s struck gold. “Let her go, and I’ll take her place.”

It may not be discernable words, but the hoarse screams coming from you now are crystal clear - pleading with him not to take your place. As much as this is the very last circumstance you would ever want to be in, as much as you cannot fathom how this absolute basket case Rollins thinks his 'plan' could ever succeed, Jack is worth far more to the world at large – and to you. So if either one of you is walking out of here, it should be him. Thrashing as much as your binding will allow, trying to toss off the foot of the man standing on you or else wiggle away from the pressure, probably a move that will end in broken bones, but you couldn't care less. Just as long as Jack stays far away from this chair.

“Let her go.” That’s all that matters to Jack right now. Getting you far away, keeping you safe. “Now.” Hank huffs and rolls his eyes, pointing the weapon at your head once more for the sheer pleasure of watching Jack’s face drain of all life. “Fine.” He grumbles, motioning to Tripp. “Get her up and hand her over to whatever city boy he has with him.” He doesn’t get to watch you die, which is disappointing, but he gets Jack Daniels and the land his family stole. It might even be better this way.

Tripp grumbles, on the verge of protesting, but he does as he's told...mostly. All he really does is kick you - still attached to the chair - over to the man a few feet away. Rye immediately drops to his knees, murmuring to you quietly who he is and that he's going to untie you, Bowie knife out of its sheath and slicing away at the ties and tape that bind you to the chair that has been your prison for the last God only knows how many hours. As soon as your ankles are free you kick your legs, trusting that this other Statesman agent is here to help but wanting desperately to get to Jack to stop him from giving your literal kidnapper what he wants. As soon as your wrists are free you shove the blindfold off your eyes and drag the gag out of your mouth, shrinking away from the light in the same breath that you scream for Jack not to give in with everything you have left in you. Which, after countless hours screaming, crying, and very nearly choking on a ball of knotted cloth, is hoarse at best.

Finally looking over at you, Jack is furious by how swollen your eyes are, how raw your voice is. He doesn’t say anything about it though. Knowing it would give Hank a thrill to know how much he pissed Jack off. “Get out of here, sugar.” There’s a lot that Jack wants to say, but there’s no time. He needs you away from this room. “You’ve got a restaurant to open, remember? Go with Rye.”

Like the nail in the top of the coffin, you reel back at being ordered away. Not a moment of gentleness or sensitivity after being fucking kidnapped by the man who is still as obsessed with his wife as Jack is. After being convinced he wouldn't come for you only to feel such soaring hope at hearing his voice, the desolation of realizing that he only came because you're a complication and that he never felt any kind of tenderness or care for you at all. It's almost reassuring, in a way. To know that you at least had the right level of expectation in the beginning is something, at least.

It isn't hard to bundle you up into his arms when you deflate, but Rye doesn't say anything about it. Only tucks you against him and helps you shuffle toward the door on weak legs. "Come on, darlin'," he murmurs, glancing back at Jack. "We'll get you fixed up right. Let Jack handle it from here."

"Sure." Even one word makes you cough, but you don't put up a fight or try to get back to him. To your fucking soulmate. After all - you have a restaurant to open. God forbid you get behind on your commitment to Statesman for any reason.

He wants to call you back, to talk to you. His heart aching with every step you take away from him, but it’s safer. He sees the glint in Hank’s eyes, he knows he’s looking for another reason to strike out. Possibly waiting until Jack talks to you to shoot you. He can’t risk that. He can’t risk you. No matter what, his soulmate – you – needs to survive.

After about four steps, Rye stops your shuffling and scoops you up, not wanting you to walk on any injuries or aggravate anything. He nods to Jack and carries you out the back door, planning on bundling you into the backseat of the SUV and then taking out the stragglers out in front of the abattoir. But you need to be safe, first.

It feels like you’ve cried every tear in your body, and this bitter disappointment is met with stony silence and efficiency of movement. It doesn’t take long to get you out of there but Rye does it carefully, promising you in low tones that everything is going to be okay from here. That you’re safe. That Jack’s going to take care of you. The last part just makes you feel hollow as you nod.

“Now you stay right here,” Rye croons, buckling you into the backseat and tapping a few times on his watch. “Ginger, I need your eyes in the car. Our girl is safe but I gotta take care of somethin’ before we clear out of here.”

“Copy.” Ginger acknowledges the request and as soon as Rye closes the doors, the entire vehicle locks and a red light above the rear-view mirror flashes on. The built-in screens in the headrests come on and you can barely see Ginger’s concerned face. “Honey, I need you to listen to me.” She urges. “It’s Astrid. The Statesman cars come equip with medical facilities for injuries. I’m going to scan you now.”

Talking hurts, with how hoarse you are, but you nod at Astrid’s face on screen and only shrink away from the bright lights - What are those? Lasers? - for a second before you remember she has never done anything to hurt you. “Everything hurts.” It’s just a whisper, but it’s there.

“I know, I’m going to make sure that you feel better, okay?” Sorrow and rage fill the Statesman tech as the images comes back to her. Multiple contusions, burns - obviously from cigarettes - two broken ribs and a fractured ankle. All of them evidence of the horrific torture you endured at the hands of those madmen. “I can have a shot administered.” She tells you through the screen, trying not to show her emotions. “Just a tiny prick and then you will feel so much better. Can I do that?” It’s important right now for you to feel like you have control. That nothing is being done to you anymore and she wants you to be comfortable.

“Sure.” You murmur, hoping it’s something like morphine or stronger so you don’t have to think or feel anything. “A-Astrid?” Right before whatever happens happens, you look up to find her eyes watching you on screen. “How…how long have I been gone? Does my family know?”

Pausing for a moment, Ginger nods. “Your brother filed a police report, this morning. After Jack went to your house when you didn’t leave for work this morning—”

“Jack came to my house?” You practically whisper it, but Ginger hears you loud and clear. “He did. You’d been missing for seventeen hours when Jack jumped into the jet to come to New York.” She confirms softly.

“Will you just…let them know I’m okay?” Whatever lie Statesman tells people, you’ll go with it. It’s just that right now you can’t wrap your head around the idea of Jack giving two shits about you enough to check on you at home - let alone rescue you. It’s too much.

“As soon as I get you feeling better, I will have the local police contact them to tell them that you are safe.” She promises, knowing that you wouldn’t want them to worry. “We’re going to bring you back to Statesman to put you in our hyperbaric healing station. Six hours in it and you will be completely healed.”

“Okay.” As long as they tell your family you’re okay, you could care less what else happens. Everything hurts, there are no more tears to cry, and it’s possible that you feel even more hopeless about Jack ever sparing you a second glance ever again. Soulmates. Fucking laughable. Whoever Abigail was, she was clearly more important and more wonderful to multiple people than you’ll ever be. “Astrid?” When you look up again she’s still watching you intentely. “Can…can you get rid of my tattoo while I’m in there?”

“Are you sure you want that?” She asks quietly, her eyes searching your face through the screen to try to get an inkling of what you are thinking. “You don’t have to make any big decisions now.”

“The scars, too. You said you could erase scars.” Let him be free. Is all you can think. Obviously nobody was exaggerating about the danger you were in, but it’s more than that. It’s how, when Jack barely spared you a single glance, it hurt more than anything the Rollins brothers ever could have dreamt up.

The silence lingers in the air, suspended between the two of you for a long moment. Ginger sighs softly. “Of course.” She murmurs, hating how broken you appear. “We will get rid of them all.”

Gunshots, unmistakable now that you’ve heard them up close and personal, ring out from multiple directions and you sink down in the back of the car you know for a fact is bulletproof - all Statesman vehicles are - out of instinct. “And Astrid?” You watch the automated needle release from the door handle of the SUV and make sure your arm is in line for the injection. “Remind me to fire Tripp.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that.” Ginger promises you softly. On another screen in her lab, she can see the feeds from both Rye and Jack, and the justice that is being delivered is swift and brutal. They messed with a Statesman’s soulmate, and Jack grunts in pleasure as he retracts the whip on the left screen, pieces of Hank and Tripp Rollins scattered around the room.

A clean up team will be deployed from the New York Statesman building to scrub the site. Body removal is a necessary evil of the job and Statesman has some of the best. By the time footsteps can be heard running back toward you in the car, Ginger’s injection is starting to take hold and you’re finally feeling drowsy. Adrenaline and fear have had you on high alert since you were taken, but having Astrid’s face and voice to reassure you is soothing.

Shouting your name, Jack rushes towards the SUV. The only thing in his mind has been to get to you. To make sure you are okay. He knows Rye will be alright and he needs to see you. He manages to get to the rear door before Ginger deactivates the locks and security, yanking on the handle. “Let me in! Let me in!” He yells frantically.

“She’s out, Jack.” Ginger’s voice in his earpiece comes with a sigh as she deactivates the locks and lets him into the car. “She’s hurt pretty badly so I gave her a sedative. When you get back to Statesman, get her in a medical chopper and bring her to my lab asap.”

“Oh my god.” Jack rips open the door and climbs into the back seat, finding you slumped against the other door. “What— what did they do to her?” He demands, panicked because he’s never seen you like this. Angry at himself that he let this happen. Gathering you against him, he runs his hands over your body as he pulls you into his lap.

“Nothing I can’t fix,” she promises him, not wanting to give him the full rundown of your injuries when he’s still visibly upset enough to lash out. “She’ll be okay, Jack. But I don’t want her to go into shock or accidentally aggravate an injury, and she said she was in pain. That’s why I needed to medicate her.”

“Tell me what they did to her, Ginger Ale.” Jack demands again, turning towards the screen even as he is cradling you and stroking your face.

Ginger sighs, softly again, and looks down at her diagnostic pad. Avoiding Jack’s eyes while she reads this off will probably be better. “Two broken ribs, fractured ankle, superficial burns clearly from cigarettes. Bruising, contusions, and internal injuries consistent with being beaten, waterboarded, and kicked multiple times.”

“Motherfuckers.” Jack hisses, tightening his grip on you to where you whimper in your unconscious state. Immediately relaxing his hold on you and petting your face to soothe both of you. “I should have made it take more time. I should have beat him to death with my fists.” He growls. “I’m gonna burn their fucking legacy to the ground and piss on the ashes.”

“Jack.” This time Ginger’s tone is a warning. It’s not frequently that she hears this kind of rage from him – usually only in relation to his late wife. “She’ll be okay,” she repeats. “But she’s going to need support. Mentally. Emotionally.”

“It’s my fault, Ginger!” He hisses, his own emotions beyond rage finally surfacing from the compact box he had shoved them in to be the agent he needed to be in order for both of you to get out of that building alive. “She would have been at home— it’s my fault. She asked…she asked me about my birthday and I lashed out at her.” He chokes back a sob and looks down at your face. “I didn’t protect her.”

“Then you’ll apologize. And you’ll make sure it never happens again.” Jack isn’t a man who breaks down unless the stress is truly unbearable, and as his friend Ginger has seen only a bare handful of these moments. “She wants me to remove her marks when she gets here,” she tells him carefully. “Just so you know.”

Jack closes his eyes, absorbing the meaning behind it. “She wants to be rid of me.” He whispers, knowing it’s his fault when he had pushed you away and kept you at arm’s length. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry sugar. I should have been keepin’ you close. Keepin’ you safe.”

“You can talk to her when she’s awake,” Ginger murmurs, watching Rye finish with the last of the goons on the video feed from his glasses. “I’m deploying Delta Team to sweep up. You and Rye get back to the New York building and you get her in a chopper first thing. If she wakes up before you get back, you can talk then. If not?” Ginger watches Rye running back to the SUV, so much more composed than Jack for having no personal stake in this mission. “If not, then it might be tomorrow morning. After she’s done at the lab.”

He’s not happy, but he nods. Holding you and refusing to let you out of his arms as Rye comes climbing back into the SUV. “Where’s the chopper, Ginger?” Jack demands, knowing he needs to get you home and mended.

“There’s a helipad on the other side of the Navy Yard. Five minutes from where you are. I can have them meet you there.”

“Copy that, Ginger.” Rye takes the suggestion as absolute, seeing the condition you’re in, and the car comes roaring to life a second later.

“Goddamnit, sugar.” Jack huffs, his hand smoothing over your hair as he tries to look past the damage inflicted on you to see the woman who had intrigued him from the start. “You gotta hang on. You gotta get better.” He murmurs. “I gotta lotta grovelin’ to do when you’re up for it.”

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7s3ven · 1 year

Text

If we go down, then we go down together. minho (tmr). pt one

( master list )

Warning/s: Bad grammar + some wrong spelling bc I’m too lazy to edit it, violence, slight angst

POV: Minho firmly believes in the saying ‘if we go down, then we go down together’ especially when his long-time crush, and best friend, gets stuck in the maze.

"Thomas!” Y/N called out her boyfriend’s name for the fifth time. Her voice was louder than the roaring and crackling fire, yet he didn’t turn his head. Gally, who witnessed the whole thing, cackled.

“Looks like your boyfriend finally found someone better than you.” Gally was a jerk and Y/N tried not to take his words to heart, but they still stung. “What? I’m just saying. He doesn’t need you anymore, buttercup, so stop pouting. You knew this was going to happen anyway.”

He was right about that. Y/N saw how Thomas curiously gazed at Teresa when she first came up. He never looked at her like that.

“Shut up, Gally.” Y/N muttered, harshly kicking his ankle and making the builder spit out curses.

“Why the long face, sweetheart?”

It seemed Y/N’s pouting kept catching unwanted attention. The female runner looked at Minho, cross her arms over her chest. She silently nodded over at Thomas and Teresa who were too close for comfort.

“Oh, I see.” Minho heavily heaved as he sat down on the wooden log behind him. “I’ll distract Teresa while you talk to that shank?” The keeper of the runners was always working hard to keep Y/N happy. It was like working over time at your office job despite knowing you won’t get paid, only there was no office and Minho never got paid.

“Teresa, over here!” Minho shouted loudly, beckoning the ravenette over. She hesitatingly walked over while Y/N took this as her chance.

“Thomas.” She said for the sixth time. She was starting to get annoyed as she constantly repeated his name.

“That was fast, Teresa- Oh, Y/N. It’s you.” He didn’t sound happy to see her, which immediately wiped the soft smile off Y/N’s face.

“Is that all you have to say? Oh? Thomas, we haven’t spoken since Teresa arrived. You didn’t even greet me at the doors.” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows in slight frustration. Whenever Thomas wasn’t on running duty, it was Y/N. And he always greeted her when she got back, holding a plate of food and a bottle of water.

“I figured you could get your own food and water.” Thomas bluntly uttered. He didn’t raise his voice but his words still stabbed at Y/N’s heart.

“Do you like her?” Y/N looked at Teresa and so did Thomas. “Do you think she’s prettier than me? All that time you spent complimenting me and making me feel special was a waste of time. In my opinion, she’s not that pretty.”

Thomas was usually gentle and calm. He never got angry at Y/N no matter what she did. He’d do anything for her, even give her his own lunch when Gally obnoxiously stole hers. But he snapped suddenly when Y/N degraded Teresa’s appearance.

“Just because you don’t look as good as her doesn’t give you a right to insult her.”

“Are you on drugs or something, Tommy? Have you seen me? I am a goddess. You said so yourself. Why the sudden change of heart? Just because Teresa is interested in you does not give you the right to insult me and ignore me.” Y/N was surprised at how calm she was being right now. Only, she knew she was so angry that she couldn’t express it.

“I’m not ignoring you.”

“Then you’re an idiot because I was calling out your name five times before and you didn’t even bat an eye.”

“It’s not my problem Teresa is better company than you.”

“You are on thin ice, Tommy.”

“Good. Maybe then I can finally get rid of you and date Teresa instead.”

That was Y/N’s breaking point. She didn’t yell, didn’t scream, she didn’t even send Thomas a glare. Instead, her fist went straight for his eye. She punched him so hard that he staggered back, crashing into Newt.

Y/N didn’t say a word as she turned around, storming off. Minho, one of the many boys who saw the scene, whistled, impressed. Thomas was his friend but he had known Y/N for longer.

After Thomas got patched up, Alby decided to call it a night. The Gladers begrudgingly went to sleep one by one.

Y/N lay in her hammock, eyes closed but still awake. She could hear the faint whispers of Teresa and Thomas as they stepped over a few boys who had fallen off their hammocks. It was a normal occurrence. You weren’t a Glader without falling off your hammock and waking up on the dusty ground at least once.

“Is she asleep?” Teresa asked as they paused by Y/N, their stares burning into her motionless form.

“Looks like it.” Thomas replied, shrugging.

“I didn’t know you were dating such a hothead. She punched you for no reason.”

That made Y/N want to scoff. There was obviously a reason and it was a bloody good one. She had every right to be mad at Thomas.

“She’s usually calm. I don’t know what got into her. Maybe it’s the maze. It messes with our heads, you know. Perhaps that’s why I agreed to dating her. I was desperate for affection no matter where it came from. If it wasn’t Y/N then I would’ve asked Minho.”

“Oh. So she forced you into the relationship?”

“Yeah. I don’t talk about it much, though.”

“For the record,” Y/N’s voice startled the two, “You confessed to me. And I didn’t punch you for no reason. I punched you because you openly admitted you wanted to date Teresa and was waiting for the chance to dump me so you could. You’re a jerk, Thomas. An asshole too.”

Y/N got out of her hammock, grabbing her pillow and blanket. Thomas watched her.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“Sorry, I’m not obligated to answer. We’re not dating, remember? You’re dating Teresa.” Y/N shrugged before exiting the Homestead, ignoring Thomas’ shouts like he ignored hers.

Y/N knocked on the door of the runner hut, knowing fully well Minho was inside. He slept inside the hut and sometimes Y/N joined him when they were going over the maze.

“What trouble did you get in this time?” Minho jokingly said as he opened the door.

“I put Thomas in his place. And I no longer feel like sleeping in the Homestead so I’m here.” Y/N brushed past Minho, yawning slightly. He hummed as he closed the door.

“So, what are you doing?” Y/N sat down in front of the table. Judging by how the cloth was off the handmade maze, Minho was looking at it.

“Just thinking.”

The only light in the room was a dim lantern. Y/N could barely see Minho’s face.

“You can sleep, you know. This is a safe zone.”

Y/N chuckled lightly, wrapping her blankets around herself. She was planning to sleep on the slightly uncomfortable wooden chair but Minho had other plans. Y/N let out a small yelp as her head was forced onto his lap. She stiffened. Affection between Y/N and Minho wasn’t uncommon, they were close friends. But Y/N was just caught by surprise. She wasn’t expecting for Minho to do such a thing. After she started dating Thomas, he distanced himself and they hardly had time for each other.

“So, you and Thomas? I’m guessing things aren’t going well right now.” Minho muttered as he stroked Y/N’s hair, sighing.

“I see the way he looks at Teresa. He knows her and vice versa.” Y/N closed her eyes, blinking small tears away. Minho didn’t say anything. He only held her closer.

“Get some rest, Y/N. If Thomas doesn’t come to his senses, then I’ll punch that shank until he does.” Minho stayed awake until Y/N fell asleep. He looked at her fondly, smiling softly. “He doesn’t deserve you.” He whispered, clenching his jaw.

Minho slowly closed his eyes and soon enough, he fell asleep. The next time he opened his eyes, the sun was almost up and Y/N was gone. Minho yawned, rubbing his tired eyes. He saw Y/N sitting at a bench with her breakfast, bickering with Gally as usual. Thomas and Teresa were together, no surprises there.

“Minho!” Thomas called out, much to the keeper’s annoyance, “Can I take the day off? I need to help Teresa.”

Minho almost scowled at the girl’s name. Thomas was supposed to be running with him today, but it seemed Minho would be taking Y/N instead.

“Alright. I’ll take Y/N. But tomorrow, you’re running.” Minho walked past Thomas and bumped shoulders were Teresa. “Y/N, Thomas isn’t running today so you’re stuck with me.” Gally took this as his cue to leave.

“Too busy with Teresa, huh?” Y/N huffed, handing Minho the rest of her sandwich.

“Have you talked to him yet?”

“Nope. I don’t really want to either.” But Y/N knew she had to. One way or another, she had to break things off.

“Well, I’m going to talk to Fry. I’ll see you at the doors.”

Y/N hummed, standing up. She had to go back to the Homestead to get her runners backpack that she accidently left behind. The H/C-haired girl crouched down, searching through the layers of blankets. She finally found her bag and stood up, coming face to face with Thomas. Y/N screamed, slapping him.

“Ow! Oh my gosh! Your reflexes are no shucking joke!” Thomas held his swollen cheek, wincing.

“Then stop sneaking up on me, you idiot!” Y/N yelled, glaring at Thomas. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re here. After last night, I was thinking and I came to the conclusion that we’d both be happier if we weren’t together anymore.”

“Are you... breaking up with me?”

“No. I’m going to keep dating you and allow you to also date Teresa.” Y/N sarcastically deadpanned, arching an eyebrow. “Yes, I’m breaking up with you. Listen, Thomas, dating you has been great. We’ve had some wonderful memories and I’ve enjoyed our moments together. But we’ve slowly grown apart and Teresa was the breaking point. Perhaps we should stay friends or just not talk at all.”

Y/N was going to walk away, but Thomas grabbed her hand.

“Y/N,” He had that pleading look in his eyes, the one he always had when he was begging her not to leave.

“Thomas,” Y/N gently grabbed his hands, “I love you but you have never looked at me the way you look at Teresa. You like her and you know it. So let’s make this easier for both of us and break it off.”

Thomas dropped his hands, letting them swing by his side. He stared at the ground, refusing to look at Y/N. He kept silent as she sighed and walked away, pitying Thomas but not regretting anything.

“I’m guessing by the look on your face that you just talked to Thomas.” Minho was leaning against the maze wall, watching as Y/N walked towards him. He was always good at reading people, much to Y/N’s annoyance.

“Shut it and let’s run.” Y/N entered the maze first, Minho hot on her heels. No words were exchanged as they jogged through the grey, ivy covered hallways. Y/N barely slowed down, too busy thinking to pay attention to her burning lungs and stinging throat.

A few minutes ago, Minho tried to convince Y/N to take a break, but she refused. So they kept running.

“Hey, isn’t section eight supposed to be open today?” Y/N finally paused, allowing Minho to catch his breath. “Then, why is section five open instead?”

Minho looked at section five, which was indeed open.

“That’s strange.” He muttered, looking up at the sky. It was starting to get dark, meaning the maze doors would be closing soon. “Hey, we should get back.” Minho placed a hand on Y/N’s shoulder but she brushed it off.

“Yeah, soon. I want to take a look.”

Minho let out an annoyed sigh. A trait that Thomas and Y/N both shared was that they often had little regard for their safety. They were far too curious for their own good and it often didn’t end well.

“Be quick. By that, I mean just take a peek.” Minho tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for Y/N. She swiftly ran back, finding nothing that interested her.

“Okay, we can go.” After she finished her sentence, a strong wind almost knocked her over. She bumped into Minho’s chest and he quickly caught her. They shared a panicked look.

“Shuck.” They both muttered.

“Run!” Minho yelled. The two runners broke into a sprint. They skidded around corners, barely having time to find out if they were going the right way.

“There!” Y/N pointed at a corridor that she recognized. She crashed into wall and quickly pushed herself off it.

“There they are!” A crowd of Gladers stood in front of the doors a few hundred meters away. Thomas was amongst them, standing beside Teresa and Newt. The doors were slowly starting to close, igniting something inside Y/N and Minho that encouraged them to run faster.

Y/N heavily panted as she ran alongside Minho, her legs moving as fast as they could. Her body felt weak and she feared that if she moved any faster, she would snap.

They were so close that Y/N could feel the green grass against her bruised legs. Minho was strangely stumbling behind, struggling to keep up. In the spur of the moment, Y/N grabbed Minho and shoved him forward. He landed in the Glade, caught by Newt and Thomas.

Y/N grunted as she tripped over a loose pebble, harshly hitting the concrete floor. Her knees skidded across the stone, scrapping the skin off. She could faintly hear the shouts of people telling her to get up but the world was spinning and Y/N couldn’t focus on one thing.

“Y/N!” She heard Thomas yell, only to be held back by Teresa who shook her head. Minho clenched his hands into fists, helplessly watching as Y/N struggled.

I don’t know if it’s fair, but I thought,

“Minho!” Newt shouted as the keeper ran into the maze, helping Y/N up. The doors shut with a loud slam, trapping both Y/N and Minho inside.

“How could I let you fall by yourself when I’m wasted with someone else?”

“You idiot! Why would you do that? Now we’re both trapped!” Y/N slammed her fist into the stone doors again, scraping more skin off her knuckles. “Those shanks in the Glade need you, they depend on you to find away out!”

“They may need me, but I need you! All of this is worthless if you’re not by my side.” Minho took a step towards Y/N. “If we go down, then we go down together.”

Y/N sighed before she slowly hugged Minho. Secretly, she was glad he was with her. She knew she couldn’t survive on her own.

“We have to keep moving.” Minho said, determined to survive another night in the maze as he did with Thomas. The two runners slowly jogged through the maze, their senses heighted by the uncomfortable silence.

Y/N and Minho stuck close, not wanting to be separated from each other. They were taken by surprise when the passageway they were about to run down suddenly began to shut. Minho stumbled back, wrapping an arm around Y/N on instinct. They looked at each other in surprise before holding each other tightly.

Unfortunately, the new hallway revealed a griever. It shrieked, staring at the pair like they were a full course meal.

“Run?” Y/N questioned.

“Run.” Minho agreed.

The griever chased after them, its metal legs scraping against the stone and making a horrible noise.

“Come on, come on!” Minho screamed, grabbing Y/N’s arm. She shrieked as the griever jumped off a wall and landed in front of the runners.

“Move, move!” Y/N shoved Minho to the side, panting heavily. The griever’s tail suddenly wrapped around her leg, making her trip.

“Y/N!” Minho threw a stone at the griever, making it roar. A syringe popped out of its tail and Minho’s eyes widened. Before he could shout out a warning, Y/N was stabbed with the needle.

Minho, with unknown strength, managed to drag Y/N away from the griever. Her pupils were bigger and she was gasping for air.

“Minho,” She whispered, shaking her head. “Leave. Get out of here. Go before it’s too late!” She coughed out a mouthful of blood, some splattering onto Minho’s hands.

“It’s never too late, Y/N.” Minho hugged her, refusing to let go no matter how many times Y/N begged him to leave. The griever growled again. Minho was expecting it to sting him too but the griever only delivered a harsh kick to his skull, knocking him out.

When Minho opened his eyes, he was met with a splitting headache and the burning sun shining down on his face. And Y/N was nowhere to be seen.

#minhotmr #the maze runner #tmr #thomastmr #the maze runner x reader #female reader #tmr x female reader #minho x reader #minho tmr x reader #the scorch trials #the death cure #wicked #wicked is good #the maze runner minho

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shirakumuluscloud · 1 year

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Fyodor Will Activate Corruption (Ace, Mori, and Chuuya's hat)

Tldr at the bottom.

Fyodor let's himself get captured by Ace in order to steal a list of the PM's abilities. Seeing as it even includes Mori's, it most likely includes Chuuya's and possibly information about Corruption. Ace wanted to overthrow Mori. In order to do so, he would have had to get rid of Chuuya. Corruption would not only kill many, but it would also kill Chuuya, getting rid of many of Mori's strongest allies. What if Ace was planning on using Corruption to overthrow the mafia, and possibly had information about it's activation?

Fyodor also possibly witnessed Corruption due to the events of dead apple. Sigma also seems to know of Chuuya, possibly because he was important to Fyodor's plans (and was mentioned in passing to Sigma)

I am unsure of how Chuuya's gate works; Verlaine was able to open it, N was not able to open and tried tricking Chuuya into opening it himself, Dazai later claims that Chuuya cannot open it on his own with just the phrase, he needs the hat to do so.

However, because Fyodor is currently controlling Chuuya through the vampirism, it's possible that he may be able to activate Corruption.

Does the vampirism override the hat? Chuuya being mind controlled to use Corruption vs the hat which grants him free will over corruption. Should the hat not prevent this exact thing?

I think so, and I'll take it one step further and say that the hat can prevent vampirism/the mind control that comes with it

This is the description of Chuuya/Verlaine's hat:

"any interception of his consciousness by instruction from the outside". Bram's ability could fall into into "instruction from the outside", (as it's an outside source controlling the vampires actions/thoughts)

So then why is Chuuya a vampire? Why can Fyodor activate Corruption?

Because Chuuya isn't currently wearing HIS hat. He's wearing a hat that looks a lot like it, but it is not the hat that Rimbaud gave Verlaine.

Who has Verlaine/Chuuya's hat?

(from ch. 91, when Mori informs Kenji+Tanizaki to rejoin the agency)

(I just want to state that this is just a theory. There are other ways Mori could've escaped becoming a vampire, his subordinates sacrificed themselves for him, he planned his escape ahead, he foresaw all this)

Mori, the only (known) member of the PM who managed to escape becoming a vampire while everyone else is his organization did, shows up with a hat that looks a LOT like Chuuya's. A hat that prevents mind control, a hat that might prevent Bram's ability.

The hat Mori has looks extremely similar to the one Chuuya has on. One of these is that hat Mori has from ch. 91, one of these is the hat Chuuya is wearing in ch. 105.5. Need I saw more.

For more comparison, here is Chuuya's hat when he was rescuing the ADA from the Hunting Dogs (unvamped) and as depicted in a flashback

(very minor edits such as getting rid of Chuuya's chain and getting rid+drawing over where Mori's finger and Chuuya's hair was obstructing the hat)

We've never ever seen Mori wear a hat but now he suddenly has one that again looks like Chuuya's anti mind control hat? And he somehow managed to escape becoming a vampire?? That's odd

Mori currently has Chuuya/Verlaine's real hat, which is how he escaped/why he's not a vampire.

But that means that Chuuya does not have his hat, and cannot control the activation of corruption through his own free will...

...which means that Fyodor (with the help of Bram's vampire+control ability) will be able too activate it

(Dazai's dropped a lot of levels in Meursault, Fyodor is closer to the exit, they have a time limit, whoever gets there first recieves the antidote...) Fyodor just needs to slow Dazai down to win. Activating corruption would not only wreck havoc on Meursault (Dazai may be immune to abilities but he is not immune to giant slabs of concrete), Fyodor also wants to kill Sigma, but Fyodor might want to force Dazai to take a detour (saving Chuuya) (he learned corruption can kill Chuuya from Ace's files). Fyodor has been using Chuuya against Dazai, he would force Dazai to choose between saving his partner or getting the antidote/winning. There's also the element of how Chuuya trusts Dazai to stop corruption in time.

Fyodor's idea: He forces Chuuya to use Corruption, Sigma is killed during it, Dazai is either

1) killed during corruption. Chuuya also dies as Dazai didn't nullify it.

2) Dazai goes to stop corruption. Fyodor gets the antidote first, Dazai dies. (Fyodor would likely position Chuuya somewhere where Dazai won't be able to get to him in time/even if Dazai does get to him in time, he'd remain a vampire)

3) Chuuya activates corruption, Dazai is stalled by the attack. Fyodor gets the antidote first, Dazai dies. Chuuya also dies for the same reason stated in (1)

(Fyodor is okay with Chuuya dying as he's served his purpose)

Meursault's walls are anti ability, but we see that other things can be affected by abilities. Also Corruption is a singularity, and they might not be able to resist it.

Tldr: Fyodor stole files from Ace about the PM's abilities, he knows about corruption from them or DA/his weird stalking tendencies. Mori has Chuuya's hat (bc the hat prevents Bram's ability from working) which allows Chuuya to control the activation of corruption. Fyodor therefore can activate corruption. Fyodor will activate corruption to mess with+gain an advantage over Dazai and kill Sigma+Dazai.

#bsd chuuya #chuuya bsd #mori bsd #bsd mori #bsd dazai #dazai bsd #fyodor bsd #bsd fyodor #bsd dostoevsky #bsd fyodor dostoevsky #bungo stray dogs #bsd #skk #soukoku

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yellowloid · 6 months

Text

my experience at am's show (3arena, dublin, 15/10/2023)

starting to write this post while stuck waiting at the airport, after somehow managing to get rid of my sleep deprivation headache through an overpriced orange juice. (edit: it's been two days and i'm stuck at home with a cold and it's all their fault) (jk) (i mean i guess that's giving me an incentive to finish writing this post so yknow. silver linings)

i'm sorry in advance because i know this is gonna be super long (and probably less cheerful than my other recap posts because i'm opinionated) but i swear i'm gonna try and not be insufferable (said as i obviously lie)

• SO let's start off by saying that we made it right in time for the start of miles' set (we were looking for our seats as he came on stage) and thank god because i was shitting myself and almost throwing up thinking we were gonna be late bc the bus we were supposed to take never showed up and we had to take another one. we literally SPRINTED up the stairs once we were in and heard he was coming up

• seeing miles open for them was moral compensation for his milan concert that i wasn't able to attend despite having tickets in 2022

• he had a very short time slot as usual with opening bands :/ and unfortunately that led to everything feeling a bit rushed :( like i'm not sure how he's been playing songs like cry on my guitar or the wonder at his latest gigs but they were SO DAMN FAST like please slow down i want to let my fav omb song sink in 😭

• still i absolutely LOVED his set, especially colour of the trap (which was AMAZING live), rearrange, come closer and inhaler. his energy was through the roof, he was literally buzzing and if you can already see how much he loves performing via video, it absolutely shines through when you see it live like. bro's literally a ball of light and energy and like. the sun personified l??? he's got so much charisma and a great stage presence. he was all smiles and really really tried to get the crowd hyped. loved him loved his set

• speaking of the crowd. it was absolute bullshit they had ZERO idea how lucky they were to have tickets to one of those four dates and how iconic it was that mk was opening for am after all these years. or maybe they just didn't care idk but i swear to god it wasn't even the usual "crowd who's not interested in the opening act" which. again. do you know how lucky you are you're seeing them both on the same night. don't let yourself be fooled by that cott video with the phonelights on, that was the only thing they did to show miles at least the tiniest bit of support - they were fucking dead otherwise, which is so weird because if you know am at more than a surface level you most likely know who miles is, and you probably know at the very least some of his songs... and yet they were so fucking quiet it was honestly painful to witness. most people there really had no idea how much lore was behind those gigs and it shows

• but again, it wasn't even that they weren't interested in the opening act. because they were fucking dead even during the main set. my section was full of drunk guys who were kinda hyped but very annoying (we'll come back to this later) but even in the pit which is supposed to be the most active area it looked like everyone was asleep and woke up at random times remembering they were at a concert and they were supposed to cheer and sing and just act accordingly ??¿¿??

• not even dancefloor or diwk managed to wake them up......DIWK. that's like. the song that's guaranteed to make the ground shake. i've seen am three times this year and in both paris and rome the crowd was usually only dead during the car songs (and tbhc depending on the song) - but they were INSANELY active during other songs, both oldies and classics. but this crowd was so disappointing literally snork mimimi-ing their way through the show

• anyway. miles should have played wrong side of life just for me and he also had the opportunity to do the funniest shit ever and play killing the joke or see ya when i see ya but alas one cannot have everything

• he did do something very......interesting during cry on my guitar (and i think also during one man band? but i'm not sure). my guy pointed at the mirrorball while singing "late night, all night, miss your kiss" which was kinda insane and i lost my mind a little but anyway

• as we all know there was no tlsp because he removed aviation first and then sntm which particularly hurt because he did it just a couple of hours before the show and when i saw that i just Knew. i knew shit was rapidly going downhill but still i was holding out my hope!!! i thought well there's still 505 or maybe they're saving sntm for later!!! i chose to keep being delusional!!! and boy was i about to get slapped in the face!!!

• now before we talk about am's set allow me to tell you a funny story. as i said my section was full of men who were very hyped (especially for wpsia/fwn/am songs) and the guy right next to me in particular (who was there with some other male friends) was, to put it shortly, a fucking annoyance. i was there with my brother and as we were waiting for the start of am's set he went to get us some water; so i was there alone minding my own business when the guy next to me immediately started hitting on me (he literally waited for my brother to leave bc he probably thought he was my bf lmao real smooth man). he was trying to make conversation asking me where i came from or things about the band, if it was my first time seeing them and what song did i think they were gonna open with and internally i was like BITCH who do you think i am. i literally know their setlist by heart. you and me are not the same

when i told him sculptures was gonna be the opener he was like 'mmmm idk' and i was like shut the fuck up. he was so condescending and patronizing about it and mentally i was like honey trust me we're not the same kind of fans i know much more than you do. anyway spoiler: of course they opened with sculptures

(he was also from england and told me he saw them in london at emirates stadium and when i asked him if he saw them on THE night when miles joined them he was like 'haha no' at which i was mentally like bro you didn't even see them on the right night why are you pestering me with your lame ass attempts at hitting on me. and he was so close too and already tipsy and basically just a stereotypical english dudebro and i swear the whole scene literally looked like this

but anyway then my brother came back and he finally shut up

• the problem is. this guy and his friends then started chugging on their beers and getting really drunk and the whole show this fucking idiot had no idea what personal space was because he kept invading my section and kept moving around drunkenly and i couldn't even fully enjoy the concert because i was so fucking scared i was gonna get elbowed in the face sooner or later, and i even tried to push him off because he kept bumping into me with his clumsy ass drunk moves but he just kept fucking being a nuisance the whole show and i really really wanted him gone from planet earth <3

• this went on to the point that i was dreading the fast and more active songs because this guy would just start being really frantic and overexcited and i literally feared for my life but even during the calmer songs he was fucking annoying like bruh. i appreciate the enthusiasm but i promise you don't have to throw it back to cornerstone like calm the fuck down or at least back off and stay in your fucking lane or i swear i'm gonna bite your head off

• anyway now let's talk about the actual show

• let me start by saying that yes i may have some complaints but regardless of everything it was (as always) a fucking great show. no doubt about that. i very much enjoyed it and i'm also very happy we were the first crowd to experience the strings live. i definitely got some better setlists (rome's lives in my head rent free), but it is what it is. beautiful show but well, it's always a beautiful show with them and we all know that. i may have mixed feelings about some things but these are just my opinions so please don't come at me lmao

• about the setlist: i definitely would've appreciated if we got a bit more tbhc (we only got the title track and that was it... i mean at least i got to hear it live, for the first time if i remember correctly, but still..... i'm mourning the loss of 4/5 and star treatment) (we didn't even get the iwby x star treatment x jet skis mashup which i was really sad about because i LOVE that mashup and i would've loved to hear it again); for the car, i'm so happy i got to hear hello you (we'll talk about this more later) but i also would've loved to hear perfect sense again because </3 sir that's my emotional support favourite the car song </3

• i was also thinking we'd get a bit more wpsia since originally it was the uk&ireland tour and back in june they played some more songs from that album, also because usually the closer they get to home, the more they go back to the origins... i was so hoping for mardy bum, a certain romance or ritz but instead we only got the view from the afternoon (not complaining about that tho) and dancefloor (please for the love of god remove that song from the setlist forever thank you very much)

• also if you want to give us sias (good) then why would you choose to give us don't sit down.........give us hellcat.......give us the title track........anything but That One...................

• however i got my beloved cornerstone (<3), 505 with the new string outro (but at what cost) and also all the car songs with the orchestra so that's a win

• as usual the crowd was kinda dead during the car and tbhc songs but again. they were already dead so they only became more dead during those songs

• they didn't really interact that much with the crowd, nor with each other; alex limited himself to the usual ("good evening dublin", "how you feeling/are you enjoying us dublin", "thank you", a couple of "terrific" here and there but that was it) + he did a shout out to jamie during cornerstone ("it's jamie cook here on his electric guitar!") and i think they scissored at some point during the body paint outro

• the transition from teddy picker into crying lightning was absolute FIRE my ass was shaking

• now for some silly antics

• after the piano interlude before high he said "why'd you only call me when you're high........" in the lowest saddest way ever as he usually does. okay man 😃👍

• he introduced arabella by going "i'll tell you about a girl that i made up......real character......arabella" like bruh we got it we understand you totally made her up and she's 100% not real like i promise we Get It we really do. why do you always feel the need to reinforce that why are you so adamant about it ESPECIALLY when in the presence of a certain someone......you're so sus

• "and it sounds like..........THIS" before the arabella guitar solo. literal chills

• "let's bring this party down to the cornerstone.........woah 😯"

• he always adds this thing during cornerstone i remember he also did it in rome and then i forgot to post the clip but i swear i never understand what he's saying i've seen some people transcribe it as 'ken barlow' but to me it sounds more like 'jenny ballow' or smth like that which doesn't make sense either way but still. does anyone know what i'm talking about and wtf he's on about

• nothing to say about cornerstone. beautiful beautiful beautiful as always <3 he also did the "squeezed me very tightly" bit that he always does and it was the cutest thing

• he sang the last line of the song so cuntily it was like. 'yes 😗 you can call me anything 😏 you want 💅' if it slayed

• after the song ended there was a moment of silence after which he went "......they kept in touch" and i felt the need to put him in a blender and drink him whole

• "from our first LP wpsiatwin, the view from the afternoon......."

• he got on his knees during pretty visitors. where he belongs

• we also got knee socks but there was something wrong because his voice cracked multiple times on the higher notes, he didn't even finish singing some lines - he just stopped, shook his head and then tried the next one... idk what was happening but he really looked like he was struggling during that song :(

• at the end of fluorescent adolescent he sang "remember when you used to be a rascal....... ~do you remember?~" which i saw he also did at last night's show and idk man that was kinda sus

• the strings were absolutely amazing showstopping spectacular and really put a nice ribbon on the songs they were used for (especially 505 and hello you) but that just makes things even more infuriating because why did they only get the whole orchestra there for the last four shows which weren't even originally supposed to happen.......... are you telling me if alex hadn't caught laryngitis we never would've have got them or what. like what's up with that

• anyway up until this point despite the lack of sntm i was still a sweet naive summer child who had some hopes left for 505. but the moment the music started playing without miles having been introduced to join them i knew. i knew we wouldn't get shit

• the 505 outro with strings was amazing tho......so melancholy and beautiful and just sososo pretty i loved it. would've loved it even more if miles and alex smooched right there and then

• as i said the crowd was dead even during diwk which was absolutely embarrassing lmao like wtf. not only was i the only one popping my pussy to the car and tbhc songs i also was the only one doing it to the most basic ahh song (still a banger tho it's always so powerful live 10/10)

• i can't believe the biggest milex interaction we got was alex saying "let's hear it for miles kane" right before body paint... i nearly lose my mind there and he literally just said his name (not a dedication like some people said) but i mean. that was at least acknowledging each other so i'll take that (said as i rip my hair out and bite my tongue and roll on the floor hitting myself)

• i was so delusional at that point when i heard he said his name i thought well maybe they're gonna be random and he's gonna join for body paint!!!!! which in hindsight i'm like. girl do you have any idea how insane you sound rn

• "thank you for having us dublin, it's been lovely" said with the most 'i'd rather be anywhere else than here rn' face and tone ever :/

• btw his little HA! was very <3<3<3 and at some point he was like scratching his head in such a cute way i almost forgot how mad at him i was (emphasis on almost)

• "just a trace....... just a trace....... just a traaaaaaceeeeeee....... just. a. trace. on your legs~ and on your arms~ and on your face........ your faceeeeee"

• when they left the stage before the encore the crowd was shouting "one more song" but all i wanted to hear was "miles, miles, miles fucking kane" because who knows maybe that would've shook them up and they'd spontaneously decide to call him on for the encore (incredibly delusional)

• hello you as the encore opener was fire, i'm so glad i got to hear it live AND with the strings too, it sounded just like the recorded version and you could hear the improvement in the live version so clearly compared to when they first debuted it; the mirrorball still hadn't dropped and since i haven't been watching many videos from the north american tour i was like ??? i thought it was maybe malfunctioning bc only the little one at the back was shining before but them BOOM the main girl dropped during hello you and it was crazy beautiful!!!!!

• "i bet that YOU look good on the dancefloor, dublin"

• at the end of the show he was blowing and catching kisses, they were bowing and waving to the crowd and that's when i realised it was my last time seeing them this tour and you could see the exact moment my heart cracked i was desperately hoping they'd never leave that stage </3

• it was an amazing night but it very much left me with a bittersweet taste in my mouth - because, as i've been saying, the vibes felt so off and i don't even know why. i can't exactly point out what was wrong, because really we have no idea what goes on behind the scenes; and i'm not even talking about it through a milex lens or smth like that. i mean, i was absolutely disappointed that nothing happened - no sntm, no 505, nothing -, but when i say the vibes were off i don't mean it in a demon way. i'm talking about the band. they really looked like they didn't want to be there, probably because they're tired and burnt out and can't wait for the tour to be over so that they can have a much-needed break. they must be exhausted and i get that, i really do; but still. it was a bit disappointing and i hate that i can't fully put my finger on why it felt that way, what was wrong, why did everything feel so rushed and why the well-oiled machine feeling translated into 'we're gonna play this show so soullessly it's gonna fly by more quickly' but it really felt that way. also mind you, i'm not even saying this as the 'tumblr fan who follows every show they play and knows all their antics by heart so that's why she notices perfectly normal things no one else notices' (like i remember the discourse back when they played glastonbury, and that really made sense because ofc casual fans are not gonna notice everything we notice) - but no, i'm not doing this that way. because my brother, who's very much a casual fan who knows nothing about the lore or the usual way they play shows (he saw them with me in paris so he had some kind of basic for comparison but that's it) said THE EXACT SAME THING. he agreed that the vibes felt very off, he also had to listen to me angrily ranting about it all the way back to the hotel and once again he agreed that the show felt, to put it very simply, kinda weird.

• now speaking of miles not joining them... the fact that he removed sntm at the very last minute was one of the sussiest thing he's ever done because why would he even add it to the initial setlist only to remove it just before the first show. it literally doesn't make any sense but i'm choosing to believe there were some technical problems out of their control, no time to rehearse or something like that... they're still best friends and if they weren't okay they wouldn't even have asked miles to open for them. i do find it weird and stupid that they'd miss this opportunity and i'm so angry at them for being dumb and not doing anything with it (unless something happens tomorrow), i'm very much heartbroken and my mind was and still is wandering trying to find more or less rational or delusional reasons why they didn't do it. i was drowning in grief after the show and the day after because i simply couldn't wrap my head around it all, but that's on me for having expectations i guess. i know they're still best friends. they're also never beating the divorce allegations. the two things can and should coexist when you're in an obsessive codependent homoerotic friendship and you're constantly having filthy telepathic sex with each other

• someone please get them to therapy or lock them in a room and throw away the key until they talk and sort their shit out and it stinks of sloppy nasty make-up sex in there because at this point it feels like we're fucking intruding on their fucked up psychosexual games and i'm SO TIRED of being a child of divorce. please we know you know everyone knows you're obsessed with each other just stop being insane (barely acknowledging each other) and start being insane (having crazy gay sex again). i promise all your problems would be solved if you just fucked each other into oblivion like the good old days

• ANYWAYS. i'm still kinda sad and angry over the way the show unfolded and it's not really helping that it's dawning on me that there's only one show left and then they're gonna disappear for god knows how long. i still loved the show, don't get me wrong, and i'm very grateful i got to see them again before the end of the tour and also to see miles for the first time during the same night. i do feel very lucky and despite the fact that we got no tlsp reunion or 505, the fact that miles was opening for them after YEARS of this not happening is still very much history in the making. iconic in and of itself. i'm also happy i got to visit and fall in love with a new city, i'm missing dublin so much and i miss THEM so much and i'm feeling so sad and bittersweet and heartbroken and ugh. i swear i can't even explain it to the full and i can't believe the tour is almost over </3 but that's a thought for another post..........

• for now i just want to see what happens at the last show and enjoy it to the full because yes we might have complained about some stuff along the way (i know i just did it myself lmao) but it's been such an amazing and memorable tour i just wish it'd never end </3

#i don't even know what to say in the tags like. they got me speechless this time i guess i can only shut up #i'm gonna add some more thoughts if i manage to get them in a coherent written form but that's it for now #they're such fucking idiots but they're MY idiots and i'm afraid i love them too dearly #(is also still pissed at them and can't bear thinking about them too deply rn)#arctic monkeys #alex turner #miles kane #the car tour #dublin night 1 #my show

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