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cake-writes · 4 months

Text

Just This Once

Pairing: Kakashi x Female!Reader

Warnings: smut, breeding kink, he gets lost in the sauce frfr, situationship… ish?, this man wants to RUN, disorganised attachment style (primarily avoidant), penis in vagina sex, teasing, edging (accidental), unprotected sex, creampie

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: Kakashi discovers that he has a breeding kink. It's kind of a spiritual experience.

Inspired by @rookie98writes's fic Leave It On

—

Kakashi isn’t used to the strange sort of domesticity that comes with being in a... whatever this is. It’s not quite a relationship. A situationship, maybe. He’d say it’s something more than friends-with-benefits, but the two of you aren’t really friends, either.

You come together every now and then. That’s all. Like two passing ships in the night.

So why is he standing in front of your stove, cooking dinner while you sort through the pile of unopened mail on your kitchen table? Why did he offer to water your plants while you were away? Why does he want to do anything for you?

Kakashi knows what it’s like trying to play catch-up after some time away from home—two months, in your case. He’d knocked on your door a few minutes ago with the intention of returning your key, and he must have caught you right after you got back from the store if the two bags of groceries on your kitchen counter were any indication.

You looked so dead on your feet that Kakashi took over from there, unprompted. But now, as he stirs the pot of flavourful soup simmering away on the stove, his mind sees fit to wander.

What the hell is he doing?

He’s getting too attached. That’s what he’s doing.

It’s that time again—time to cut and run, just as he always does when things start to become complicated. Kakashi makes a habit of ending any potential connection before it can even start, because he can’t afford to lose anyone else. He can’t get hurt if he never lets anyone in. It’s easier that way.

“I need to schedule my injection,” you mutter to yourself as you read through one letter. Then you sigh and toss it back down onto the table, before you lean back in your chair and rub your tired eyes. “We should probably get used to using condoms again until I can book an appointment.”

Your birth control must be overdue, then.

“Sure,” Kakashi answers, feigning unbothered. The two of you used condoms in the beginning, but after a particularly gruesome mission that nearly saw him home in a box, Kakashi stopped reaching for the bedside drawer, and you stopped asking him to.

He should have known then that he was getting too attached.

Still, it’s your body. Whatever you want. He’ll end things in the morning either way.

As Kakashi samples a bit of the soup he’s minding on the stove, pausing for a moment to add a bit more salt, it suddenly sinks in – really sinks in – what could happen if the two of you aren’t careful.

He could get you pregnant.

A jolt of arousal shoots through him.

Kakashi doesn’t want children, not now, not ever, which is why it doesn’t make a lick of sense that such a thing would turn him on. He likes the idea of his seed taking root inside of you. He might even enjoy it, the imagery his mind conjures—you bent over for him, begging him to give you a baby, your pretty yukata hiked up around your waist…

His clan crest embroidered on the back of it.

Kakashi swears. Loudly.

You startle, looking over at him in alarm. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he lies. Then he proceeds to play it off like he burned himself, but he isn’t fine. No, that single thought, that single fantasy, scares the complete and utter shit out of him—but it turns him on even more, and that’s so much worse.

He’s already too attached. Way too fucking attached.

—

Kakashi doesn’t do feelings. He has them, of course, much like any other person, but he doesn’t let them show very often, and he certainly doesn’t talk about them. He won’t say in so many words that he cares; instead, he shows you through his actions alone.

His knees brush the underside of your thighs as he settles between your legs, bracing himself with one hand beside your head.

What a vision you make, spread out for him like this.

Your lamp had blown when you went to turn it on, leaving the streetlights to illuminate your features in a sickly hue of yellow-green. It isn’t romantic in the least, but he can’t help thinking that you’ve never looked more beautiful than in this moment—maybe because it’s the last time he’ll ever get to see you like this.

The sight of you, so needy and wanting, fills his chest with something bittersweet.

The tomoe of his sharingan spins lazily as he memorises the curves of your body, the muss of your hair, the rise and fall of your chest as you work to recover from your first orgasm of the night. His fingers are still tacky with your essence, and he smears the residual wetness over the head of his cock to make the entry a little easier.

“You should wear a condom,” comes your breathy whisper, but you make no move to stop him. Your eyes almost seem to glow as you peer up at him in the dark, worrying your lower lip between your teeth.

“Mm. Do you want me to?”

His question hangs heavy in the air.

The only things Kakashi can hear are your soft breaths and the sound of his own steady heartbeat, which quickens with every silent second that passes.

You want to say no, he realises.

He wants you to say no.

“I like it better without,” you answer quietly, and the implication isn’t lost on him. Not when you look up at him with those big doe eyes, like you don’t know the risk.

Because there is a risk, and he knows it. Kakashi hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it all night—wicked thoughts, terrible thoughts—thoughts of filling your fertile womb with his seed, thoughts of watching your belly grow round with his child, thoughts of seeing his clan sigil stamped between your shoulder blades like a mark of ownership.

His.

Against his better judgement, Kakashi does exactly what he shouldn’t do.

He agrees.

“Just this once.”

Just like he says every other time—except every other time, there hasn't been a risk.

Your coy little smile is what prompts him to lower down onto an arm and settle more of his weight on you. Kakashi dips his head to kiss you indulgently, savouring the taste of you, the feel of you beneath him. He kisses you like he hopes to convey just how much he missed you while you were gone, like you might be able to taste the unspoken words that linger in his mouth.

He kisses you like he means it—and he does. That’s why he needs to go.

As his tongue twines with yours, Kakashi fills you in a slow, beautiful glide that wrenches a whimper from your throat.

He knows he should go easy on you, but he relishes in the rapid flutter of your walls as you struggle to adjust to him after so much time apart. A surge of masculine pride washes over him, tinged with a hint of guilt for stretching you open like this. He isn’t exactly small, after all, but you take him so well.

To ease any potential discomfort, he smooths his hand up the soft skin of your thigh in a soothing caress, before he trails gentle, placating kisses along your jawline. “Is this okay?” Kakashi asks, voice low, only to be rewarded with a particularly strong contraction that makes his toes curl.

“More than okay,” you sigh.

As a test, he shifts his hips. When Kakashi hears your breath hitch, he knows that you can handle more.

He starts slow, rocking into you sensually, but he already knows that he isn’t going to last. It’s been just as long for him, and you’re tighter than you’ve ever been.

“God, Kakashi, you feel so good.”

So do you. Kakashi sucks a bruise on your neck in response, if only to muffle the sound of his own pleasure when your perfect cunt clenches around him again.

He needs to pace himself, or he’ll finish too soon—but then you ask him for more, and what else can he do but oblige you?

He speeds up, not overly so, just enough that both of you can hear the slick, sloppy sounds of your lovemaking. The smell of your arousal permeates the air, and he’s tempted to have another taste.

Later.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs into your ear. “Did you miss me that much?”

Maybe he’s reassurance-seeking – just a little – but your answering whine tells him what he already knows.

He’ll miss this. He’ll miss you. That’s why he needs to go.

“Stay with me,” you rasp. You’ve always been good at noticing when he’s stuck in his head, but right now, Kakashi can’t help but wonder if you’ve just read his thoughts. You see through him so easily. It’s one of the things he likes about you.

“Sorry,” he says with genuine apology, leaning in to capture your lips again. You let out a pleased hum into his mouth and lift your thighs up a little higher—an offering, one he’s more than happy to accept, even if he doesn’t plan to reciprocate.

It’s selfish, he knows.

The new angle does something to him, or maybe it’s because he's well aware that it would be even easier to fill you up this way. He reaches deeper like this, and the tilt of your hips would perfectly hold his cum in place, increasing the chances that it’ll take.

He wants it to take.

Kakashi exhales a long, shaky breath. He shouldn’t want that as much as he does. He shouldn’t want it at all.

“Close?”

Yes, but he’s not going to tell you that. Kakashi pulls back to look at you, only to find you gazing up at him like he’s hung the moon. It makes his heart ache.

He stamps it down.

“I could be,” he teases lightly—a non-answer. “Are you?”

When you open your mouth to respond, however, he snaps his hips forward suddenly to make you trip over your words. “I— shit,” you swear, and his eyes shine with silent laughter. Your own narrow playfully as you add, “I could be too, if you keep that up.”

“Really?”

To pick on you a little, Kakashi withdraws from your tight heat more slowly than he has all night, agonisingly slowly, until only the head of him remains inside; and then he lingers there, purposely, until the stirrings of impatience start to take you over.

It’s cute, the frown you give him, the pout he sees beginning to form.

“Don’t be mean,” you tell him sulkily.

His lips tug up at the corners, revealing a hint of prominent canine. “Maa, I didn’t realise you were in a rush,” Kakashi drawls. “And here I wanted to take my time with you.”

Before you can read too much into what he’s just said, he slams home. Hard.

Your startled gasp brings on a flicker of self-satisfaction deep within. Kakashi relishes in the knowledge that only he can make you feel like this—especially when he starts to fuck you in earnest, prompting you to fling your arms around his shoulders.

“F-Fuck, Kakashi, oh my god—”

“That’s it,” he encourages gently. “Hold onto me.” He likes the closeness of it, the intimacy.

You cling to him like your life depends on it, which brings about a funny feeling in his chest that he can’t quite shake—something warm and gooey and affectionate.

Kakashi stamps that down, too, and traces the line of your neck with his tongue, kissing and sucking at your sensitive skin until you shiver. Seeing your throat so littered with love bites unearths something within him, something primal, that he’s always refused to name.

He likes seeing the marks he’s left on you. He wants them to mean something. He wants them to mean that you’re his.

He’s too attached.

To distract himself from what he intends to do in the morning, Kakashi picks up the pace, flesh smacking against flesh as he snaps his hips into yours, fast and rough, exactly how you want it.

It doesn’t last long. He’s too worked up.

Kakashi knows he’ll come before you do if he continues like this, but when he tries to slow down, you dig your heels insistently into his ass.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop, please—”

“I’ll have to pull out soon,” he says raggedly, even though the thought of finishing in you already has him ready to blow.

When Kakashi feels you lock your ankles behind him, he nearly does.

“Come inside me,” you whine, your breath fanning hot over the shell of his ear.

His thoughts screech to a halt. You want him to come inside you, knock you up—

“Fuck,” he curses, stopping abruptly, buried all the way to the hilt. His cock throbs wildly, desperate for release, forcing him to tightly grip the the sheets above your head in order to stave it off.

If he moves right now, he’s done for.

When you make a quiet, frustrated sound deep in your throat and wiggle your hips, Kakashi barely manages to hang on. He can feel that tell-tale flutter inside of you, the one that indicates exactly how close you are, but he’s closer. His breaths come out in short, sharp pants as he tries to hold himself together.

You finish first. Always.

“Don’t be mean,” you say again, but you sound a little more petulant this time.

Kakashi lets out an exhausted sort of laugh and presses a wet smack of a kiss just beneath your ear, making you giggle. “You like it when I’m mean.”

“I like it when you’re nice,” you clap back, voice breathy.

Kakashi hums knowingly. “All right. I can be nice.”

Then he pulls back just enough to pepper your face with kisses, and you squeal in delight, though it soon tapers off into a moan when he starts to trail them down your throat, each one more sensual than the last. He palms one of your breasts, gently squeezing, tweaking a nipple—

“Come on,” you whine, digging your heels into his ass a second time.

He laughs softly at that. No more teasing. You want him to be nice.

You inhale sharply when Kakashi picks back up where he left off, this time with quick, shallow thrusts that target your g-spot. He smooths his hand down your side, savouring the softness of your skin, then he slides it in between your bodies to rub your clit in just the way you like—the way he remembers you like, because he’s too fucking attached. And sure enough, when your hips buck from the added sensation, he knows that it’s working for you.

“If you—If you edge me again, I swear to god—”

Upon hearing the indignation in your voice, Kakashi laughs softly. “I won’t.”

Then he remembers that he won’t have a chance to edge you again. Not after tonight.

His jaw tenses at the reminder.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you gasp, holding onto him, needing him, which pulls him right back into the present. “Come with me. Please?”

Kakashi bites back a groan and slides in deeper, readying to do what his body craves.

No. He can’t come with you. He’d have to finish inside in order for that to happen.

And just like that, he’s back to teetering on the edge. The filth his mind conjures nearly proves to be his undoing—a vivid image of your tight, wet cunt wringing out every drop of his cum until it takes, tying you to him, making you need him. Making you his. The threat of it simmers under his skin, but it’s starting to feel more like a guarantee.

Get her there, then pull out.

Kakashi repeats those words in his head like a mantra, over and over, like it’ll ensure that he lasts, and it works—at least until you start to move your hips in time with his thrusts. You meet him at the perfect angle, sucking him deep on every stroke, allowing him to slide just beyond your cervix and into that spot that sends your voice into a fever pitch.

A choked sob escapes you as you rake your nails down his back, leaving red lines in your wake. The sting of it only sends him higher, and he sinks his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder to prevent himself from blowing too soon.

“Right there, Kakashi, right fucking there—”

Right there, so deep within you that if he came right now—

He groans when he imagines what would happen, and it all ends with his baby in your belly and his family crest on your back. It shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does, yet he fucks into you with purpose, now—hard, deep, powerful thrusts that knock your headboard into the wall.

Kakashi knows exactly what that purpose is. The primal part of his brain won’t let him forget it.

“Yes, just like that, fuck me, make me fucking yours—”

He kisses you to shut you up, because if he hears another syllable, he’s sure to fill you to the brim. It’s not a gentle kiss, not now. He holds your head in place with a firm grip on your jaw, shoves his tongue into your mouth to assert his control, and still, he recites his mantra.

Get her there, then pull out.

Get her there, then—

You jerk your head away to gulp in a breath of fresh air, chest heaving from exertion, and Kakashi’s eyes sweep over your face for any sign of discomfort. What he finds is the opposite, and he drinks in the pleasured scrunch of your brows, the hazy flutter of your eyelids, the kiss-swollen state of your lips.

Seeing your muscles tense and strain as you struggle to keep your eyes on his is one of the most intimate things he’s ever experienced.

“Come inside me,” you beg, and he can hear the desperation there, see it written all over your pretty face. “I need it, I fucking need it, Kakashi, give me your cum—”

“I’ll give it to you,” he chokes out. Anything for you. Anything you want.

The way your fingers wrench into his hair belies a hunger that matches his own, and you drag him down for another kiss, messy and insistent, demanding that he make good on his promise to pump you full. He can feel the ripple of your inner walls as you come undone, feel the painfully tight squeeze of your legs around his waist, holding him there, ensuring that he stays; and never in his life has he felt so overwhelmed.

He can’t pull out. Not now. Not when you’re so willing to milk him dry.

Kakashi kisses you with everything that he is as he shoves himself impossibly deep inside of you, acting solely on instinct to drown your cervix in hot, sticky spend. He lets out a sound of pure male satisfaction that you eagerly swallow down, your tongue massaging his in tune with every erratic jerk of his hips as he empties himself inside of you, painting your insides white, marking you as his.

It feels good. It feels right.

He’s too attached.

He doesn’t care.

As he comes down from his high, all Kakashi can think about is how fucking risky it is, what he’s just done, which only ruins him more when the post-orgasm clarity finally hits.

Why the hell did he do that?

What the hell did he do?

Your thighs tremble and shake, a sign that he’s done his job well, though he feels no pride in it—just a growing sense of panic.

He needs to go. He needs to go right now. Not tomorrow. Now. He needs to get the hell out of here and never look back, right fucking now.

Then he hears your quiet sob, and his heart leaps into his throat. Kakashi jerks his head down to look at you, and when he sees the tears rolling down your cheeks, he actually does panic.

“Did I— Shit,” he quickly pulls out to check on you, more attentive than he’s ever been, “Did I hurt you?”

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s accidentally hurt a woman during sex, but he really should have taken it easier on you. He probably went too deep and hit your cervix a little too hard. That’s what usually tends to happen.

“No,” you sniffle. “I’m fine. I just... I really missed you.”

Fuck. Don’t say that. You’ll make him want to stay.

His eyes soften as they trail over your features – the colour of your irises, the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips – and he gently smooths your tears away with the backs of his fingers. “I didn’t hurt you?”

You shake your head and offer him a watery smile. “I also came really, really hard,” you add matter-of-factly, and he huffs out a relieved laugh. It’s hormonal, then. “They’re happy tears, Kakashi. Calm down.”

Teasing or not, someone telling him of all people to calm down is an otherworldly experience. The phrase lands strangely, and for the first time since he came to see you tonight, his thoughts quiet down to a dull background murmur.

They’re happy tears, you said.

You’re happy with him.

He’s happy with you, too. He doesn’t want to go.

You frown, then, and lean up onto your elbows to look at him more closely. “What’s wrong?”

Kakashi can’t be sure what you see in his expression to warrant that sort of question, but the fight finally leaves him. He sits back on his heels and drags a hand down his face, feeling defeated for a reason he can’t explain.

“I was just...” Happy, for a moment. Happy to be with you. “Worried,” he finishes lamely. He can’t look at you, not when he feels the heat of a blush creeping up his neck.

You laugh and turn him back towards you, gently cupping the side of his face. “Okay. Well, I’m fine,” you pat his cheek in playful reprimand, “but I am leaking all over my clean sheets, and it’s your fault, so...”

That draws his attention. When Kakashi sees the creamy mess spilling out of you, his flaccid cock twitches with interest even after he remembers why his stomach is in knots.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” he says hoarsely, transfixed by the sight.

He wants to do it again.

He shouldn’t want to do it again. He feels fucking crazy for having done it once already, when the two of you aren’t even in a relationship, let alone in any way prepared for a child. But again? A second time? He’d have to be certifiably insane.

“It’s fine,” you reassure him, and Kakashi wonders how the hell you can possibly be taking it so in stride. He came a lot. There’s so much of it dripping out onto the sheets that it’s starting to create a small puddle under your ass, and there’s even more inside of you—a lot more, judging by how hard he came.

It might take. It might seriously take, and you think it’s fine?

“You’re doing it again,” you tell him, and his eyes snap back up to yours. He’s in his head again, you mean. Then you chew your lip for a moment, hesitation evident, before you ask carefully, “You’ve been acting a little… off tonight. Is everything okay?”

Every single one of his instincts is telling him to run. That’s where this conversation always leads, but he’s not ready for it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

He swallows thickly. “I’m fine.”

When you frown at him, skeptical, Kakashi shifts uncomfortably under your gaze.

“Okay. I won’t pry. But, um, I’m here. You know. If you ever need to talk.” You say it a little awkwardly, like you aren’t sure if he’d be offended by the suggestion, and the worried crease between your brows only grows at whatever you see in his expression. “Or... Or not.”

You laugh nervously, then, and shift away from him, only to wrinkle your nose when more of his cum oozes out of you.

It’s cute. You’re cute.

“You said it’s fine. Why?” The question leaves him before he even thinks it through, but it’s too late, now.

“What?”

This wasn’t the first time he’s come inside of you, not by a long shot, but it’s certainly the riskiest. “I finished inside. Why aren’t you more upset?”

“What do you mean? You finish inside me all the—” Then you stop, and your brows shoot straight up onto your forehead. “Wait, is this because of my birth control?”

“Well, it’s overdue, isn’t it?”

You stare at him for a prolonged moment, and he can almost see the gears turning in your head. Then your nostrils flare. “Are you kidding me? You thought my birth control was overdue, and you still—” Scandalised, you slap him on the arm. “Kakashi!”

Oh. Well. It must not be overdue yet, then.

Of course you wouldn’t let him come inside if there was a chance that you might conceive. He’s a fucking idiot.

“That’s so bad! What if you actually got me pregnant?”

A lick of heat shoots up his spine upon hearing you give voice to what’s been on his mind all night. Kakashi stares at you, wide eyed, and blushes all the way to the tips of his ears.

You study his face for a moment, before you purse your lips, looking a little troubled. Or pissed off. He can’t really tell. “I mean... Did you want to get me pregnant?”

“No,” he rushes to say, his cheeks burning hot because yes, he did, but not for real. “No. Not at all. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, and...”

How the hell is he supposed to explain himself? Neither of you are exactly vanilla, you’ve explored a number of kinks together, but this is something else entirely. Then again, a breeding kink would make the most sense out of any, considering it stems from a biological urge to procreate.

But would you even believe him if he said he only gets off to the fantasy of it, and not the reality? Because if a woman ever said that to him, he’d run away as fast as he could.

A sly smile tugs at your lips, then, a knowing smile, and Kakashi quickly averts his eyes to the window, embarrassed.

“You like it, don’t you?” you hum, seductively walking your fingers along his shoulders. “You like the idea of knocking me up.”

Refusing to look at you, Kakashi clears his throat, trying to ignore the arousal that comes on from your suggestive tone, never mind the words you speak in it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No?” The sheets rustle as you reposition yourself, and then, when your fingers delicately wrap around his cock, he inhales sharply and bites the inside of his cheek. “Then why are you so hard?”

And he is, too. He’s already fully erect and ready for another round, and he knows that there’s no way to lie his way out of it anymore. As you start to work your hand over him in slow, sensual strokes, up and down, coaxing the answer out of him, his head drops back.

“Because,” he rasps.

The sheets shift again, and then you crawl into his lap. He welcomes you gladly, splaying his hand over your lower back to steady you, though he still can’t face you. He’s too embarrassed.

“Because why?” you ask breathlessly. Kakashi lets out a pleasured sigh as you kiss and suck your way up the side of his neck, stroking him steadily, before you purr into his ear, “Because you want to give me a baby?”

A soft sound of approval rips out of his throat, and his cock twitches into your palm. “Don’t—Don’t say that,” he pleads.

“Hm? Why not?”

To hell with it. No sense in hiding it anymore. “Because I might actually do it.”

“Yeah?” Your teeth tug playfully at his earlobe before you pull back to look at him, and Kakashi finally wills himself to meet your sultry gaze, humiliated though he is. “You know,” you muse, “I don’t like condoms for a reason. Do you know why?”

The breath leaves his lungs with a whoosh.

Oh, he should have known. You’re just as filthy as he is. Of course you’d have a breeding kink, too, though he’s exceedingly grateful that you’d kept it to yourself until now. You’ve never been shy about sharing the things you enjoy, which means you probably figured out how he’d react. That’s the only explanation.

He likes that you understand him as well as you do.

He likes you.

“I think I might be able to guess,” Kakashi says knowingly, a smile playing at his lips. When he leans in to kiss you again, all he can think is: maybe it’s not a bad thing to be too attached.

—

Snippet #1:

“You said it was overdue,” Kakashi tells you.

“No, I said I needed to make an appointment,” you correct, and he can see that you’re struggling not to laugh. “I still have, like, a week left on it. I just didn’t think I’d be able to get an appointment that soon. It doesn’t hurt to be careful.”

While you cook breakfast for the two of you, Kakashi wraps his arms around your waist from behind and traces the shell of your ear with his tongue. “And what if I don’t want to be careful?”

He feels the shiver wrack your body, but then you do laugh at him. “Down, boy. Three rounds wasn’t enough for you?”

“Oh, I don’t know...” Kakashi pulls you back against him, allowing you to feel the answer for yourself. “You tell me.”

—

Snippet #2:

Kakashi hides his face in your pillow, feeling distinctly vulnerable without his mask. “Don’t tease me,” he groans, muffled. “I have a delicate constitution.”

You cackle at his discomfort, like the cruel woman you are. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I’m really, really curious.” Then you hum thoughtfully. “Do you want to know one of mine?”

He shifts his head just enough to reveal one curious eye.

You squirm a little, then, like you’re finally starting to realise exactly how embarrassing this is to talk about. “I, um...” A pause. “So, you know how...” Another pause, and you take a deep breath. “Okay. I like to imagine that I'm being used to—to repopulate a clan, I guess. Just, over and over. Lots of kids. But not for real.”

He feels another jolt of arousal at your admission.

Looks like you’re on the same page, then.

Then Kakashi leans up onto his elbow to regard you properly, and then he lifts an eyebrow, as if to point out how closely that particular fantasy hits to home.

That’s when you seem to realise who you’re talking to – the sole remaining member of a clan that could probably stand to be repopulated – and your eyes go wide, before you nearly trip over yourself to add, “It—It has nothing to do with your clan, specifically, Kakashi, it’s just—”

“A fantasy,” he finishes for you, amused.

You worry your lip between your teeth and nod.

“Well,” Kakashi says, considering his answer for a moment, “I might have imagined that, too. Specifically.” Then he gives you a roguish grin, intending to pay you back in kind for your teasing. “How many children do you think would be enough for my clan to be sufficiently repopulated, hm? I’m thinking eight.”

Mortified, you bury your face in your hands. “Oh my god! Eight?”

Payback’s a bitch. “Well, I was originally going to say ten, but—”

When you squeal in embarrassment and yank the blankets over your head, Kakashi barely manages to stifle a laugh.

—

A/N: This is the first thing I've posted in a hot minute, so your feedback would mean a lot - please let me know what you think :)

#kakashi smut #kakashi x reader smut #kakashi x reader #kakashi x you #kakashi fanfiction #kakashi imagine #kakashi #kakashi hatake #hatake kakashi

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quangxi · 1 year

Text

senses & other specific headcanons .

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE SMELL LIKE? natural , with a hint of spice akin to a burning fireplace & chestnut . the smell of her vices tend to cling to her skin , be it the smell of cigarettes or sex , so she prefers a musky cologne to conceal it the best she can .

WHAT DO YOUR MUSE’S HANDS FEEL LIKE? while regeneration leaves little room for scars to remain , the flesh of palms is left rough and calloused rather than supple . of course , her preference for using blades makes this all the more present , as any healed injuries can be quickly reopened with the next fight . perhaps surprisingly , she does often use hand lotions to keep moisturized : not exactly necessary , but … her women do prefer it .

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY EAT IN A DAY? admittedly very little . she tends to only have coffee in the morning , perhaps eggs or a steamed bun if she feels particularly low on energy . around lunch is much of the same if she’s working : a quick stop for rice or a sandwich , an apple … dinner is her preferred meal . she makes treating her girlfriends a nightly routine , asking each what they crave and working out a plan for their night . restaurants are frequented , as it’s the easiest way for each woman to get exactly what they’d like . quanxi prefers simple : rice or noodles , with a large helping of meat .

DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE A GOOD SINGING VOICE? she’s never really tried , never felt a reason to sing even when alone . at most , she has hummed a chorus that sticks in her mind . she’d really only sing if one of her girls asked her to , and if she did try , it would be pleasant though a bit pitchy .

DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE ANY BAD HABITS OR NERVOUS TICS? cigarettes being the most prominent . similar to himeno , smoking became an early habit with the job , one of the only ways she knew to release something . something else to smell , to feel , that wasn’t more blood or filth or rot . it was her earliest vice , one she was far more reliant on before discovering her sexual desires . need for them has died down over the years : in truth , becoming a nervous tick on their own . oftentimes , the pack she carries will remain unopened or with plastic wrap still attached , a series of taps to top of box in her pocket serving as a familiar comfort when she’s alone on job . smoking for her is both a bad habit , and a nervous tic all at once .

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY LOOK LIKE / WEAR? quanxi keeps uniform surprisingly clean considering her line of work , always keeping tie tightened and shirt tucked snug against her figure . the uniform used to be something that brought pride , and thus , deserved to be kept pristine even if it could be easily replaced . while she still keeps it in best shape , as resentment for job began , the uniform felt like a mockery . she’s grown tired of seeing it , tired of the threads connecting her to government bullshit she never cared to be privy to . when out on free time , her outfits are far more casual , hints of personality coming through in leather jackets & skirts , paired with either tight - fitted turtlenecks or loose tanktops , and boots usually up to mid - calves . hair is almost always tied into loose low ponytail , only let loose when in privacy of own home . she hates when it gets in the way .

IS YOUR MUSE AFFECTIONATE? HOW SO? absolutely , and far more than most would initially assume . while she may remain very stoic and indifferent to others , there is a delicate side she allows only partners to see & leaves others to speculate . in truth , her lovers are the one weakness she has : she’d gladly throw away her own life for theirs , even if the thought of entering hell without them is the greatest pain she can imagine . as such , a part of her worries every time they step out openly clinging to one another , sharing kisses & wrapped in embraces . worries that another , much like makima , will harm them to get to quanxi . most affection is reserved for the privacy of their home , a place she’s made entirely sure is free of any threat from the outside world . her love language is absolutely displayed through touch : a cupped chin as she trails kisses down lover’s neck , fingertips trailing shapes and paths across bare skin … and , most often , sex . it is something she denied herself for many of her years , as she didn’t understand her own attractions until meeting Long for the first time . it was something primal , at first , more lust than love … but it has grown to be the most cherished intimacy , the most vulnerable she allows herself to be without losing control . of course , affections are displayed differently depending on what partner prefers . her language is easily adaptive .

WHAT POSITION DOES YOUR MUSE SLEEP IN? flat on her back , embracing her loves as best as she can . they often fall asleep tangled up together , sprawled out however they please on a mattress with little pillows or blankets . they tend to run hot , and keep each other warm enough .

COULD YOU HEAR YOUR MUSE IN THE HALLWAY FROM ANOTHER ROOM? no . she doesn’t like yelling , hardly makes too many noises during sex , either . the loudest indication of her presence would be either the tv , sounds of lovemaking , or if she happened to be in combat . even in combat , quanxi is quick and quiet , capable of taking out opponent before their own death could even be processed . the most one would hear if caught close would be a simple thud as body falls limp .

tagged by: @femtaille thank you!! i love these questions so much <3 tagging: @chainsawmcn , @cqntrcller , @kobaenii / @shackld / @cntrldvil ( i had to tag all hehe ) , @akamatsupianist , @lucynada / @raimaei , @razrbomb , & steal from me if you’d like !!

#⊹˳⁺ ››―› love is the devil & the devil doesn’t sleep. ﹕ study.

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transboysokka · 8 months

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dont mind me barging in on your roomie drama :p but also i am an outsider with limited facts, so take everything i say with a grain of salt asgdjgh

my initial conclusion from all this is that it seems like your roommate is the type who really does not vibe with implicitly shared things, whereas you are absolutely that type. leaving your mug to be washed, as an example, could have been passive aggression, but it could have just as easily been "im not going to touch your stuff because it makes me uncomfy." and it seems like a similar thing with all the things she's offering back to you/wanting to throw away instead keep it for herself.

i recently did a moveout with a roomie where we had to gut the whole place for cleaning, and as such, we ended up pulling out all the food/items and putting em on a table while we cleaned. (it was a cross-country move, so a lot of what we had couldn't come with us either.) cuz it was convenient, we just said to roomie "hey, pick out whatever you want to keep, and we'll throw out the rest." by the end, i was super surprised by the amount of stuff they would rather us throw out/donate. things like pots/pans, half used spices and containers of rice or cooking isle, even unopened bottles of shampoo went into donation boxes. i really didn't get it personally, but that roomie was undeniably a sweetheart, so i just kinda had to face the idea that, even if it's more convenient in a lot of ways, inheriting items from a move out is just something some people aren't comfortable with. and from what i can tell, it's one of those assumptions that isnt really challenged by either side until a move out *does* happen.

as for the blow up mentioned at the end, if im right, it seems like she's assumed that you share her same system of not liking "hand-me-down" items, and as a result, she feels like you've left a bunch of chores for her to deal with. granted, i also think she doesn't seem good at communication, and she seems to make assumptions (see the "i didnt know you were still leaving" thing), so im not surprised that things happened the way they did. also i wouldn't say that your roomie *isnt* being a lil passive aggressive and purposefully unhelpful, but i wouldn't be surprised if the source of that was just a misunderstanding of personal preferences.

in terms of the rent stuff, talk about the rent stuff and dont drop the convo until you have a plan, but in terms of the more personal stuff:

my reasonable advice? sit down and talk about it all if you want to maintain a friendship, even though it might be uncomfortable and might not solve all the issues. hinesty is the best policy sort of thing. my *honest* advice? apologize and feel a lil salty in secret, grab all your stuff even if you left it for her benefit, and then simply drift apart uvu

......i didn't say it was good advice........

Wow! Thanks for the thoughtful response!!

Yeah I hadn’t considered it but she very much hasn’t ever been the most down for sharing in those ways. That’s fine I guess.

I did answer her yesterday like “I wasn’t trying to be like that, but I’ve never moved out of a place that was still being lived in before and so I left some stuff to try and help you out” and we were able to move past it

also I can tell it was hard for her to say goodbye to my dog who she’s always been involved with so there were probably a lot of emotions happening yesterday

The communication issues though… ugh

Yeah when things get settled here I’m gonna reopen that conversation about “so what ARE we doing about this rent situation?” bc she’s also left it as “idk maybe I’ll just move out early too” so okay what IS THE PLAN

I’d be fine to drift apart but our dogs have been together their entire lives so it’s one of those things like I should be careful not to burn that bridge too badly

Thanks for your input though! It definitely helped me put some things into perspective

#quesTian #tian talks

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ironheartedfae · 1 year

Text

Timing: Mid March Location: Outside Axis Feat: @mortemoppetere & @ironheartedfae Warnings: Mentions of Child Abuse/Emotional abuse (Past Tense), Suicidal Ideation, Summary: Emilio spies something a little bigger than a rat in his dumpster

The dumpster was right under his window. It was something he’d noticed when he’d first moved in, of course, because while Emilio might not always be the smartest guy in the room, he was good at noticing things. It was a necessary skill to have, after all. Slayers who didn’t notice things ended up dead long before they made it to thirty and, for better or worse, Emilio was four years past that now.

So he’d noticed the dumpster outside his window the first night he dragged his mattress into the bedroom. He made note any time he heard something rummaging around in it. A raccoon, a rat, something more supernatural in nature. He made sure he knew when it was a thing that needed killing, just in case. This part of town was shit enough already. The last thing it needed was to be overrun by vermin.

He heard it from the living room tonight. Enhanced hearing coupled with enhanced paranoia did a lot for a guy in that kind of situation. Perro, ever the loyal guard dog, snored softly from his spot on the couch cushion, and Emilio rolled his eyes as he stood. Whatever was down there tonight, it was bigger than the usual rodent. He was confident it was nothing undead, but the fluttering feeling that had lived in his chest for the last two years wouldn’t let him ignore it all the same. He moved silently to the bedroom, avoiding the floorboards that creaked and the door hinge that squeaked when you swung the door open all the way. Ducking into the room, he peered out the window and —

It was a kid. A fucking kid, digging through the fucking trash. She pulled out an old, discarded takeout box and shuffled off, and Emilio felt something building in his chest that hadn’t died with Flora the way it probably should have. Gritting his teeth, he managed to ignore it for all of thirty seconds before he was groaning, trudging into the kitchen and yanking open the fridge. There wasn’t much inside — there never was — but he managed to dig out some kind of lunchbox meal that Javi had not-so-subtly left on the shelf the last time he’d bullied his way into the apartment. It was sealed, unopened. Emilio grabbed it and walked out into the hall as quick as his bad leg would let him, down the elevator and into the street.

The kid was just leaving the alley when he started to approach. Emilio followed, trying to catch up without seeming like the kind of guy who was sprinting after a kid in a dark alley. It was a thin line to walk, and his balance hadn’t been good for years now, but he gripped the stupid ‘lunchable’ thing all the same. All he could think, in a sickening sort of way, was that he’d want someone to do the same for Flora. All he could think was that no one would ever get the chance to.

—

Winter wasn’t ever something Ren was going to get used to. Back down southwest, the worst she usually had to worry about was a deep chill one or two nights a year, If you stayed out of the desert. God she hated desert missions. But fae lived out there too, which meant there were monsters to take care of. At least up here it stayed bitter and awful in a consistent way. The desert swayed between too hot and too cold and too dry and the sudden rush of rain that left the nymph feeling queasy. Disconnected. Wrong. Here, they could build a shelter. Make a fire and even hide the smoke in a way that wouldn’t immediately out their spot. Hunting was a bit more of a problem. The few things that stayed up here were either too tiny to be filling, or far better at killing than the young fae wanted to deal with.

Not when there were perfectly good troughs of food being just tossed away by the locals. The only thing more biting than the cold air outside was the rising anger she felt for the citizens of ‘Wicked’s Rest’. Wasteful. Ungrateful. If she’d ever wasted a meal like this back at the compound, Darya would have made her go without food for a week to learn her lesson. That was the thought running through her head as she found the discarded lo mein. Half full, didn’t even smell that bad. And as a bonus, it was on the top of the garbage pile. Must have been her lucky day. That or she did something right, and her mentor saw fit to pray for her. It was a blessing after all. Ren hadn’t eaten in a few days at that point and the grumble in her stomach was starting to become more than just an annoyance.

With her head on a swivel, Ren started out for the road. The trek would be a bit longer today, but that was only because she never rummaged in the same place twice. It was part of her system, she figured it would be the best way to not get caught. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what she’d gone and done. As she rounded the second corner, she noticed the man on her six. Not too out of the ordinary. Plenty of people lived in this town (maybe too many) and he was just as welcome to the streets as she was. It was when, three turns later, a pick up in pace, and the man was still following that the coiled rattler heart of hers started to shake.

The scowl on her face deepened as she turned again, a nonsensical way that would confirm if the stranger was actually following her or if it was just a strange coincidence. A change seized the girl the moment they were out of his line of sight. Shifting out of her glamour just enough to camouflage with the surroundings, and vault herself upward. Taking on the color and texture of the old building, casting this protective vision around herself. It’d be risky doing this in the middle of a neighborhood, but it was dark, and quite late. Another blessing. Ren’s footsteps quieted, and then in a breath she was racing silently up the side of the building to take a perch on the roof. Keeping her heartbeat low, and all other signs of life hidden until the ambush.

And then he turned.

Ren squinted, silently snarled, then jumped. Iron balisongs out and ready. Food forgotten on the roof. She landed on the stranger’s back and wrapped one arm around his neck, both legs around his chest and doubled back over his elbows. Locking his arms in place and making him drop whatever the hell he was carrying. Which fell to the ground with a gentle clatter. One of the knives was at his pulse, ready to stop it. Or at least to try.

“Who are you? Why are you following me?”

–

He figured it out the moment her step shifted. Emilio knew he was caught and, more than that, he knew that being ‘caught’ was a bad thing. Not necessarily for him — he was trained well enough to hold his own in a fight no matter who that fight was with — but for… whatever it was he was trying to do here. Because this kid, the one who disappeared from sight in front of him and reappeared to wrap her legs around his chest and put a knife to his throat, she wasn’t Flora. She wasn’t even what his mother and Juliana had wanted Flora to be. She was clearly someone who’d spent most of her life watching her own back.

Maybe Emilio could relate.

If he tried, he could probably get out of the position easily enough. Toss her off his back and into the bushes with only a knick on his neck that’d probably scar, but heal up easy enough. Any one of the knives he had on him could end this quick enough, if that was the path he wanted to go down. Except… It wasn’t the path he wanted to go down. In fact, the idea of hurting the kid put a pit in his stomach so deep, you’d never find the bottom.

So, forcing down every instinct that was screaming at him to toss her a few feet into the air, Emilio relaxed. He took a breath, tilted his head back a little. “Emilio,” he replied flatly. “I live in the neighborhood. Saw you digging through the trash. Brought you something with a few less maggots on it.” He gestured as best he could to the lunchable she’d made him drop, still sealed in its case. “If you’d rather eat out of the garbage, that’s fine. But I’m pretty sure everyone who uses that dumpster smokes like a pinche chimney, so that shit’s gonna taste like ash.”

—

The knife remained, as did the gritted teeth and arm around his throat. The frame on the slayer's back was far too light. Yes, she was skinny. Yes, you could even describe her as starved. But she almost felt like nothing. Like a bug. Like there was barely a person there. In truth there barely was. Ren was a tool first. She hadn’t earned personhood yet. Maybe this mission would grant her that privilege.

Ren listened close to the words. Understanding only about half and realizing that it was possible this person was trying to help her for some reason. Which caused a flare of embarrassment to wrench her stomach into a knot. Which of course, only served to make her more angry. “What the hell is an Emilio?”

It was most likely a name. She had asked. But it sounded odd and that made her angry. She pushed the knife in just a hair more. But took a moment to eye the brightly colored plastic that had fallen to the ground. He had been carrying it. A point in his favor. But not enough to trust it. Who the hell would follow someone just to give them a weird yellow box?

“There were no maggots– How would you know what was grabbing? Were you watching me?” She accused, with about as much vinegar as it would take to scrub the inside of that dumpster clean. Ren had a hard time removing her gaze from the strange box though. Her stomach growling again as if to push the issue further into the light. It was enough that she loosened her grip. And that she realized something had to change about this interaction. Ren wasn’t built for direct confrontation.

Her next movement was frantic. Hopping off the Emilio, and scampering over to where the box fell. Grasping it up like it was a fine treasure and using her other hand to hold both the knives out.

“You can leave now.”

—

He snorted at the question, quietly amused in spite of the arm around his throat and the knife pressed against his skin. “Probably nothing good,” he replied flatly. He doubted she’d find his dry humor very impressive — people with knives to his throat rarely did — but at least it kept him entertained. And distracted from the fact that he hadn’t grabbed a damn jacket on his way out the door. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the chill of Maine that existed even in the spring, took a moment to feel some concern towards the damn kid on his back who was clearly out here facing it on her own. If he didn’t think she’d use it to strangle him with, he might have doubled back to Axis and grabbed one of the ratty hoodies he’d fished out of the trash to pass along to her.

The knife pressing a little further into his skin pulled him away from thoughts of the chill and back to the situation at hand, the one he might have been more concerned with if he gave much of a shit about keeping his blood inside his body. He felt some of it run down his neck and under the collar of his shirt, likely joining a multitude of other stains on the fabric. But the kid shifted, and he could feel her looking at Javi’s damn lunchable, so maybe that was something.

“There were probably maggots,” he replied, shrugging as best he could with her still wrapped around his shoulders. “And I wasn’t watching you. I was looking out my window. You just happened to be there.” It wasn’t really a lie. Emilio hadn’t set out to watch the kid or anything. He’d just been trying to make sure there was no possessed raccoon scaling the side of his building or anything equally as ridiculous.

Finally, that slight weight on his back disappeared, taking the knife with it. She scooped up the meal, and Emilio got a decent look at her for the first time. She looked half starved, dirty, and desperate. He was reminded, just a little, of Perro approaching him in that vampire’s house, felt the same quick spark of camaraderie. He didn’t have to wonder why he always found himself relating to everything that looked as though the world had beat them down to nothing. He might not have the best sense of self-awareness when it came to what went on inside his head, but even he wasn’t stupid enough to miss some things.

“All right,” he replied, holding up his hands palm out. It was more a gesture than anything else, because Emilio was a well-trained attack dog with a hundred different ways of taking the kid down from where he stood, but he wasn’t going to use any of them. “You want me to go, I’ll go. But you want more of that, or something to keep the wind off your back, I can help. Up to you either way. I’m not a damn saint, so I’m not going to follow you around trying to give you shit you don’t want.”

—

From her new vantage point on the ground there was a much different side to this story than Ren had seen. Or maybe not seen enough of. The Emilio was a different flavor of haggard than most people in town. Smelt faintly of blood, even before her knife had nicked him. Mixed in with the sweat, soot, and dirt that the entomid had ignored in her haste to attack. Haste was a good word. Something she’d been punished for in the past and should have taken more careful steps to avoid. This… guy… was different. Maybe not completely human. She couldn’t really put a pin on why, but the way he carried himself wasn’t too dissimilar from some of the wardens back at the compound.

And he was offering more food. And shelter.

“How am I to know you will not killing me?” Another accusation, slung like a weapon in its own right. Though the answer was decently plain. The Emilio could have killed her already. Ren wasn’t exactly strong, she was an ambusher at best. She hadn’t studied this guy enough to know the ways to do that properly.

It was dumb. She shouldn’t deal with the people she was meant to be observing. Shouldn’t go to a second location where she’d definitely be at a disadvantage. Especially when she had not eaten in enough days that she was barely standing as it were. The only thing keeping her from shaking and shivering was perhaps the burning unblinking glare she hadn’t yet released.

“What would you demand in return?”

Temptation was an ugly beast. Maybe this was a test. Maybe she already failed. You were supposed to deny the devil three times, weren’t you?

—

It was a fair question, the kind Emilio would have asked himself, roles reversed. He shrugged a shoulder in response, tilting his head back ever so slightly. “Seems like I would’ve done it already if I were going to.” She was well enough in an ambush, but she was too emaciated to stand much of a chance against a grown man, even if Emilio didn’t have the added benefit of slayer strength on his side. Convincing her that he didn’t want to hurt her would probably be a hard sell. Convincing her that, if he had wanted to do her harm, he would have done it before she left the alley to begin with was a lot easier.

And he could see the wheels turning in her head. She knew his point was a good one. He’d had the upper hand even with her knife at his throat, and while she might not know that much, she could probably assume he wasn’t helpless. He didn’t know if it would be enough to convince her to accept help. He told himself he didn’t care one way or another, told himself it didn’t matter to him whether some kid starved or froze in the streets. But Emilio had had a soft spot for kids even before he’d had and lost one of his own. Now that he had… It was a hard sell convincing himself that he wouldn’t lose sleep over this.

He clicked his tongue at her demand. He wanted to say nothing, because he doubted the kid had anything to offer him, but he could tell that wouldn’t go over well. And he could relate to that. Emilio wasn’t the type of guy who’d accept anything for free, either, no matter who was offering it. So he considered for a moment, trying to think of something he could ask for that she might actually be able to give him. After some consideration, he settled on something and nodded to himself.

“Could use somebody to walk my dog, sometimes. He’s getting fat, laying on the couch all day. I work a lot. Don’t always have time to take him myself.” Not to mention the fact that frequent walks were hell on Emilio’s bad leg, but he’d keep that bit to himself. He didn’t think the kid was much of a threat to him, but he still wasn’t going to broadcast just how bad his chronic pain could get to a stranger who’d just held a knife to his throat. “‘Course, I’d need you to come around more often for that. Probably have to give you a bit more, if it was gonna be a regular thing. Not looking to cheat you out of anything.”

—

Ren swallowed hard with what little spit she was able to muster in her mouth. So he had noticed too. Rough. But in a way, it lowered her hackles just a fraction. The blades stayed up. Probably would the whole night, but that was just how Ren was. Trust was hard earned, and easily lost. Even so, the mention of a dog had her perk up just a little. She’d taken care of a lot of dogs in her time. The wardens kept many. Most for fighting. Some for companionship. Others for more specific jobs. When Ren was little Darya assigned her to clean the kennels, it was as close as the matriarch would let her get to the normal training grounds. And on more than one occasion she'd been locked up in there as a punishment. Though she never saw it that way.

The dogs were just about the closest things she had to friends. She always felt on equal footing to them. With the Adelskold family, you had to work to earn your meal. You had to be perfect to get any respect. And the frail child was far from that. But the dogs were a bit more even tempered. They knew that Ren would be there to feed them, and clean up after. Exercise them when needed, and even do some training as she got older. Sometimes, between the pack and the entomid, there was even something bordering on affection. They all knew where the other stood. All of them in their cages, and Ren in hers.

“That is amenable.” If there was any excitement or joy in her agreement, it was far and well hidden behind the wall of anger and spite. “A fair trade.”

—

She was still looking at him like a dog poised to bite, but she seemed to relax just a little at his bargain. More so, Emilio suspected, than she would have if he’d been more honest and admitted that he didn’t particularly want anything in return at all. This way wasn’t a bad trade for him, in any case. The meager food Javi managed to sneak into his fridge was left to rot in favor of Emilio’s healthy diet of cigarettes, whiskey, and tequila instead, and Perro really could use someone to walk him with more frequency than Emilio could manage. And the kid obviously needed to eat. This way, they were both getting something they could use.

And there was a glint of something in her eye at the mention of the dog, too, something that made his chest ache with the memory of Flora. This kid’s excitement was well-masked in a way Flora’s hadn’t been, though Emilio had always suspected that his daughter would have lost that had she lived longer than she got to. After all, without the massacre, Flora would have been either thrust into the same childhood Emilio had lived or whisked away from all family but her father. Neither option would have produced a happy, carefree child. He knew that.

He cleared his throat, pushing the thought of his daughter from his mind to keep himself from choking on it. “A fair trade,” he agreed. “I live in the building that dumpster was up against. Second floor, apartment at the end of the hall. Won’t ask you to follow me there, but you can come by whenever you want to. Lock’s broken, so you don’t need a key to get in. Nothing worth stealing, but I guess you’re welcome to try.”

—

“If the door is broken you will soon be dead.” Wise words from a kid who sleeps in the woods. Ren grimaced, and slowly, slowly, put the knives back in her pocket. By far the biggest show of faith she’d given since arriving to Wicked’s Rest. She never did learn how to pray alone.

A long drawn silence passed between them. Filled by the gentle breeze that still swirled around. A few times, Ren glanced between the man and her exit. Almost everything in her screaming to just leave. Just go. Take the packaged food and bolt. Forget about the Emilio entirely. A quiet voice sat amongst the screams. Bidding the young fae to see whatever this was out. Soft, sure, but persuasive. Until it was the only thing left talking. Convincing her it was for research. For the mission.

“I should… Meet the dog.” For the first time in their short history, Ren intentionally looked away. Eyes falling to her feet, to the ratty leather boots that barely fit. Stuffed with all manner of plastic grocery bags and bulky socks just to stay put when she ran. “So it does not get spooked.” It was a submissive sort of posture, as much as one permanently stock straight and still like a soldier could muster. One she’d often assumed near the wardens. It was almost… respectful. In a way.

—

“Kid, fixing my door wouldn’t change my life expectancy.” It was only half a joke. Emilio had been heading down a pretty set path since the massacre in Mexico, and that wasn’t changing any time soon. Door or no door, he doubted he’d make it to the new year. He’d made his peace with that.

He watched as the kid put the blades away, nodding his head as they disappeared. A moment of silence stretched out, and he hoped the fact that he didn’t respond to the knives’ disappearance by pulling out a blade of his own did something to further convince her that he wasn’t about to bleed her dry on the street. He half expected her to run, would have been fine if she did. She knew where he lived now, knew she could come by if she needed anything. And, in return, he was pretty sure that she wouldn’t take the food without holding up her end of the bargain and showing up at some point to walk the dog. If she’d asked to ‘pay’ something in return for his offering, it was likely that she intended to do right by it.

It was only when the kid spoke again that Emilio shifted, taking some of the weight off his bad leg and nodding his head again. “All right,” he agreed. “That’s a good call. He’s a little scared around new people, sometimes. Might take him a minute to get used to you.” Especially if she was human. Perro wasn’t much of a fan of anyone without any kind of supernatural ‘quirks’ about them. Though… Emilio had a sneaking suspicion that this kid wouldn’t scare the dog in that area. He might only have a supernatural sense for detecting the undead, but his intuition tended to be decent when it came to telling if someone was something other than human. Especially in situations like this. Morbid as it was… he doubted a human kid would have survived as long as this one seemed to have, living on the streets in this town.

—

“I am not a child. Nor a young goat.” Her arms crossed over her chest as she huffed out the declaration. “Are you often in danger then? Some sort of soldier?” Ren made a mental note of that. Would write it in her ‘journal’ later. She would have said hunter if it wasn’t such a dangerous term. The wrong ears hearing that word could mean a death sentence. Maybe he was a hunter. Maybe not a warden, but something like them. That would make sense, he was helpful and looking out for people, if a bit rough around the edges. It would be a smart idea to make an alliance with local wardens, so they could know she was on their side. Now that she’d convinced herself all this was a good idea, her mind was working overtime to justify it.

So far she really hadn’t gotten anything too good to send back. Maps. Pictures of the town. A few documents slipped out of town hall on a tour of the place. But nothing big. No hives or infestations, barely any humanoid fae… that she knew of for sure. Plenty of smaller fae creatures, disposed of, of course. If it was just the land the family was after, sure. But they wanted this town. Wanted to know if it was overridden with faerie scum. If it was worth protecting. For that, Ren had to get to know the people.

And she had no idea how to do that. Making this something of a suicide mission. If she failed, provided too little info, or the wrong kind, surely she’d be discarded. Or worse.

“You can show the way back now.” Her accent was really hard to place. Some strange mix of russian and swedish, the languages she grew up listening to. Ren’s phrasing often came off unpracticed and curt. Even when she was trying to be nice. “Hurrying lots, or the broken door will not matter even less. You are cold. I can tell.”

—

“Really? Could’ve sworn you were a goat. You sure you’re not hiding horns under your hair?” His tone was dry, and it took him a beat to recognize that it was the kind of joke he would have made to Flora. The kind Juliana would roll her eyes at, the kind Jaime would find far funnier than it really was. The faint smile that had been ghosting his features slipped, and his eyes darted briefly to the street behind the kid as if looking for something that wasn’t quite there. Her question pulled his gaze back, and he shrugged. “Something like that.” Soldier didn’t feel like the right term, but he didn’t know what was. Weapon, maybe. Knife. Soldiers were people, and they went home when their job was finished. That wasn’t him.

Snorting at her statement, Emilio shook his head. “Yeah, because it’s fucking cold. Goddamn Maine. Don’t know why anybody fucking lives here.” But he turned as he said it, nodding for the kid to follow him as he made his way back to the apartment. The cool air was biting in a way that made his limp a little more prominent, and he knew she’d pick up on that. He had a suspicion she’d file the information away, decide if she wanted to use it against him later. With most people, that would make him paranoid, but… Emilio had a soft spot for kids. This one was no different.

“Got something I can call you?” He asked, glancing back at them. “Since you don’t like ‘kid.’”

—

Instinctively Ren put their hand up to her head. Checking if her glamour was somehow slipping. A slight panic picked up her heartbeat. Had the horns shown through? Were her sins on display? Attempting to make it look natural she carded her hand through the short grown-out buzz cut. No horns, no antennae. Good. “Wait. You are being faci- facei- sarcastic.” Facetious was the word her mentor had used. It was one that was foreign to her mouth. And felt wrong for having even tried to use it. Ren was not a scribe. Nor was she a wordsmith. Her words were meant to inform, not describe.

“Well what is your job? Your designation?” People were like puzzle pieces to the family, cogs in a machine. Everyone had a job, more often than not, that was your nickname. And as Ren wasn’t around them enough to realize the difference, she assumed they were just named that way. Everyone was a hunter, but to keep the compound going the work never stopped. If the Emilio wasn't a soldier exactly, she was curious as to what could possibly keep this man away from his dog for so long he needed help. She had an idea, she knew what could make a man smell like blood and cold earth, drowned by alcohol and cigarettes.

“You and I agree on that statement.” It was too cold up here. Why the hell her mentor thought this place was worthy of salvation was beyond her. But also not her place to question. However, the next one threw Ren even more than the last. She chewed on her lip for a second, trying to decide what would be the best answer. As far as she could tell, the man had been nothing but truthful to her. It felt wrong to give him anything else in return. Even if there wasn’t much to give.

“Scout” She went with a title. What the other kids called her on the rare occasion she was allowed to be around them. Easier, yes, but still leaving a pit where the full truth should have been. Quietly, she mumbled something else. Barely audible even with enhanced hearing. “Or Ren. Renata. I do not care.” Even though it was against everything her mind was screaming, she did it.

Maybe this was a show of faith too.

—

“Yeah,” Emilio snorted, shaking his head. “Sorry. Do that, sometimes.” The way she slipped up with her words was achingly familiar to a man only marginally comfortable in English, so he made no comment on it. He’d want someone to do the same for him, after all.

Designation. He turned that word over in his head for a moment, trying to decide if he’d heard it before. He thought he might be able to use context clues to figure out what she actually wanted to know — job was familiar enough, after all — but something told him the way she thought of it was a little different than the familiarity he carried. Of course, he couldn’t determine that with the information he had because it was the sort of thing that required him to know the kid a little better than he did. So, he shrugged. “I’m a private investigator.” It wasn’t something worth lying about, particularly not when there was a sign on the outside of the apartment they were headed towards that would say as much. “Detective.”

The cold seemed to be the first thing the two of them found to agree on, though Emilio was starting to think they were a little more alike than either of them might want to be. He resisted the urge to take out a cigarette and light it, fingers absently tapping against his thigh to compensate. “I’ve got a jacket I found in the trash,” he said. “If you’re any good at walking the dog, you can take it. Be stupid to send you out to walk him without anything keeping you warm. You wouldn’t be able to go as far, and I’d be right back where I started.” He figured phrasing it like she’d be doing him a favor in taking the jacket stood a better chance at actually convincing her to take it.

He shifted at the name she gave him, the way it settled into his head. Scout. Not much of a name at all. But then she mumbled something else under her breath, and he decided he liked that better. “Ren,” he repeated. “All right.”

—

“Sarcasm is a tool of the devil.” She repeated the phrase exactly as she’d heard it. And let a low huff of air escape through her nose. Ren wasn’t sure what exactly she believed about the devil. But she sure believed in the suffering that creature inspired in man. The way anything that was deemed evil was beaten out of her, or anyone else who fell out of line. The family wanted their soldiers holy. They’d been chosen as protectors by God. Ren wasn’t sure she’d ever be good enough to fall into that category.

Private investigator. That didn’t mean much to Ren. Well. The private part. Investigator was rather similar to what she did. “If you are doing it for yourself, what is the point?” Just gaining information for the sake of it? That sounded preposterous. Detective was an easier word to process though. She had heard some of the wardens and her mentor refer to the local law enforcement as ‘detectives’. More often than not they were being paid off to take a blind eye to whatever the family was doing in territories that were not theirs, not yet.

Keen eyes watched the tapping. And had long since noticed the limp. Getting a bigger picture of the man the more they interacted. Maybe this is why the family sent Ren out alone. If she hadn’t been, she likely wouldn’t ever have strayed from her job as a silent pair of eyes. She was here to interact. To learn to infiltrate. “Only to help walk dog.” He’d been smart to phrase it that way. Accepting more ‘help’ than necessary was a dangerous line to trace. Though if it were a trade. If neither would owe the other, maybe that was okay.

“Do you know all of other people who live in this building, Detective?” The short walk back was thankfully almost over. And big eyes stared unblinking at the old grungy apartment. He’d mentioned something about how they all smoked. Maybe he watched everyone else too. Maybe that’d be useful.

—

“Okay,” Emilio replied. If he found the statement odd, he made no mention of it. After all, he’d grown up around religion well enough to know how seriously some people took it. His mother, for example, had been a devout Catholic. Emilio himself wore a crucifix around his neck right beside Juliana’s ring, despite not knowing whether or not he believed any of it most days. He wasn’t about to alienate the kid by saying anything untoward about her beliefs, in any case. Not when he was trying to convince her to let him help.

Glancing back again, he shook his head. “People pay me. Hire me to take on cases for them. Look into things they can’t or won’t look into themselves.” The fact that Ren didn’t seem to know what a private investigator did made him think she’d been on the streets a lot longer than whatever amount of time she might have spent off of them, if she’d ever spent any time off of them at all. Either that, or she was raised in some isolated manner. Maybe not too dissimilar to his own upbringing, though he shook that thought away as quickly as it came. Questioning his mother’s parenting, now that she was gone, wasn’t something he had any interest in doing.

He wasn’t surprised at her condition, and he shrugged. “Well, if you freeze to death, I won’t have anybody to walk him, either,” he pointed out. He doubted it would do much to change her mind, but he figured it was worth a shot. The thought of the kid freezing on the streets made him a little antsy, even if it shouldn’t.

Yanking open the door to the building, Emilio ushered the kid inside and headed over to the elevator, jabbing a finger into the button. The thing was rickety as hell and was in definite danger of falling down one of these days, but he wasn’t much good on the stairs anymore. “Sure, some of them.” It was an understatement; he knew everyone in his building, because Emilio Cortez was nothing if not a damn paranoid bastard. “Guy in the unit across the hall from me is one to avoid. Gets a little too enthusiastic with his switchblade when he’s high. Lady two doors down has a cat. It bites.”

—

Ren simply nodded in response. The detective was smart, she thought, listened well and seemed pretty hardy. Even with the bad leg. He’d be good with the family. Good enough to fight alongside them. The thought shouldn’t have scared her the way it did. It should have been soothing if anything. Familiar. But that steady gnawing thought she just couldn’t shake kept worming its way forward. If Emilio was with the family, he would know what she was. Would know she was a monster. Would know she deserved to die.

“I have not frozen or died yet. I do not intend to.” Perhaps the thing she was very best at was surviving. No matter the odds. No matter the costs. She’d be proud of that if pride wasn’t a sin. “You do not need to be concerned of my capability to do job.” Ren assured him as she entered the building and a pleasant warmth surrounded her. Somehow though, that was the thing that actually made her shiver. As if her body finally realized how cold it had been.

“Guy across hall. Lady with cat. Okay.” These both were noted as if Ren was actually writing it down, readying strategies for a battle. Plotting the next attack. Though surely the detective must have some good reason to live in such close quarters with someone who was an enemy. Maybe she just hadn’t figured that out yet.

—

“Most people who die don’t intend to.” Years ago, he might have said no one intended to die, but… Well. Emilio had spent the last two years of his life chasing it, hadn’t he? Had maybe spent longer than that, if he was being completely honest with himself in a way he so rarely was. Most people who died didn’t intend to. Emilio, when his time came, wouldn’t be among them.

The kid shivered as she stepped into the warmth of the building, and Emilio pretended not to notice it the same way he pretended not to notice the way her clothes hung off them or the way her face was sunken in. He could know what he knew and he could try to help, but he couldn’t make her accept that help. Emilio knew, better than most, that you couldn’t convince someone to let you pull them out of a hole. People had been trying and failing to get him to take their outstretched hands for years now.

“Not saying you can’t do it. Just saying I’d like to make sure this isn’t gonna be a short term solution. It’d be a pain in my ass to have to find somebody else to do it later, if something happens to you. Between you and me, I don’t like talking to people. I’d hate to have to do it more than once.” Again, framing it like she was doing him a favor by letting him keep her warm.

He nodded as Ren repeated his statements back to him, making note of the way she said it. Like she was building a roster in her mind, making sure she knew who was who. Emilio could relate to that. It wasn’t that different from what he’d done when he’d first moved in. He stepped onto the elevator, hitting the button for the second floor and leaning against the wall as the rickety thing climbed up, ignoring the groans of the gears. The door opened, which felt like a miracle every time, and he made his way down the hall to his unit. Nodding back at Ren, he pushed open the door. “He was on the couch when I left,” he commented. Sure enough, Perro hadn’t moved from his spot, though he lifted his head up briefly as the door opened.

—

“I would. For a good reason. Being cold is not good reason.” Unaware of how similar this might be to something the detective might think, Ren thought little of it after it came out of her mouth. Didn’t everyone have purpose? Something that drove them to do… everything? If you weren’t ready to die for your cause, it wasn’t a very good creed then was it? Or perhaps you were simply not faithful enough in it.

He was eyeing her again. Trying to be sly about it, but the kid noticed how long it took for glances to subside. “I can take care of myself. I have been doing it just fine.” Defiant. And in her mind, true. The fire inside her building itself back up again. Enough to stop the shiver. That or the warmth was finally doing its job. There wasn’t much of her to actually warm up. So shifting temperatures didn’t really take long to… temper. Ren walked with a confidence she didn’t actually possess, the kind that would have fooled anyone, right up until she stepped into the elevator.

The entomid was about to speak up, question why the detective’s room was so small when something shifted. The whole room shifted. Shook. Left Ren gripping tight to the railing with a look of terror and confusion barely barely masked by her angry scowl. The door opening to reveal a different place did little to assuage her fear.

“What did you do, Detective?” The question was low, and flat as any of her others, but maybe just maaaybe a bit shaken. Was this man a spell caster? Had they entered some other… equally shitty dimension? But the man was already walking forward, acting as if it was nothing. Making some remark at what must have been his actual room. Though she hadn’t taken any steps to get any closer. Still practically glued to the spot on the rail.

“Wha–” She began to repeat the question when the door began to close again. Prompting another wave of fear in the kid. “HEY! Hey what is this!?”

—

“There are no good reasons.” At least, not for a kid. Emilio, he’d already lived past his expiration date. More than once now, probably. But Ren? Fuck. She didn’t look much older than twenty, still had years ahead of her. And she ought to see those years. Just like Flora should have, or Jaime.

But he could only argue with her so much, about so many things. He was goddamn tired, exhausted down to his core in ways that had very little to do with the hours he spent not sleeping in his bed or the way he was on the streets with a knife in his hand more nights than not. If the kid wanted to say she’d been taking care of themself just fine with her skin hanging off her bones and her small frame trembling with the cold, Emilio wasn’t going to fight it. He didn’t have the energy for that.

Maybe if he had had a little more energy, he would have noticed just how nervous she got in the elevator. As it was, he leaned against the wall with his eyes closed for the duration of the ride, unable to distinguish their new fear from the uneasiness that had been rolling off her in waves since the moment he’d first seen her.

It was only at her question that he glanced back, brows furrowed in quiet confusion. The kid was still on the elevator. “Door’s gonna shut soon if you don’t…” But it was already sliding closed, prompting a sigh from the detective. He limped back over to it, pressing the button again so the door would slide back open and raising a brow. “Never heard of an elevator, huh? It’s all right. Took us up a floor. Like stairs, but easier on us old guys. Come over here, look out the window. Street’s still there.”

—

No. She had certainly not heard of an elevator. Her face reddened with embarrassment the moment the door opened again. Not a death trap. Not even an intentional threat. Suddenly she felt like a scared little kid again. Screaming at the sight of her first car. But the detective wasn’t looking to strike her for being insolent. If anything he looked like he was trying to be something else. Something the entomid didn’t really know but to anyone else would look like compassion. She didn’t like it.

Ren brushed past Emilio with a harsh bump and no words shared. Not taking her eyes off the uneven tiles on the ground the entire stretch to the window. Where. Yup. There it was. The road below. The heat coming off her angry breath was enough to fog up the old glass. “Well it is not my fault your strange machine felt like it was about to fall into the earth.” A few more lingering seconds of staring and she finally turned on her heel. Not even realizing she’d gone for her blade again. It wasn’t out, but her hand was firmly holding onto the hilt.

“Dog got out.” She changed the subject. Too embarrassed to do anything but point out the obvious. The inquisitive little guy had taken a little stroll into the hall from what had to be the detective’s unit. She’d expected something much more intimidating. Something that looked like a real dog. Not some tiny scrawny thing that probably looked about as awful as Ren did. While it wasn’t by much, the pup did improve her mood. “Is it going to get any bigger?”

—

He should have seen the reaction coming. The way she brushed by him without looking at him, the way she responded to his attempt at reassurance with irritation. Emilio was a father, once, but not to a kid like this. Not to a kid this age, who had enough pride to be embarrassed instead of seek comfort when something scared her. He let her go, not following as she made their way over to the window to double check and make sure he hadn’t lied to her.

“Old building,” he replied with a shrug, hands in his jacket pockets. “Probably will fall into the earth, one of these days. But rent’s cheap, and people don’t ask questions.” He figured that kind of thing might appeal to Ren, too. Not the rent — he doubted she had much of a concept of that, if she didn’t know what an elevator was — but the privacy. The way you could move without being seen even on your worst day simply because no one cared enough to open their eyes. That kind of thing, he thought, might be important to her. Not that it mattered, of course. He was under no illusion that she’d actually hang around the apartment for more than an hour or so at the most. Long enough to repay her ‘debt,’ but no longer than that. If she came back around to walk the dog again, it’d probably be sparingly.

And speaking of the dog… Emilio raised a brow as Perro sat down in the middle of the hall, looking up at the pair inquisitively. “Oh, now you wanna get off the couch.” He walked over, leaning down far enough to offer the tiny ball of fur his hand. The limb was sniffed carefully, just as it always was, before Perro shoved his head against it. Emilio responded with a scratch behind the ears. It was a ritual they’d perfected. You didn’t go to Perro, he’d learned; you had to let Perro come to you. “Don’t know,” he shrugged in response to Ren’s questions, glancing back at her. “Just found him one day a while back. Think he’s full grown, though.” He straightened, and Perro turned his careful gaze to Ren. “Gotta let him sniff you,” he told her, “or he’ll probably bite the shit out of you. Es un perro malo.” His tone was fond, in spite of the words.

—

Now he was back to not really making sense. Ren had been in old buildings before. The temple was just about the oldest building she’d ever seen and there weren’t any boxes of doom there. Well. Moving ones. Thinking about it too much sent a shiver down her spine that wasn’t from the cold. Maybe that’s why the elevator shook her so much. Far too familiar. Far more upsetting than just a room that moves. She refused to look at it as she made her way towards the dog and the door beyond it.

“That does not mean he is bad dog.” The scrawny teen slipped into Spanish as easily as she had English. Which is to say not exceptionally well. But understandable. Likewise for both, she understood far better than she spoke. It wasn’t really like her to directly contradict a personal statement like that. But the tiny thing in front of her didn’t deserve to be demeaned for its nature. “Dogs are supposed to bite.” Another reason she felt such kinship with them, perhaps?

She waited patiently for the dog to lose interest in Emilio’s hand, then crouched slightly so hers could be next up for inspection. Honestly not minding too much if the dog did decide to chomp. Wouldn’t be as bad as some of the bigger shepherds and mastiffs back at the compound.

—

Ren slipped into Spanish, and Emilio’s eyes lit up just a little. English always felt clunky and uncomfortable on his tongue, like it didn’t sit quite right in his mouth. Frequently, he’d say the wrong thing or misuse a word in a way that got him a strange look. And he hated that. Emilio didn’t tend to ‘use his words’ particularly often — he was far more well-versed in the language of violence, as that had been the first one he’d ever learned — but when he did, he didn’t like to be misunderstood. It was hard enough to work up the courage to speak when you knew what you said couldn’t be misinterpreted. When every sentence might mean something other than what you’d meant for it to? It felt impossible, sometimes.

“Not everyone thinks so,” he replied, staying in Spanish as he continued to scratch Perro behind the ear. “I don’t care if he bites me. It doesn’t hurt. But some people get scared. Or they get angry, and that scares him. Makes him bite more. Pisses me off, too.” Emilio didn’t tend to stand for people snapping or yelling at his dog.

Satisfied that Emilio’s scent hadn’t changed in the short time he’d been gone, Perro moved on to the new person in the room. He approached Ren slowly, cautiously, sniffing at her hand experimentally. Like Emilio had expected, there was none of the instantaneous animosity that the dog tended to express towards humans, so… Ren must have been something else. Not undead, which was good, but something. If she wasn’t a kid, it would have set him on guard a little more. As it was, he only made a mental note of it. After a few moments of sniffing, Perro heaved a sigh and sat back, looking up at Ren with a careful expression. “You can pet him now,” Emilio said, still in Spanish. “Looks like he’s decided not to bite you.”

—

For once, Ren was too busy focusing on something else to note the small changes in expression. She eyed the small dog with a burning curiosity. Like it was going to give her all the secrets in the world. But not so harshly that the canine would take it as a threat. Which, apparently he didn’t. The detective was speaking entirely in Spanish now, which was fine. Honestly felt no different to the kid. Both were foreign. Both were hard.

“Most people are foolish.” She replied, agreeing with the sentiment that she’d probably get angry too if someone yelled at her dog. If she ever had a dog of her own. Which was unlikely as only the top soldiers got to keep companion animals. Ones who had earned it. Jericho was one of those. He wasn’t the cruelest of the wardens, but he followed every command Darya gave without hesitation. Executed flawlessly, every time. And that made him holy. Made him worthy. Ren remembered liking his dog. She was clever and kind. But viscous when she needed to be.

Tentatively, Ren extended a couple fingers to gently scratch at the small dog’s ear. It seemed to like it well enough that she even gave him a single stroke before standing at attention again. Feeling silly for having spent so much time on a personal indulgence. Her eyes drifted inward to the unit. Widened slightly as she took it in.

“This is your dwelling?” The place was massive. Well. Compared to anything Ren had stayed in. It was even more than one room. She couldn’t even see every inch of it. “How did you earn something this incredible?”

—

Emilio nodded, agreeing with the statement even if he wasn’t adding anything verbally. He watched carefully as Ren scratched the dog behind the ear, more trusting than he might have been with someone older but still a little apprehensive. Perro was plenty capable of taking care of himself — he’d bit the hell out of Jeff the last time the guy got too close to the two of them in the hall — but the hunter felt protective all the same. In this case, it wasn’t needed. Ren did just fine with the dog, and Perro was happy with the attention. It was a good sign for the dog walking arrangement. The whole thing would have been harder to sell if Perro disliked the kid, and Emilio didn’t have anything else for her to do in exchange for the food or the jacket.

As the kid straightened, Emilio studied her reaction to the apartment. Given the way she’d reacted to his sarcasm before, he assumed the awe was genuine, which was… a little sad, frankly. Axis was falling apart on its best day. The paint on the walls was chipped, with drywall exposed in some places. There were a few bullet holes scattered throughout that had been there when Emilio moved in. The floor was sticky and uneven, the whole apartment seeming to exist on a tilted axis. The couch, one he’d found in a dumpster just after moving to town, was ratty and stained, with more holes in it than it had undamaged fabric. The appliances in the kitchen were ancient and only worked about three times out of ten, and the ‘desk’ Emilio had set up for his business was another dumpster find with more than a few knicks in the wood from knives. The bedroom, though it couldn’t be seen from the front, was in even worse condition, with mold on the otherwise bare walls and a single double-sized mattress laying in the center of the room. And here Ren was, looking at it like it was a goddamn palace. It might have been funny if it weren’t so goddamn depressing.

“Pay for it with money I make as a detective,” he replied simply, because saying rent probably wouldn’t mean much to her. He wasn’t even sure saying money would mean much, but he didn’t know how else to phrase things. Spanish might be the language he was most comfortable in, but he still wasn’t good with words. The way he grew up, you used violence as a first resort. Talking had always been a lot further down on the list.

—

"You get to live here all on your own??" It sure didn't sound like anyone else was home. Ren's wonder was very sincere. She couldn't help but take a few steps in and look around like it was fucking Disneyland. Of course she had seen bigger places, nicer ones too. But they were all public. Untouchable in a way Axis wasn’t. Each mark of personality, each stain and imperfection was in its way, beautiful. Because it was unique. It was the detective's in a way that she’d never really owned anything. Even the clothes on her back or the meager cot that served as her bed back home was subject to repossession at the slightest whim of her mentor.

It only took her a minute or so to remember herself. Her manners. Ren retreated into herself the moment she realized she’d fully walked into the house and started touching things without even asking permission. Her ears reddened with embarrassment for the third time that night, and what probably wouldn't be the last. And instead of apologizing or leaving, she sort of just stood still. Waiting for the inevitable hit that was to come, trying not to flinch about it.

—

“Sí.” The more she spoke, the more it became clear that even an apartment like Emilio’s was something incredible to her. It planted an ache deep into his chest. Someone somewhere out there had brought this kid into the world, intentionally or not, and she was alone now. There was something so profoundly unfair about that, something infuriatingly wrong. It seemed all the more pronounced to a man who’d lost his own child. And he recognized that he might be making an unfair assumption, knew that Ren’s parents could have died instead of left, but the injustice felt the same either way.

The way she retreated into herself, too, had nausea tugging on his gut… though the reasoning was a little different. This was something more familiar to Emilio, something he understood on a more personal level. He knew what a kid looked like when they thought they were about to be hit; he’d worn the expression himself for most of his childhood. But Ren, as far as he could tell, wasn’t a hunter. There was a difference between training and abuse. (That was what he told himself, at least. Constantly, on repeat, for years. There was a difference. No one ever hit him when he didn’t deserve to be hit, or when it didn’t benefit him somehow. The scars marring his body were lessons. That was all.) Carefully, Emilio picked up the hoodie on the back of the couch. It was, like everything else in the apartment, old and worn and likely pulled from the trash. He offered it to her, movements slow and cautious. “Here’s that jacket,” he said, figuring the best course of action was simply to ignore her skittish behavior in hopes of showing her that she didn’t need it here. “Probably not the warmest thing in the world, but better than nothing.” Better than what she had now.

—

The strike never came. It never came and he was trying to give her something. The piece of clothing bundled up in the man's hands looking for all intents and purposes like a handout from god. She’d talked about it, Ren reminded herself. For the dog walks. For the new job she’d taken on outside of her mission.

Jericho would not have strayed like this.

He would have endured the cold, and hunted for his own food instead of stealing or what she viewed as begging. Ren looked at the hoodie for a long, long, time before slowly reaching out towards it.

"Detective… Ehmeeleeooh. You are not at all like what my mentor spoke of." It was quiet. But rebellious all the same. The entomid couldn't wrap their head around this man. She had been in town for about a month. No one else followed her just to hand off a box of food, and give her something to do to earn more. And that was fine. That's how it was supposed to be. Outsiders were selfish. They needed to be protected from monsters like the fae, but they were not the same as the wardens she grew up around.

It was one of those catch 22 things. They were all strange and often stupid, but they deserved salvation. That's what they called it when the wardens destroyed monsters like her. That’s what they called it when they raised her, kept her close and taught her everything she knew. Salvation.

But this? This felt a lot more like being saved.

"You are a good man."

—

She reached for the hoodie and, in a strange way, there was some relief to that. Emilio didn’t know how to offer comfort with words, didn’t know how to untangle this web of thinking that had her flinching at the slightest move or looking at a shithole apartment like a castle. He’d never gotten to the level of parenting that required you to ease your child’s more abstract fears. In moments like this one, he wondered if that might almost be a good thing. He wouldn’t have been good at it. He wouldn’t have known how to offer words of reassurance to Flora any more than he knew how to offer them to Ren. The hoodie was the best he could do, and it wasn’t enough but Ren reached for it all the same. Didn’t that count for something?

Their next words confused him, but he didn’t let it show. Whoever this mentor was, if they were the reason Ren was how she was now… He doubted most things were like what they spoke of. But saying that would probably undo any progress he’d made here, and he didn’t want to risk that. He wanted Ren to be okay. That was all he wanted, in this moment. And that was going to be a long, slow road.

And then, she went and opened her mouth again, and Emilio froze. You are a good man. It seemed to hang in the air between them like a tangible thing, bright and glaring and wrong. Sucking his teeth, the hunter shook his head. “There are plenty better.” Back to English now, clunky and uncomfortable, because the confession felt too painful to utter in the same language he’d once used to sing his daughter to sleep. The fact that Ren thought he was a good man only served to prove that her experience with good people was slim. He knew that.

“Do you want me to show you where the leash is? Then you can grab it if you ever come by when I’m not home.” A quick change in subject, but not one that would be too jarring, he hoped. She seemed to like the dog. That made the conversation topic feel safer.

—

Being old as it was, the hoodie was raggedy and soft. Most of the clothes that Ren wore at the compound were meant for uniformity. For structure. And most importantly, utility. Comfort was never a care. The old long sleeve shirt she had on now was to help her blend in. And was one of maybe four she carried with her. Rough fingers, far more worn than one her age should have had, tenderly rubbed circles on the old dusty red fabric. Holding it as reverently as one might hold a holy relic. It was holey. Not that the pun would really occur to the kid.

She had a lot to think about. How much something as tiny as this could mean so much to her, how many others out there were like this man. And more than that. The seed had been planted, even if it had miles of dirt and concrete to break through to actually make it to fresh air.

The world was different than how she’d been taught.

Emilio seemed to refute the compliment. But in Ren’s mind it was just a fact. You are what you do, and he had done something good. And he should be told so. Even so, she could relate to his idea of others being better. There always was someone better out there. No matter what you did.

Holding the hoodie close to her chest, she turned and simply nodded. This was better. A job. Something to focus on. “Is there– specific time dog is regimented to do walking?”

—

Luckily, Ren seemed content to drop the subject of Emilio’s dubious status as good for now. He found himself hoping it wasn’t a thing that would come up at all in the future, and that she wouldn’t hate him completely when she realized the assumption was a wrong one. It was easier, he thought, when people were never under any sort of illusion that you were someone decent. Never earning any expectations at all was so much simpler than letting people down. Emilio would know; he’d let just about everyone down, over the years.

The question threw him off a little, and he looked to Perro as if the dog might answer it for him. When Perro, predictably, offered no input of his own, Emilio shrugged. “Don’t really have any kind of a set schedule with him. I take him out when he scratches at the door, but I’ve never been able to walk him very far.” He knew the kid had noticed his limp, knew she could probably come to the correct conclusion regarding his inability to take the dog for long walks. It wasn’t that Emilio wasn’t technically capable of going long distances on foot. It was just knowing that, if he did it with Perro, he wasn’t the only one who might get into trouble if he couldn’t make it back home. His own safety was an afterthought. The safety of other people — or, in this case, dogs — was far more important to consider. “You can take him whenever you feel like it, really. Just check the food bowl to see if he’s eaten. I fill it up before I go out, so if it’s still full, he hasn’t finished his breakfast yet. And he’ll probably be a real ass about it after half an hour or so. Gets snappy.”

—

“No wonder he is snappy. Dogs need order. Schedules.” Her brows furrowed slightly, as she leaned down again towards the pup. Letting him do the whole sniff, accept, lean, thing all over again. Just for a few extra scritches. Ren huffed then addressed the pup in question. “We will fix this, is that not right, dog?” Perro, hearing his ‘name’ perked up even more, though Ren was none the wiser about the hound’s moniker. Or lack of one. Dogs were just called dog. In any language. And this one was the only one here, so asking for a number didn’t make sense either. “Get you all big and strong.” A few more pets and both of them sighed contentedly.

Satisfied, and deciding this conversation had already run its length, Ren turned again, this time towards Emilio. “I will not let you or dog down.” It wasn’t a promise, not in the sense that it would bind her. Not that that whole thing had really ever worked for her. Not after– Well. No need to dwell. But it was an agreement. One she intended to follow through with. “You will not follow me again though. After I leave.”

—

“Not the only reason why he’s snappy.” Emilio’s voice darkened as he remembered the house where he’d first found the dog, the thing that had owned Perro before he had. No amount of order or schedules would undo the damage that had been done there. Even burning the house down had offered Emilio little reprieve for the anger he still felt when thinking about it. It wasn’t entirely dissimilar to the anger he felt thinking about Ren and the ‘mentor’ she referred to. Emilio had a sneaking suspicion that that was the same sort of person as the vampire who’d owned Perro before.

Perro seemed content enough with the kid, though, and Emilio was pleasantly surprised by it. He huffed an amused laugh as the dog perked up hearing his name, reaching forward to give him a quick scratch under the chin. “Don’t think a schedule will do much to make him big. I think he’s a small dog.” Some kind of terrier mix. He thought he remembered the girl at the pet store saying that, the first day.

He looked back to Ren as she turned her attention back towards him, offering a nod at her words. It didn’t mean much, really, because Emilio was a hard guy to let down and Perro was generally easy enough to please as long as he was fed and paid attention to. Chuckling, he held up his hands palm out and nodded his head. “Won’t follow you this time.” Though he’d make no sweeping promises for the future. (He’d make no promises at all, if he could help it; Rhett had always hammered that point home pretty hard.)

—

Ren shrugged. It was a bit uncharacteristic of her, but they were just mirroring the mannerisms of the detective. He seemed fond of the gesture. Honestly, it was kind of a nice way to get a point across without having to say anything about it. There’d probably be a lot more shrugs in Ren’s future. As long as she was away from the family. They weren’t really the kind to send people to make sure that their scouts were doing what they were supposed to, so long as regular messages made their way back. The old satellite phone was a bitch to figure out. But it worked. And she was even getting used to this internet thing. Not well. But workable.

“Big in heart then.” Small dogs could be good too. Even ones that were at a disadvantage. Ren wouldn’t ever admit how akin to the little fuzzball she really felt. A little tether strong enough to push through her grouchy antisocial exterior. She wanted this dog to succeed. To be happy. To thrive in its environment in a way she wasn't so sure she really could. But Emilio cared about it. More than the wardens or her mentor ever cared for her.

Ren’s brows quirked slightly at the wording, but chalked it up to a misunderstanding. Spanish wasn’t her best after all. “Yes. Well.” The girl stood awkwardly for a moment, then started toward the door. Ushering one last phrase out just before disappearing into the night. “до свидания” Russian for goodbye. The significance of it though, was probably lost on the man. Greetings were reserved for respect, and the young fae was rarely allowed to use the more intimate wording. The detective, Ren figured, had earned that much. And he was older than her. So it was fine. It would be fine. It had to be fine. There was no way this would burn and crash around her. She’d fix it long before it became a problem.

Outside back in the cold, the last thing she did before disappearing into the shadows was slip into the sweater. Taking what she assumed was a private moment to nuzzle into it. To savor the warmth, and the first connection they ever made outside of the Adelskold family.

—

Big in the heart. It was a nice phrase, Emilio decided. Not one anyone back home would have been particularly fond of — his mother often said that the heart was a useless thing, good for pumping blood but bad for metaphors — but he liked it. It fit Perro well. Fit Ren all right, too.

He nodded as she stood, confusion flickering briefly across his face as they spoke. “Vale,” he repeated. Okay. Something told him that wasn’t what she’d said, but she was headed to the door before he could do much of anything to roll over the translation. He offered her a small nod. “See you around, Ren.” In English this time, though it didn’t seem like that was her first language any more than it was his. Strangely, he found himself hoping his statement might be true. Seeing her around wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

#wickedswriting #dumpsters dinners and dogs

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animefreak1145 · 3 years

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For Whom the Bell Tolls(Adler x Bell!Reader)

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Chapter 4| I Am Thee and Thou Art Me

Chapter Summary:

The action's you do is for survival and no other reason.

You don't understand other's actions though.

Cold War Reset AU| Undertale Reset AU

Warnings: Torture, Brainwashing, Manipulation, Possible Non-Con/Dub-Con, Trauma

Chapter Warnings: Mental/Emotional Anguish, Toxicity, Self-Loathing

A/N: Bottled beer is liquid hope and you love pictures.

Footnote: Translations at the bottom.

“Bell” Second Life 08:16 | February 26, 1981 West Berlin, Anita Wronski Cafe

“Looks like you’ve met death in the face, Bell. Rough night?” Lazar questioned, poking fun as they grabbed breakfast for everyone in line.

You rubbed your eye before pinching between your brows.

“Something like that,” you said tiredly as you looked around the small cafe. Distantly taking note of Lazar’s statement with a dry smirk. “Didn’t sleep well.”

Small metal tables inside with metal chairs to match, both with interesting swirls for patterns making up the surfaces. There were more outside, the cafe a bit cramped in the first place even with just three tables again the wall. The smell of sweet German pastries and salty breakfast flooded your nose, making you lick your lips despite yourself not being hungry yet.

You were already up an hour beforehand, wondering to yourself how you and Adler could be in the car once more into the safehouse. Only to ‘volunteer’ when Lazar knocked on your door to help him grab food for everyone, apparently Adler already gone and left to the safehouse.

You internally frowned at that, you’re not sure why before you felt grateful. You would rather not talk about. . .whatever happened in his car. Which was nothing.

The flash of a clenched hand on the wheel as if holding back and a taut jaw came to the forefront of your mind.

Marionette’s should stick with their role.

It was nothing.

Lazar snorted, making you turn towards him as they both stepped up to the cashier. Lazar pointing towards the dessert window of what to get in a box as you spoke in German to the woman. Several more items of breakfast were ordered that will take some time to make, so they moved to sit to the only open table inside the quaint café.

“You drunk what—four cups of coffee yesterday, Bell? And looking at a bunch of nonsense for hours as if your brain is steel and your eyes can’t melt out of your head.” What a nice vision. Lazar took a sip of the German coffee he got for himself, eyes lighting up at the taste before looking back at you. “All that must’ve been stuck in your head and probably even in your dreams. Had any floating codes flying around your mind as you slept by any chance?”

That’s not quite right, but you’ll take the excuse handed to you as you shrugged. Lifting your own cup of coffee that you doused in three creams and two sugar’s, humming for a moment in agreement to Lazar at the strong and bold taste before taking another one.

“You can say that. I would have kept going and working until I got tired. You would call me a night owl so to say.”

“You seem pretty alright to me now,” Lazar observed as he leaned back in his chair.

“I have an impressive work ethic. Better than others I think. I’m used to going to sleep late and waking up early.” You can infer that your body is used to this schedule, harsh and strict work ethic that you must’ve gotten when you worked with Perseus. “Although, I admit I’m not very hungry right now. You chose a bad partner in this.”

“But you volunteered,” Lazar stared ever so seriously and another sip to his coffee. You could see he was fighting a smile.

You huffed through your nose, shaking your head.

“Yes. How could I have forgotten. Like I did for Kraus.” Lazar slightly winced at the reminder of how you got kidnapped, muttering an apology which you waved away. “It’s fine. I was the best to do that anyways.”

“You sure are pretty accepting with all this work. Just asking and taking files like nothing, ” Lazar rose a brow, you couldn’t tell if it was for being impressed or disbelief. You didn’t say anything to that, the both of you just sipping on their coffee and waiting for their meals to take to the car before heading back to work. You’ll walk past the center table easily and just sit in your chosen desk. Maybe get a lecture about professionalism which you will just absently nod at since you will make yourself feel numb if you have to, just to get away from the man in any way. Lazar paused at your far away look, your cup by your mouth yet you’re not drinking, instead of looking at a simple framed painting of Germany’s hills at the wall. ". . .As much as the boss man likes to act like it, we're not machines,” you blinked out of your reverie, your eyes flicking towards Lazar. “You're not either. Even though you understand numbers with little pattern and words that would have no connection normally—be able to put it together and have it make sense."

You blinked once more, albeit slower.

"I...I know I'm not a machine."

"Do you? Acting like you don't sleep and eat, besides those seeds of yours like you're a bird yesterday outside of the one meal I brought you. Do you sing too?" You released a surprised laugh at that, short as it was with lips still up. "That's better. Thought your lips stay flat like that. I swear, it seems both you and Adler are obsessed with Perseus. See why you're his protege now."

You were struck at Lazar’s words, focusing on him with a frown. The implications that the both of you were similar making you look down.

“Guess we're two peas in a pod.”

You mumbled the last bit, as if to yourself as you lowered your cup on the table.

"What? Oh. . .guess you could say that. But remember this Bell," He throws a pastry at you as you quickly catch it before it met your face(you would always have to be prepared for that before), blinking down at your hands before looking at the kind faced Lazar. "Lighten up. We'll get him so don't push yourself so much. And eat real food too! Seeds! As if that's food."

Your mind showed you moments from your previous life, Lazar always teasing and making you eat and try as much as different food as possible. Away from your decryption tasks as he would wave your plate under your nose as if to entice you.

“No point in being greedy,” The kind man would say, wry smile playing his lips with a tone to match, after letting you try food from his plate, even encouraging it. “Memories—memories with food should be savored and light and new dishes should be enjoyed.”

You thought of when you first found out the truth, still recovering from wounds of Cuba as you sat—away, away from that gurney—and guilt with Lazar—should’ve been quicker, perhaps you would’ve been kinder, kindness is a lie—and asking Park if Lazar knew. About you. About this. MK-Ultra. Everything.

You stared at the Israeli man for a moment before smiling, a mischievous thing. Genuine. Like the man in front of you.

"I am smaller than you, it's enough for me."

"Now you're just poking fun."

Lazar was always kind.

Oh, how he played his role perfectly for you.

At this point, you’ll take what you can get and stop wondering with him. You’ll go mad.

Foolish американский щеноk. The collar around your neck has choked all the trust for others in you.

Best, you think as Lazar easily teased you again, an unreadable look in your eyes as you take another sip of your drink. To just not feel at all.

The breakfast the both of you ordered came, Lazar grabbing the bag as movement behind the counter caught your eye. A worker bringing in a new dessert towards the other German sweets, yellow and round and looking spongy similar to a cake but with a crust like a pie. You walked back up to the counter, pointing and asking the worker in fluent German what was that. Her replying with a smile that it is their pineapple kasekuchen, the German’s take in a cheesecake.

You turned your gaze to the sweet, lost in thought before raising your hand with two fingers up to order, the worker nodding.

You grabbed the box and walked up to the curious Lazar by the door, his brow arched as if asking a silent question. As the both of you exited the bakery and walked towards the car, you still not saying anything and only periodically glancing down at the box with the kasekuchen, even tightening your grip a tad around it when the crowd around them got a little too close, Lazar decided to speak.

“You know,” he began, and you took note that he sounds amused. Almost knowing. You pretended to stay oblivious. “There was this mission I was on in Thailand with Adler a few years back.” At the mention of Thailand, your memory of yesterday in Adler’s car still fresh, you looked towards Lazar as they walked. “Something covert and recon with the usual stray chance of a suicide bomber. The standard for our great unpredictable job. Keeps us in our toes.” His tone was a mix of sarcasm and easygoing, as if suicide bombing in a country was like if he stated it’s going to rain again. Where is he going with this? “Anyways, when we weren’t doing that—we’d stop at this corner store near the safehouse we were in. Boss man would always buy his precious cigarettes, leaves the other stuff we need to actually sustain us to me. Except, he would get something else too. To eat and I always thought each time I saw that, that Adler is human after all.” He glanced down at you, one brow raised. “Do you happen to know what it is?”

You huffed, turning your head away. Them reaching the car and you going to the passenger side as Lazar stood by the driver’s side—still unopened and leaning his crossed arms on the top of the car.

“You sure like playing games today,” you dodged with quirked lips, shuffling the box in your hands to hold it in one as you moved your free one to open the door. “Volunteering me again and calling me a bird and now having me guess what a man like Adler would get besides his addiction. You want to talk about machines, look at him.”

How the puppet lies so so sweetly.

Lazar hummed, deciding to open the car and the both of you going in and settling as they placed the bags down by you to make sure none of it spills. After they pulled out from the space, Lazar spoke once more, offhandedly and an interesting turn of the lips.

“Pineapples sure are sweet and tart. Pretty good too.”

You don’t say anything.

Just made sure your hold on all the boxes of food for everyone didn’t tip over as Lazar would turn. If your grip with the kasekuchen was firmer than the others, you didn’t notice.

Feed the god and you might get a reward.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ◁ ◁ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You squinted behind your closed eyes, shifting in your uncomfortable sitting position in the foxhole with only dirt and soil to help cushion you within the trench like pit. The crickets were loud, deafening in the jungle with a periodic squawk or call from a bird deep within. You shifted, your M-16 moving down in your lap from the movement despite your lucky green cloth gloves holding it as you blearily opened your eyes, blinking them against the darkness until they got used to it. The half moon helping somewhat in giving light as well as the fireflies flying around in the dance where only they heard the music.

They were still on their way to Hue City, night coming upon them quicker than expected. The jungles are harsh and thick, especially with the route they’re taking due to their stealth and recon mission, but the planned route was still underestimated. It did not help the planned foxhole they were going to got covered, completely useless and the time to make another one is time they don’t have. Luckily, they were able to find another, although this one was tighter. Two small foxholes that barely fit the five of you, hence having to sit basically in a ball against the wall of dirt behind you.

All of you were doing one hour intervals in keeping watch, the watcher usually standing up in the foxhole in order to watch their surroundings. And if an attacker did come, they could duck within the foxhole for cover.

You felt like you should’ve woken up for your shift already.

Your eyes focused next to you, finding the spot where Larson was supposed to be standing empty. You hastily stood, pack heavy against your back as it tensed in protest at the sudden weight, your hands tight against the M-16 and about to call the other’s names at the missing soldier only to stop.

Your standing position giving you new access to see more besides the sky above you, surrounded by brush and green foliage of all types with high grass upon the ground. Larson sat, just a few inches away from the foxhole a little to your right, staring up in the starlit sky. He turned his head towards you at the sound, seeing you were awake before turning his head back, as if you weren’t there.

“Larson,” you whispered, not wanting to wake up the others in the foxhole next to yours. When Larson didn’t move so the two of you could switch, you reached out to tug on his pack on his back. “You can’t be out in the open like this. You don’t know if VC or NVA might come by in the area.”

“Let them,” Larson said brazenly but just as low, making you release his pack in surprise. “Besides, there’s a bunch of shit around here to cover us. Even this grass is kinda covering my face. Nothing will happen. Now, go back to sleep and leave me be.”

You stared, before sighing. Carefully looking around once, twice, before coming out of the foxhole as quietly as you could—using the open holes on the dirt walls to place your feet to get out. You sat by Larson, who ignored you and went back to staring up at the twinkling sky.

You took a moment to stare at it too. This far in the boonies, away from cities and cars and just filled with wildlife, it has a sort of bewitching air around it. Despite the loud chirp of the crickets, the call of the birds, and how one would sometimes have to smack any open skin for stubborn mosquitos—the trees, the grass, all the greenery that looked dark in the night outside of being lit by the fireflies and the stars and moon above. You were struck once more, just how beautiful this country was. With it’s natural serenity as the moonlight not covered by clouds touched lightly upon to aid somewhat with the darkness but not as much as a flashlight would do, still, the moon did its best even if it was just at it’s half tonight. The stars were there to support it and you wish you learned more about constellations than your books, you’re sure you could spot all of them and weave stories of your own instead of reading them.

“You know,” your attention shifted to Larson, who still gazed up as he spoke, lost in thought and appearing away from here as he spoke quietly. He does not wish to wake the others it seems. “I don’t know if you remember me telling you this, but I grew up on a farm. Small. Not very fancy and it was just me and my family—Ma, Pa, and my two brothers and sister. Out just taking care of our cattle and our horses. Middle of nowhere, we would have to drive about an hour to get to a good grocery store that isn’t just a corner store or gas station. I hated it more that the closest school was about the same length. . . But what could I do? Needed an education, at least some, and than spend the rest of my life worried about a farm. With all it’s cow and horse shit, waking up before the sun does and at the end of the day you smell like all the shit you cleaned up.” He ended, sounding tired and yet with the bitter words it had an iota of equal bitter amusement.

You maintained your silence, instead moving your gaze back and forth around them. Not looking at how Larson’s lips quirked begrudgingly, head tilted up towards the silent night.

“. . .there were a few good things though. When me and my brothers and sister were done with work, and the moon was out—we’d head out to where the cattle were. Laying down on the grass without a care, why bother? We were already dirty with sweat and dirt and shit. And we’d look up—and than—“ Larson reached an arm out, as if to reach the sky, only to clench his hand and put it down back by his lap before gripping his MP40 hard where you could spot how white his knuckles were. “. . .laying down, in the grass, in the middle of nowhere, with just a dark black sky over you. . .it felt like it could swallow us. Whole. Not caring about how we looked or smelled or how old we were. . .it made us feel small. Yet huge. If we pretended enough, we could act like we can really touch the moon. The stars. I guess it just showed all of us there was more, than this little farm. With it’s shit and it’s smell and being in the middle of nowhere. The black sky might just eat us to put us out of our childish misery. Maybe that’s also why we kept going back, not just cause of fucking beautiful it was, but maybe. . .”

Larson trailed off and you decided to speak up, softly. Not wishing to break this odd aura around them, because this was more than talking about how small a human’s life is.

“‘If you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you,’” you quoted, Larson cocking his head slightly and glancing at your from the corner of his eyes. You released a small fleeting smile. “It’s a quote. By a German philosopher called Friedrich Nietzsche. A depressing guy but. . . I feel like his words fit. The abyss swallowing. . . perhaps it is more you become one with it. A fusion. Where you don’t know where you begin and the abyss ends.”

Larson turned his head away, grabbing a handful of some grass and pulling as he moved his eyes back up.

“Who knows? Maybe. . . shit,” Larson dryly chuckled, “maybe, I should’ve stuck with staring up at my family’s farm home—staring up this abyss right here but there instead. Than maybe. . .you know, I would say sappy shit in my letters to her?” You didn’t ask who ‘her’ was, you could fill in the blanks as you wisely kept silent. “All words about the moon and stars and we were staring at the same one so I wasn’t that far away cause we stared up at the same thing’s. That she had stars in her eyes and if I looked up, I could see her in them. That she pulled me to her like the moon does water and just—shit. Fuck. ”

Larson hissed, putting his head to his hands. His shoulders slightly shook, you could barely tell in the darkness but you imagine he is holding himself back.

“I loved her,” Larson said, voice all cracked and broken as his breath hitched. “I love her still. And she’s—she’s leaving. What will I have when I come back? Go back? I—there’s nothing. We were. . .I went to war for her . Our country .”

You kept your mouth shut. Letting him release his sorrow and emotionally charged words that made zero sense such as that. You learned, especially on the beach night, it is not wise to depend on another’s support when it comes to actions of war.

You didn’t even give Larson the full quote earlier either. You do not think he needed the full one, but you know yourself what Nietzsche was going for. You think Adler might like it actually.

Eventually, you managed to put Larson back into the foxhole as you took watch by him. Standing in the foxhole as you did your shift. A few minutes officially in however, you took note of noise in the foxhole next to you. You turned your head, noticing Adler’s head was out, helmet on and war paint slightly losing their color. You can see his stubble starting to really come in now. He had his shades on, even at this time, in this darkness—but you could tell he was staring at you. Something clicked as you lightly sighed.

“How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough.”

You nodded, turning your eyes around their surroundings with your M-16 in front of you and gripped at the ready just in case.

“You left something out,” Adler said after a while, voice low to not wake the others that it sounded husky to your ears. You glanced at him, brow raising questioningly as Adler’s lips lifted to a knowing smirk. “I don’t know much, but my high school education isn’t too laughable I think. I know that quote. You missed the whole beginning and just gave him the end.”

You blinked, before shrugging as you peered up at the sky for a moment.

“He didn’t need the beginning. Just the end.”

“Some might call that yellow journalism. Or lying.”

“Others might call it wise,” you retorted lightly. “He didn’t need to know it. It wouldn’t have helped. So why give it? Besides, we know it. We’re the only type of people who need it.”

Adler hummed, whether it was in agreement or in thought, you couldn’t tell. You took note of him shifting, hands a little fidgety around his M60 and you felt sympathy swell in you. He hasn’t been able to smoke since the start of this mission, having to be cautious with any type of smoke. You don’t know personally, but you know that the craving for cigarette’s were mind consuming if you did not have one to quell it. Perhaps this conversation was a welcome distraction.

You wonder if this night is just you going to be playing silent therapist.

“Do you think Larson should’ve heard it?”

Adler answered as he kept his dutiful watch around, him facing the area behind you as you focused in front.

“No. He just needed someone to listen. Poor bastard should ask for R&R after this. I’ll grant it to him, maybe he could go to Australia and just wind down there for a week.” He scratched at his face, the war paint surely feeling a little off since he first put it on. “Forget about all this. All of it. The States. The war. He needs it. Hell, we all do.”

Your lips formed a teasing smile.

“Even shadows and monsters need a smoke?”

Adler chuckled easily.

“Everyone needs a smoke as far as I’m concerned. Maybe less people will act like they’re one push away till they make a shitstorm the rest of us need to clean up. But sure, kid, ” he half shrugged, focusing on the sky above with all its celestial like bodies. “Larson might’ve been onto something though with what he was saying.”

“Which part?”

Adler chose silence as his answer, staring up for another moment or two before huffing and turning his attention back onto the ground.

The two of you stayed guarding for a few more moments. You didn’t bother asking Adler why he was up and you had this watch, just like how he didn’t seem to bother to order you to go to sleep. You felt like once more, there was an understanding between you two. Still though, it didn’t stop you from the question bubbling in your throat.

“Since you know the quote,” Adler hummed lightly, showing he was listening. “What do you think Nietzsche was referring to, that the reader itself hasn’t fought with other monsters yet or from experience because he is a monster to not have other’s fight him?”

Adler scoffed quietly, amused.

“Just cause I know the quote doesn’t mean I constantly wonder about it’s meaning, Bell.”

“Humor me.”

“I thought I told you earlier I’m not here to spoil you.” You threw him a sheepish grin, Adler sighing and shaking his head as his expression turned inquisitive with how he pressed his lips together for a moment. “It’s a warning. That’s how I always saw it. But it’s not one we need like you said earlier, kid. We don’t need it.”

You didn’t ask anymore. Because as you thought more into it, he was right.

Nietzsche wrote a warning, to the innocent reader and the oblivious society that put emphasis on morals and truth that he did not agree with.

‘Battle not with monsters, lest you become a monster. And if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes into you.’

Monsters do not fret about what they already are. Just as they are not worried if the abyss ends with them or if it begins.

“Get ready, kid.” Adler said much later as they all slowly woke the others up to move, his eyes squinting behind his glasses as he stared past the trees, the bushes, and the greenery as the beginning of dawn started to rise. “It’s going to be a shit show in a few hours.”

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

“Bell”

Second Life

14:02 | February 26, 1981

CIA SAFEHOUSE E9, “DIE LANDEBAHN”

You see yourself as one with patience.

When it comes to this sort of line of work, it is required. A sort of fortitude and composure that not all can be able to acquire but must be needed for this—for lives at stake based on whether you can put up an act or have the tact of an eagle capturing a snake, all sharp claws and silent feathers against the hissing strike. ты хочешь быть американцем товарищ.

“The two most powerful warriors are patience and time,” as said by one one of your favorites, Leo Tolstoy, from one of the best works in history: War and Peace.

You recall last time—stop clinging, you stupid dog—when you stood outside the safehouse in the cold with your head to the book, Adler stepping out and taking note of your book with a cocked brow. Stating his surprise at your book choice as you mumbled something or other as you read, that it is an integral book. You even stating the same quote back to him, a surprise to you when Adler didn’t know of it. Listening as you explained it with a flick of his lighter and calm inhales and exhales of his addiction, showing off where the quote was as he leaned in slightly. Your heart pounding as his warmth was felt without even touching, than a brush of his shoulder to your back as he drew closer. Than it was gone.

“All grim thoughts and wise words with you, eh Bell?” Amused. A fleeting turn of the lips that stayed longer and a gaze that lingered as he stared through you under those shades. “Make sure you take a breather when you raise your nose for air from your books. Can’t do this without you.”

He would tease, but didn’t stop you from taking your reading breaks outside for fresh air. And he’d always ask, curiosity in his expression when you’d show him a line each time. You thought it was special. Their own little thing where you would raise your book and he would lean to you and they would touch.

“Bell, open the door.”

It was just cruel kindness.

Patience, you are using it to your fullest. You can do what you must and see if your actions can work up to something—all your effort and hard work being seen as a good little tool.

Though, time—time is something you may not have. Unless you make sure you’re loyal.

You were quick to drop off the breakfast on the center table, ignoring Adler’s rose brow as you moved. The pineapple kasekuchen in their rightful place. You avoided and didn’t speak outside a quick “good morning” to everyone else and went to work, breakfast by you whenever you got truly hungry.

You didn’t think about why you bought the dessert. Outside the rationalization it shows your loyalty. Perhaps a peace offering to ignore what happened the night prior. You didn’t think much about that at all.

американский щеноk.

Until he called you over to his desk with a wave of his hand, your chest thundering with your eyes wide as you wondered if he’ll say anything. Take you aside in private to talk. About last night or the sweet, you’re not sure. Only for him to motion for you to sit, tapping his knuckle against the file on the desk. You took note the box of the kasekuchen wasn’t there anymore(must’ve already ate it or threw it away) as you blinked, slowly sitting in the seat across from him as he slid the file towards you as he asked your opinion on it.

You scanned, mind wandering and flying, before you glanced up at him. His favorite mahogany leather over him that is second skin, a lighter shade of blue for his collared shirt today under him and his mouth free of a cigarette as well as his hands. Those aviators still on his head, a part of him. Sort of like the beanie—ski—mask over your head as he looked down at another report in front of him. As if he didn’t call you over from your desk to his to help with a file when he could’ve just left it on your desk. As if you didn’t cross a line—you always cross the line, over, behind, or creating a completely new one to do what you must like he does whatever it takes but it was wrong, you are no saint, pitiful mutt—yesterday with your words and questions.

A hand reached towards the file in front of you, knuckle tapping twice, more force this time.

You focused back on the file, only to see Adler already took his hand back. Continuing to read as he patiently waited for your consensus on the file before you.

You were struck than how he’ll handle this, understanding dawning on you as your gaze focused and turned to the file below you and picking it up.

If he wishes to pretend as if it never occurred, it’s fine with you. It’s best either way for both of you. You have too many worries already, Adler included. Best to leave certain things out your mind about the man lest you’ll get clouded. You’re trying to survive. Not get caught up in and tangled in mind games.

You spotted in the corner of your eye Adler give a ghost of a nod, the tiniest tip of the head, imperceptible to others but you knew. He gave a similar one when you captured Volkov, walking up to you with a calm swagger and gloved hands around his weapon, as he moved his head in approval. Such a good girl to be happy with just a nod. Satisfied. He’s satisfied. He knows you understood. Understood him.

“You know me too well.”

“Guess we’re two peas in a pod.”

“I need Bell.”

You raised the file closer, over your mouth formed in a subconscious echo of a pleased smile. You didn’t even feel it. Nor did you feel electric blue eyes behind shades glance towards you before turning back to his work—the silent agreement to keep what happened last night to themselves written and signed without the two of you having to open your mouths.

Coward, you wanted to snarl. To who, you’re not sure. You just focused on what Adler gave you. You’ll need to have Adler let you live so you’ll need to not just be a perfect asset to the others but a person to him.

You have to do what you must.

“Damaged goods.”

You have to.

“You remembered.”

You flicked your eyes towards him, file momentarily forgotten. He didn’t look up from his own file, continuing to read it with the expression he always has when concentrated—a hint of pressed lips that reveals his dimples and brows lowered than usual where it would be difficult to see due to his shades. You would think that mania has truly taken a hold of you, with it’s dark tentacles filled with dark thoughts and mental anguish or rather slithering and multiplying vines where Lykourgos grew mad due to Dionysus’ vengeance except for you it is with choking collars and stifling leashes and cutting strings. He looked as if he didn’t speak at all. All the quiet focus of a war hardened CIA agent that didn’t have a ring on his finger but was married to his job with a badge to show all the same.

But you knew his voice. As if it was your own.

“We’ve known each other for years.”

“Fought together. Bled together. Been through Hell in Vietnam together.”

“We got a job to do.”

“ B e l l, o p e n t h e d o o r . ”

The poor американская сука loves pain like a drug.

“I wasn’t sure what you would,” Adler spoke again, your eyes focusing on him once more. His head still was tilted down and a little to the side, shades facing the paper but you believed he glanced towards you. “The coma did a number on you with your memories. I know you’ve been saying it’s only been about Vietnam but you never specified about what. Or if you happened to remember anything else.” He didn’t state it like a question but he might as well have.

Of course he would ask. Why wouldn’t he?

Nonetheless, you knew what he was referring to in his earlier statement. He ate them. You picked up your file with a small huff.

“Hard to forget, Adler. Of course I would remember. You would hold those cans like a lifeline,” your lips lifted at the memories, of Adler trading with others if he must to get his precious golden ambrosia that would appease him similar to his cigarettes. You kept your lips up despite the quick recall the memories were fake—the trading of trash, the quiet understanding to not speak of it, of beautiful Vietnam foliage and unforgettable talks—just as you glanced at him and continued easily. “Glad you liked them. Wasn’t sure if you would. As for other memories. . . it’s still only been with Vietnam. I haven’t gotten anything else.” Adler hummed, cocking his head a tad before your lips formed more of a smile that you felt. “But at least I still know what I like or don’t. Can’t imagine a clean slate.”

“That’s normal,” Adler said, shades now facing you as you somewhat hid your face with the file. The only thing him being able to see fully was your eyes. “Learn how to calm down and that you can’t take all these shots like you’re a target in a shitty gun range. Might remember more.”

You found yourself snorting, rolling your eyes. Finding dark amusement at his words despite yourself. Perhaps you are growing insane.

“Based on what you told me in the hospital, you would’ve had some holes instead.” The way you said it, it sounds like you still believe it. Like it was real. Dance puppet, dance. You turned up your lips into a semblance of a smirk as you looked over the file towards him. You maintained it even though you think the both of your eyes connected despite the shades hiding. “You don’t have to worry, Adler. I got your back. Always. A few shots is nothing.”

It’s what you would’ve said before. It scares you how much you meant it previously. As if your life was forfeit if it came to having Adler live longer. Nothing else would matter as long as he lived. Nothing. As if the world would come to an end if he fell—the only one that could hold it and keep it straight.

Perhaps he is Atlas after all. . .

The loyal dog with the pretty collar will always protect the master.

Cursed due to his cruelty.

What are you, Russell Adler?

Adler stared at you for a moment, as if assessing your words. Scrutinizing them. He than reached into his jacket, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. Once he did the first drag and released his puff, away from you as you observed the smoke curl around them, he looked back down to the papers on the desk.

“How lucky am I that I got you around than, kid,” he replied, all low and earnest as he took another drag. “Just don’t go dying on me. Can’t have Sims talk to his shrink about something else. He’d be heart broken.”

Adler said that sentence a little louder, so it was no surprise that Sims by the desk put down his magazine and called out.

“I resent that!”

Adler’s lips twitched in response, but kept his gaze down as your heart thundered.

You thought of an explosion to the chest, your heart open and bare for more reasons than you planned. Of soft words to your ear that sounded like regret and something else as you coughed. Of a gentle touch that held you up, hands wandering from your waist to your stomach—stopping just short of a bleeding chest as if they wanted to stop the red—redredredredred—from flowing out but hesitated. An encircling of arms that released heat as you grew cold—you don’t like the cold much anymore—while an expression was carefully guarded with eyes hiding behind a shaded curtain.

You felt your throat tighten. The need for answers to unanswered questions reaching a head.

“Just Sims?” you asked softly, a little breathless and a little confused at said breathlessness.

He glanced up, aviators slightly down and you could barely see his eyes as he exhaled a puff, eyeing you. You staring as his brow lifted for a moment before it settled, an interesting look in your eyes that one might call forlorn. And something else that is dangerous and not meant for monsters who are better alone.

“Maybe another life, kid.”

Mind thine eyes dog, for they show you yearn the impossible.

“You know the answer, Bell. Everyone would be,” Adler leaned slightly back in his chair, cigarette between his fingers in his customary hold between his ring and middle finger. “You’re part of the team. What kind of question is that?”

“You’re still one of us.”

He knows what he’s doing. Just as he knows what you mean.

You bit the inside of your cheek, looking down with squinting eyes at the file. Your hand making it a little wrinkle and you don’t know what you expected. What you’re expecting. He hurts. He pretends. Why would he even answer truthfully when he can dodge and feel less guilt about a hole in you caused by his hand?

He’s—

You felt a nudge against your knee, you looking up in shock with a quick inhale at the unexpected touch. It staying there—his knee, he’s touching you—as you watched Russell tilt his head at you, brow up and lips quirked with a cigarette around it and looking wry and relaxed—what is this, why, what could this be for, why is he doing acts that are pointless yet mean everything when he could just be distant, you are getting worked up over just knees touching, you touch starved little thing—as he motioned his head an iota to the left. Your eyes following the movement to see Park where she was, nearby with her desk and a headphone to one ear but the other still able to listen in despite how naturally quiet you and Adler are with your soft voice and Adler’s low tone.

Park? What does she have to do with anything? And why would Adler of all people care?

You frowned, only for your lips to flatten in realization of her words to you about Adler. To stay away. You now wonder if she did a similar warning to him.

“Insanity breeds insanity as they say.”

You wonder if the pissing match that was imperceptible and the slight tension was more than just two agencies trying to come to an accord.

But why would Park warn Adler?

You glanced back at Adler, who gave a half shrug as if to answer your silent question. It only raised more. You moved your knee back closer to your form and Adler didn’t react as you did so. The both of you turning back to the files that Adler requested your assistance.

Not thinking in the back of your mind of fleeting touches, lingering looks, or a voice to your pounding ear that tinged with remorse even though you couldn’t see his face.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ◁ ◁ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You and Park just recently finished going through the report you and Woods got from Ukraine. Sims and Lazar were in the back rooms where the gun range was while Park was in the Red Room. Last you checked, Adler was still in his office with a call while Mason and Woods were by the weight lifting equipment and taking turns to work off some steam due to what was discovered. You were putting the findings up on the evidence board with tacks, careful to not stab yourself. You wouldn’t be as concerned if you were wearing your gloves which you put away earlier by your bunk bed, but than again, you’re quite careful with your gloves. Not only because of the quality, but who got the leather gloves for you when you were just recently discharged out of the hospital back in the States.

You smiled, putting the last tack on the board only to have a sudden weight around your shoulders. You widened your eyes, briefly alarmed only to turn your head to see it was a smirking Woods.

“Done? Good! I’ve been holding off till now but it’s time to fucking see what you’re really made of Bell.”

You blinked, confused and still reeling at the fact you didn’t sense his approach at all. Your mind will zone out over the littlest of things lately. It concerns you. But it hasn’t been a problem so far out in missions, so you think it’s alright.

“And how exactly I’m going to do that? Thought I showed you enough back in Ukraine.”

At that, Woods laughed as he basically tugged you to where Mason was, who was shaking his head at his friend and shooting you an apologetic look as you just smiled that you were okay with it. Their van door open in the back as well as a table and chairs in front. You took note of the packs of beer and you see what Woods meant as he sat by Mason in the van on the floor, you sitting down and observing as Woods took a hefty gulp of a beer.

“I think I know now. But,” you glanced to where Adler’s office was, “is this wise? Isn’t Hudson coming over here soon?”

Woods slammed his beer down, causing some of it to come out as Mason sighed at the wastefulness.

“Man, fuck Hudson!” Woods wiped his chin harshly, irritation coloring his features. “I want to forget about that nutsack for the rest of the day. When he comes, he better not say shit or I’ll punch him again. Maybe with that shit will stop coming out his mouth.”

Mason chuckled, having his own beer in his hand as his eyes wandered to his longtime friend, shifting as he got comfortable in his seat.

“How’s the hand?”

Woods scoffed.

“Pfft. Nothing fancy,” Woods looked at said hand, clenching it as he moved to crack his knuckles as he grinned wildly. “Ready enough, like I said, if Hudson says something smart.” He punched his fist against his hand, muscles flexing noticeable despite his jacket as you couldn’t help but laugh along with Mason.

“I still can’t believe you punched him yesterday,” you spoke up, shaking your head in disbelief. You can’t even imagine anyone punching the intimidating harsh man that is James Hudson. Soon after your discharge, you had to meet with him back in Langley for the mission before all this Perseus business—although you suppose supporting the Polish union Solidarity in fighting back communists have everything to do with Perseus. You don’t understand why the man seems to dislike you so much, especially if the two of you worked briefly before which you sadly can’t remember. He must always be like that with others, Woods doesn’t seem to like or appreciate Hudson’s icy countenance either way. You don’t quite appreciate the man’s secrecy about the nukes, so you see why. “If I even breathe the air wrong around him, I think I will be dead come morning. I don’t think I’m exaggerating.”

“You?” Woods asked, amused incredulity in his tone as he faced you. “The one who basically took out three Heavy’s by your lonesome? Scared of that ball face? You’re shitting me!”

Mason rose his brows as he turned towards you.

“You didn’t say that in the report. You holding out on us, Bell?”

“Right?! Now open a bottle and tell Mason here everything that happened.”

You rose a brow, amusement shining in your eyes, your hand moving to the pack of beer before stopping. The memory of the arcade room making you smile knowingly.

“Everything?”

Woods made a face, cheeks looking an interesting color that Mason caught as he nudged his friend with his elbow.

“What’s she talking about Woods?”

“Nothing! Jesus Christ Bell, didn’t know you could be a little shit like Adler can.”

The words bounced off you easily, already used to the man’s vulgar personality from the mission and even before the mission to go over details, as you shrugged, smirking as Mason kept pushing Woods on what happened as Woods would grumble or drink his beer to avoid answering. At Adler’s name however, you looked back at the office, slightly biting the inside of your lip.

Your breaks thus far outside of eating has just been reading your books or a quick game in the back room. Never for a drink like Lazar would do with Sims and Park at times. Adler, at least what you know of, hasn’t drunk and just has stuck with his cigarettes. You don’t even remember the last time you drank. All you know is that you like it.

But. . . you’re not sure if Adler would approve. You’re always focused on your work and great at it, he depends on you to maintain your focus to catch Perseus.

You subconsciously put your hand in your jacket, feeling the polaroid as you thought.

Woods noticed your apprehension and called out to you, you turning your head back.

“Whatcha fuckin’ worried about? You’ve been working all day from those codes and whatever the shit you put on the board. I don’t think Adler would want you to be worked dry where you don’t even think straight.”

“Only booze can do that,” Mason added helpfully.

Woods nodded, looking too serious it was almost comical since they were just trying to persuade you to drink.

“What he said.”

You took a moment before you shrugged, grabbing a beer and opening it as you stated that you guess you could drink with legends. Woods huffing at you, soon calling you cocky in realization as to why you made fighting Heavy’s not a big deal and not impressed with him. Mason seeming to find it funny as the three of you drank and talked about the mission more freely and colorful words with Woods. You did slightly flush when Woods told Mason you were a nerd for playing a quick game while there were Russians preparing for their training course, Mason snorting as you hushed them when Park grew near them. Not wishing for her to find out.

Quickly hiding it by inviting her to join just as Lazar and Sims came back, the two men seeming to easily join in as Park contemplated as she stared at the beer. With a sigh though, she sat by Lazar as she took one.

“Next time, I’m buying the alcohol here. You bought rubbish, Woods.”

“‘Rubbish?’ And beer is beer, nothing wrong with good ol cheap beer sometimes,” Woods defended. “Adds to the flavor.”

Lazar smiled, raising his bottle.

“Cheers to that.” Lazar and Woods tapped their bottles in the middle when they reached over, an easy aura settling between the group.

Sims got a bottle, assessing the name as well as the pack as he did a dog whistle.

“Germans know how to do one thing right, and that’s beer. You’ll be fine Park. It could be worse,” Sims took a drink, humming as he did so while Park frowned at her bottle when she took a few sips.

“Worse?”

“It could’ve been canned,” Mason answered, speaking from experience that made you raise a brow as you took a drink, settling further into your seat. “Canned cheap beer you can basically taste the metal. There was one time back in the States where I practically shitted myself due to this cheap beer I got at this random gas station in the middle of nowhere. Ruined my night.”

“And your pants it seems,” Lazar commented, mirth clear in his tone before he released a laugh along with Sims guffaw at the Israeli’s words. Park shaking her head but anyone can see her smile on her lips as Woods stated that’s what happens when you’re in “bumfuck nowhere” and probably got experimented with weird moonshine.

You snorted in surprise, covering your mouth as your imagination pictured the soldier rushing to the bathroom lest an accident happens. Mason? He seems so serious all the time, which you can understand why. You’ve read up what you could on everyone here, the description’s were small but you could fill in the lines. He’s lucky that he has such a good friend like Woods.

It soon became a trading of stories between everyone about drunk nights and how they reached that point, Lazar running with a bowl of chili and Woods determined to make condom water balloons and Sims was just finishing his own passed out in random deck chairs story when the door of the office opened.

You immediately turned towards where Adler now stood, staring at all of you as he closed the door and currently free of a cigarette. Your anxiety only grew when Adler turned his head towards you, as if he was asking you personally on the situation as you could only throw him an apologetic yet impish smile. Adler’s brow rose.

“Adler!” Woods called, raising a hand and motioning it for the man to come over. Adler approaching the group as you could only stare and tried to get a read on him. Alas, it was hard to discern his mind even if you could spot him glancing at everyone and the table with bottles. “Join us while there’s still beer left! Planning to drink all of this before Hudson comes. He can’t say anything if there’s no evidence.”

Adler hummed, stopping behind you and Sims as he appeared in thought. A trickle of hope coming up your chest at Woods offer.

“All of you are in luck,” Adler eventually answered, the subtle amused tone not lost on you as you intently focused on it. “Hudson isn’t coming till early in the morning tomorrow. Got caught up with something with Black. Can’t imagine how he would react if he saw all this.”

“Fuck ‘im,” Woods spat, reaching for a bottle and throwing Adler one. Adler catching it with his hand, shaded eyes turning towards the bottle to read the label. “We’re not here to please his every whim and cater to him like we’re his butlers. I say it’s a perfect time to wind down. We were just trading stories of getting shit faced.”

“All of you were,” Park corrected easily, “I don’t plan on sharing any such event.”

“Never say never, Park,” Lazar said, a grin playing on his lips as he winked at the British woman. “I’m sure a lady like you has quite a collection of stories.”

“A lady never says her secrets.”

You were still staring up at Adler as Sims playfully groaned at Lazar’s flirt tactics that Park didn’t seem to mind, Adler tilted his head down and met your eyes. Seeming to assess before turning his gaze towards the evidence board, which now had additional papers than previously since he entered the office, assessing. He than turned back towards you, you impatiently waiting as you shifted in your seat to see if he would let all of you continue, his eyes seeming to follow when your hand went to your jacket pocket.

Adler released a huff of soft exasperation, a shadow of a smirk playing on his lips.

“Don’t see the problem. We can all use a break from all of this.”

You practically beamed as Woods whooped, you moving a seat over where you were now next to Woods. Adler taking your seat as he sat by Sims now, opening his bottle as he asked whose story they were on. Sims continuing it and finishing before Lazar had another one. You listening with a smile or laughter, feeling the most at ease since this whole mission started you think. You believe that Adler must feel the same way, appearing relaxed as he sat and leaned back against the chair, beer forgotten and customary cigarette on his lips as he listened.

It made you want to take a picture of this moment. You standing up and announcing to the others you’ll do just that, Woods raising a brow at you.

“You and pictures. You a photographer or something? I hope you’ll at least show me what pics you took of me instead of those Red’s building.”

Your cheeks felt heated as you turned towards Woods, standing over him with fists clenched by your side as you called his name, askance. Making the man laugh at your expression, your irritation leaving you due to it but you gave him a warning look and call of his name which he caught. Not wishing for you to say the story, as Adler watched nonchalantly.

“Pictures? Got distracted again, Bell?” He asked, almost sounding like a tease only for the others to join in that you really loved that camera. You pursing your lips and appearing like you were pouting, as you turned away and got the camera from the Red Room quickly. Taking the picture of everyone only for Woods to motion his hand for it to your bewilderment.

“What? Don’t you want one with you in it too?” Woods asked, grabbing the camera from your hands as he grinned up at you. Adler and Park glancing at each other behind you, Adler flapping his cigarette hand uncaringly in answer. Mason raising a brow at the exchange but staying silent as his eyes moved back towards his loud friend.

You didn’t think of that but you stated you wanted one with everyone than, Park raising her hand for the camera to do the setting for it to be timed and placing it on top of Sims car he was working on earlier. All of you turning your chairs slightly, getting close with beers in hand and you trying to maintain a perfect smile even with Adler’s knee touching yours. The camera flashed, you feeling something by your head only for you to lightly punch Woods shoulder once you saw he must’ve gave you bunny ears in the photo. Him laughing away as you fought your own smile, his rugged charm rubbing off on you as Adler inhaled quietly as he watched the exchange.

The stories than eventually moved to mission stories, and than, unsurprisingly—to Vietnam. At this point, Park and Lazar retired for the night—Sims eventually doing the same when he noticed it turned to Vietnam. Which left you, Mason, Woods, and Adler—Adler just finishing up the story about what happened in Hue City, leaving a few details out you noted but loyally and wisely kept silent, as Mason took it in with a slight nod of his head.

“So that’s what happened on your side. Shit. . . that whole place was a shit show since the beginning. Lucky I only had to do a quick in and out by just getting a dossier.”

Woods snorted, nursing his fifth beer.

“That whole war was a shit show. Only good thing that came out of it is telling stories about it years later in a depressed warehouse. While a whole other type of war is happening.”

At the mention of the reminder of them losing that war, you spoke up.

“Not the only thing,” you couldn’t help but say, lost in thought as you looked at the ground.

Adler turned his head towards you as Woods and Mason did the same, curious.

“And what’s that, kid?”

You kept your gaze down for a moment more before flicking your eyes to the side towards Adler.

“We’re all still here, aren’t we?”

✯ ▙ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▞ ✯ ✯ ✯ ■ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▞ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▙ ✯

Ȳ̶͇̝͐ó̶̘̈ṵ̴̡͑͒ ̴̯̗̅ŵ̴̭͘â̸̭̼̤n̵̼͚̘͑t̶̠̮̯́̏ ̶̭̝̱̄́̅ţ̶̠̑̈̚ǫ̶̳̉́ ̴̘͖͊͊͘ͅ ̵̡͋́ṣ̶̞̆̚ ̴͚̲̕ț̸̓ộ̴̍̐p̴̣͓̾́ ̴̫̗̆͜ḫ̴̛̦͓́́ẽ̴̛̻̋ṛ̵̲̞͈̅͠ę̷̼̯͔̍̌͌?̶̫̩̆͆

̷̼̈́

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̶̝͋͂B̷̝̾̾u̸͚͊̕ţ̷̛̭͖̈́̾ ̶̱͑̔i̷̩͇̤̐ṯ̴̪̓̓ ̷̜͊d̸̆͜į̶̩͔̉̏d̵͔̓͝n̴̨͇͒’̵̰͑́͂ţ̸̯̯͋ ̷̧͖̣̿̒e̴̥͋͝n̴̘̱̿̕d̸̛̤̹̔ ̵̡̡̩̈̐h̷̫͔͂͜ë̴̺̜́͑͊ȑ̶̺͉͠ĕ̴̥̉.̴͕̭͌̕͠

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̸̠͊̅

̸͙͓̬̂͒͝Ë̶̼̙̭́͘̕ ̶̳͆v̵̱͙̿̋ ̴͔̇̋ę̷͚̫͆̃̈n̵̥̣͈̏̅ ̷͇̮͒͊ ̴̛̺ ̶̡͆t̶̢̘͒ḧ̷̺̉ě̸͓̼̂ͅ ̶̬̲̫̈b̶̟̪̒̒ę̵͊͝s̶̟̱̐ţ̴͙̳̆̚ ̶͔̈́d̸̝̭͑̈́͒o̸͖͑̓g̸̨͌̈́̀s̴̹̫̖͗̅ ̶̯̝͛ḷ̶̬̔͌̐i̷̘̥̓́k̴͕̓͝ĕ̷̡̿̽́ ̵̖͗̾͘ţ̵̟̤̈́́̽ö̴͖͕͙́͗͝ ̴̦̂͊͝r̶͉͈̊̆̔ų̴̝̋̈ņ̶̼͛ ̶̭̦́.̶͔̇̄

̶̫̘͒̌̿

̵͓̱͇̆̕͠

̷̧̰̙̇͝B̶͕̐̐̓e̸̖̟̋ŝ̶̨t̵̗̎̀,̴̯̥̐̕ ̶͚͓̓̀́ť̶͐̂͜ŏ̸̢̿̉ ̵̨͎̄̿͆ć̷̣̓͑́ơ̶͔͓̋̿̔m̵̧̢̩̃ê̸̘̠̠ ̴̰̫͠͝ͅb̶͇̔̒ą̶̤̯̰̽͊c̸͈͗k̸̩͉͙̓̿ ̷̻̼̰͆ẃ̶̞͙̃͒͌ḧ̵̘͑̒̃e̵̜̰̓͘͝ń̶͙͒̚ ̵̪̖̥̊̈́ȑ̷̢̌̎ẽ̸̛͇̂ͅà̴̞̖̫d̸̤̺̽͛ỳ̴̰̊͝ ̷̠̌͝f̴̢́͊o̴͉̒͠r̷͕͙͙̽̋́ ̶͈̾̉t̴̥͒͘r̷͉̘̐́ų̸̠̔̋́t̴̨͚́̾h̷̖͕̯̀̒͛.̵̫̟̬̄

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

“Bell”

Second Life

15:47| February 26, 1981

CIA SAFEHOUSE E9, “DIE LANDEBAHN”

Soon after you said your thoughts to Adler about the file, you moved to go back to your desk only to pause by the T.V. You turned back, Adler raising a curious brow as he put out his cigarette with his ash tray nearby. You asked him for any other files he may need help with, Adler saying nothing as he reached another file by him and handing it to you. You grabbed it, your black leather gloved hand grazing against his bare one as you took it. Taking note of what he said about it before turning to your desk and staying there. Ignoring a probing stare in the back of your neck.

You’ll do what you must, but if he expects you to stay by his side when he inconvenienced you earlier by making you come to him. . . Well, you think a little petty action is worth it.

Besides, you have to think by yourself for a moment. The call about Volkov squeaking his rat mouth should’ve came already. By nighttime—you, Adler, and Park should already be on the way to Ukraine and meet up with Woods and Mason.

Woods and Mason, you think fondly with a sad smile of a whirlwind of a man drinking back beer after beer like water with a deep throated laugh and the silent soldier with sad eyes yet listens attentively and a kind smile that brightens. Oh, I’ve missed you guys.

They were barely in the safehouse, out in missions constantly when you would decode and just being the team’s powerhouse duo. When they were here though, the safehouse was louder. More easy and free, less stifling and grim due to the work they were doing. They had a certain charisma very different than Adler’s, one’s that captured you in a different manner so it is no surprise you managed to get close and hang with them more than anyone when they were here. Sims being distant, Park communicating with MI6 about the CIA, Lazar determined to woo the agent when he wasn’t cleaning and prepping weapons, and Adler was. . .busy watching you were in line you suppose.

Card games and stories being shared, Woods and Mason not seeming to mind when you were around them. You suspect Woods let you get close to make sure you don’t tell his precious secret and blunder back in the arcade room in Ukraine. Although you would tease him that you might at times.

You feel like that in your other life, Park was right. You don’t think those two knew about your situation. It just made you like them more.

Because at least with them, you’re positive it was real.

“I knew I could count on you.”

You wished they were able to save you from Adler though. But they were tired and celebratory of what they accomplished. They took in Adler saying you and him were just taking a detour at face value.

“Do not trust Adler. He is lying to you.”

Adler always lies.

You have to remember that. And to just brush away any kindness he may show.

It’s not real.

Is it?

A loyal and trained dog through and through.

When you saw it was nearing 1700 hours, you looked around where Park was. Seeing she was with Adler in the corner by the weights, conversing with him with a crease in her brow while Adler looked as if he was only mildly taking note of her words as he puffed along his cigarette. A trait of his you knew frustrated the British woman. Adler likes to feign disinterest a lot. It could be seen as a weapon to make others talk due to how irritating it could be or make one cautious at how apathetic the man can act or look.

You walked over to them, your ears getting the tail end of whatever was ailing Park.

“—not making light of this and reign it in. Oh, Bell.” Park’s tone softened, a sharp contrast that stood out to you as she noticed you step up to them. Adler not even glancing at you as he continued his smoke, or at least not turn his head towards you. It’s dark in this corner so you wouldn’t be able to tell if he turned his eyes towards you or not unless he moved his head or body in your direction. “What’s wrong? Any new updates on the decryptions?”

You shook your head, looking between the two of them before settling on Park.

“What’s the word on Volkov? He talk yet?”

Park sighed.

“I’m afraid not. He’s proved himself stubborn despite his tastes being similar to what makes the U.K. great.”

You cocked a brow, a teasing smirk playing on your lips.

“Medieval torture devices not his style?” You asked, calling back to what Park said about Volkov’s hobbies.

Park matched you, amused as she shrugged lightly.

“I believe the lack of scotch is what will do him in personally.”

“He has to talk soon,” Adler cut in, exhaling a puff as you and Park turned towards him. Adler faced Park, arching a brow as he continued calmly. “Your guys over there aren’t giving him a good time right now, I imagine. The last thing we need is for him to be tight lipped.”

Your throat turned dry. You think you regret mentioning this as Park answered.

“He’s not the type to remain loyal if his back is to the wall. His selfish demeanor and arrogance will what cause him to try to strike a deal with us. It will benefit us than him in the end once he breaks.”

“If he breaks,” Adler added with a frown. “If he still doesn’t talk by the next two days, we might as well have killed him once we saw him. He’s useless.”

“She’s of no use to us anymore.”

You swallowed, moving to pocket your hands in your black bomber jacket as your hands clenched along with your jaw.

Park frowned at Adler, disapproving.

“He knows a great many things. Not everyone can handle interrogation for so long and be able to stay silent about anything that might give them reprieve.”

Oh, look, you thought sourly, bitterness starting to rise once more as you maintained your blank expression besides your taut jaw. They’re complimenting me. How nice of them to say I wasn’t easy for them.

Control your tongue, you stupid dog.

Adler huffed, it almost sounding like one mixed with amusement and exasperation as he shook his head slightly.

“Perseus’ people are almost as slippery and conniving as Perseus himself. And dangerous.” Adler took another inhale and exhale, the smoke curling around them and going over your head as your gaze lazily followed it to distract yourself while Adler did the same, tipping his head up to watch. “Perhaps he knows if he talks, he might as well be dead. We don’t need an Aldrich in the MI6 either.”

Park’s demeanor straightened at Adler’s accusation, the possibility of having a traitor or spy in her agency a great insult. She was about to say a scathing retort surely, but you cut her off.

“He’ll talk,” you say cooly, unreadable gaze towards Adler as he finally turned his head in acknowledgement towards you.

“What makes you so sure?” He asked, curiosity lacing his tone along with intrigue as he moved to place his cigarette for another puff.

You straightened your shoulders as you stared deep into his aviators that shadowed him properly to be America’s Monster.

“They all eventually do.”

Adler paused his hand, lips not around his craving as he stared towards you. Both your gazes not breaking even as Park looked between the two of you before settling with staring at Adler with slightly narrowed eyes.

Adler pressed his lips, a whisper of a smirk as he did it and nodded towards you once more before turning back towards Park.

“You hear that, Park? No reason to worry. Everyone talks. Right, Bell?”

“Yes, sir.” You say, ignoring how your stomach churned yet your heart pounded. You’re no saint. “We both know how to make them.” You slipped out, knowing eyes not leaving his face as you twisted a knife.

Adler didn’t seem to notice, or care really as he seemed to throw Park a mildly triumphant look. You don’t know why it would. You wouldn’t either and can care less about those you tortured—whether false or real.

Monsters do not worry over every drop in the red ocean they created.

Y o u’r e n o s a i n t, д е м о н.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You had headphones in, listening to the audio log to finish up the decryption despite the lack of other Intel so you could put all your focus on Operation Red Circus. Instead of the exchange earlier, all of them.

So you didn’t hear when the garage door opened and a van to come in, but you did when it got slammed closed. You jumped in your seat in the corner on your desk, hidden behind the evidence board and the T.V. You lowered your headphones, curious to see what was going on and if Sims brought in another car, only for your breath to hitch in your throat. You standing up so quick your chair almost fell back as you stood next to the T.V., heart thundering only for it to stop as you stared avidly, wildly, madly, hopefully.

Adler moved his hand to guide the red van in, sighing out a puff of smoke as the driver came out.

“Hudson barely gave me any warning about this before you guys arrived. Didn’t think he was going to give the okay on this based on the latest call on Volkov.”

“Well, you know Hudson,” the voice that spoke was quiet yet deep with how it spoke in easy amusement. If one strains their ear, you could spot the reserved soldier with sad eyes and a kind smile. “Always the one that loves to talk.”

“Pfft, yeah,” this one, this one was all rough and throaty as if it got abused in the past from events unknown but one can guess. If one just takes a glance, you could discern the storm stuck in a body yet does a light drizzle for friends despite the thunder. “Hudson’s a real charmer. Don’t tell me that the Russian Godfather decided to finally open his mouth right when we got here.” At Adler’s nod, the one man army groaned. “Man, jet lag is going to be a fuckin killer! Forget hotels, I’m sleeping here until we head out.”

They’re. . . Your hands shook by your side. Not paying kind to Park who stepped out the Red Room, head turned towards you and approaching you as she called out to you. You only stared as you bit the inside of your lip.

Sims, who helped pull the van in and was now leaning against the side of it, shook his head amiably with a chuckle.

“I wouldn’t do that unless you’re fine with a raggedy ass mattress that looks like hasn’t seen the light of day since the ‘60s.”

“I believe the ‘70s personally,” Lazar spoke up as he sat on his desk, empty plate of takeout near him. “It still has potential if one’s desperate.”

“Yeah, well I’m desperate. Now where is it?” He turned his head along with his friend, comrade, forever ally just as they took a few steps close to where Park’s desk was and seeming to notice you the first time. Adler tilting his head at you, you silently just staring at the two as if you haven’t seen them in years, puffing silently as his brow rose curiously. But you could only look dumbly, eyes feeling a little pressure. They’re here. “Who are you and what the fuck are you looking at?” Woods asked sharply.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

Your lips lifted into a smile before it opened, letting a loud bark of a laugh come out. You’re laughing.

When was the last time you laughed? Genuinely?

You could practically feel the stares, but you didn’t care. They’re here.

They were real.

Once your laughter calmed to chuckles and giggles, clearing the corner of your eyes for any possible tears, Adler stepped up between you and the two soldiers. Giving you a quick once over behind his glasses, you waving your hand at him dismissively slightly at his unanswered question, his brow furrowing before relaxing as he put an arm out towards you.

“Woods. Mason. This is Bell, my protege. I spoke to you about her before.”

You quickly fixed yourself and your expression as you took a polite step forward, you probably look absolutely insane. They don’t know you despite you knowing them. Calm down. You just didn’t expect that a change like the others would be this. Oh god, you looked insane.

“Sorry,” you began, a tiny sheepish play to your lips, “I just—you guys are both legends and I just didn’t expect to see you guys here. At least, so soon. You could say I was a bit. . . excited to put it lightly. Hope I didn’t scare you off?”

Woods and Mason stared at you, Mason having distant amusement playing in his brown eyes as Woods non-subtly leaned towards Mason, a hand slightly covering his mouth.

“Careful Mason,” Woods falsely whispered as he eyed you with suspicion. “We have a rabid fan on our hands.”

“I think she can hear you,” Mason didn’t try to whisper but it didn’t matter as Woods suddenly snorted as he crossed his arms.

“Listen here, Bell. The last thing that’s gonna scare us is someone who got excited about seeing us like we were the fucking—what is it these days? Someone gimme a hand.”

“You talking about bands?” Lazar questioned, Woods nodding as he glanced behind to where the dark skinned man stood by his desk, Lazar staring up in thought. “There’s Fleetwood Mac still going on.”

“Not like how the Beatles was going on,” Woods answered, a little too seriously as you fought a smile while Mason moved and leaned against the evidence board.

“Hear there’s growing popularity with AC/DC and Kiss. They’ve been on the radio a lot lately.”

Woods swiped his hand back and forth as he made a sound of disgust.

“You comparing us to those guys that look like they came out of hell, Mason? What do we look like?”

“I think it fits,” Adler dryly stated, clicking his lighter on to light his cigarette. Woods telling Adler he’s not helping as Park came by next to you with a hand to her hip.

“If demons don’t work, there’s always the Queen. And I’m not talking about the one I serve.”

“Queen is pretty good,” Sims said from behind, “but you guys had to have heard that new song Celebration by the Kool and the Gang. That shit hits.”

“Whichever!” Woods turned towards you asking you how exactly you know about them, you answering honestly that you read up on them on the computer. Seeing no point in hiding it as Woods gave a vicious grin towards you. “Well, aren’t you a nosy little shit. You always read up on everybody?” You were once again honest, saying you like to be thorough with everything but you only had a brief description to go off about them. Whatever secrets they may have is safe with them. Woods sniffed, slightly backing off and Mason appeared to have relaxed his shoulders. “A nosy shit with manners at least. And balls to say all of that to our faces despite what you read.”

True, if you did not know Woods and Mason. Despite that one time where you truly felt their intimidating aura on you, once you get to know them, they’re softies that are loyal. Even with Woods barbed and vulgar words and Mason always observing quietly behind with an assessing look in his eyes, you know they’re shields. Walls. To help with whatever occurred before—just like everyone else here.

And, just like there’s walls. . .

“There’s no innocence here,” you answered, shrugging with a bitter smile.

Woods stared at you for a moment before guffawing, pointing in your direction as he turned to face Adler who stared at you behind his shades as he inhaled his addiction.

“Where’d ya find her, Adler?” Woods asked, before than flapping his hand. “Answer that later. I need food and to knock the fuck out for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” You repeated, even though you already knew as Adler answered.

“Let’s go over the details briefly. You were right, Bell. Volkov talked.”

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▌▌ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You watched after the meeting how Woods moved, all loudness and an army in one body with the propriety of one would find in any soldier—none at all. Refreshing. Needed. Even though he looked at you strange when you offered to help with setting up his bed that was all dust and old in the storage room by the generator.

You wonder in the end, after the cliff, how Woods reacted after just saving you from a large sheet of metal debris. Is it naive thinking that he might’ve been mad?

You looked at Mason, more careful with your approach as you smiled softly at him while you gave him the quick rundown that everyone has a spot chosen for their work. That they could use the desk by where they put the projector if they want. Mason raising a brow at you but letting you once you wisely gave him his space.

Would Mason be furious? You were unlucky because you were under the wrong flag. You were born a Russian. If you weren’t than, maybe, they would’ve kept you like they did him.

Meanwhile, Adler—a gaze that never falters, and eyes that are all-seeing with how hawkish they could be, does he see(?)—observed you silently as you moved to and fro with an energy that wasn’t there before. And a smile that looks genuine. He sits back, and watches.

“Shame you were born in the wrong country.”

There’s a lot of shameful things that are tied to you. But like any good monster, any foolish Icarus, and any stupid girl—you’ll ignore them.

American pup—американский щеноk

American bitch—американская сука

You wish to be American, comrade—ты хочешь быть американцем товарищ

Demon—демон

I don't know if it's been too subtle--but Bell isn't exactly. . .mentally/emotionally healthy right now. Adler is just everywhere. But maybe Woods and Mason can help now by just being there.

I love those two a lot.

This Second Life of Bell is coming to a close soon, this has gone longer than planned but thank you for everyone that has been with me so far! ^///////^ Happy Late 6th Anniversary of Undertale that inspired this story's plot <3

I am having trouble contacting my beta due to Tumblr being stupid with messages. Maybe I can reach them here, please contact me on Discord under username: Animefreak1145 (Code #8517)

*PM me if you wish to be Tagged*

@quizzyisdone @zulema117-blog @efingart @pinkpinkboota @nuclear-boston @lifeisthemoments @jintana-critical @eclectriccanoeseven @hurricanesyd-blog @parkeepingparker @moonchild365-blog @aurora-windu @imperfectophelia @dvesinthewind @holy-crap-i-am-russlle-adler @i-will-give-you-love @adlerboi @preciouslilcreature @saynotohydra @mayaibnlaahad @smokeywhalee @0shuni0-blog @multi-fandom-imagine @littlepotatowizard @direwolfspostsrandomshit @darlingor @collinnmckinley @kayalect @nikkibell1937 @fuzzybonkeggsopera @ppfedd @bro0kebxrter @actuallyilya @stayb1ack @frankwoodsmalewife @tr1ppylady @nocturnalblurbee @salvija @gojocat247 @dallmaistir @animecriminal @weirdoartist21

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tiffdawg · 3 years

Text

Curriculum Vitae: Chapter Seventeen

Gif: @javier-pena

curriculum vitae noun cur·ric·u·la vi·tae Latin. the course of one’s life.

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (fem; no y/n)

Word Count: 3.4k

Rated: E | Warnings: NSFW – semi-explicit sexual content, l*ve m*king. Feelings. Domesticity. 18+ only.

Chapter Summary: In this chapter, Javier returns to Los Angeles to spend New Year's Eve with you.

A/N: My plan to have this chapter our at the start of the month didn't pan out, but here is the NYE chapter. Finally! I hope that you all enjoy it and are having a wonderful start to 2021. Thank you, as always, for reading and supporting this story. Sending lots of love!

Read on AO3

CV Masterlist | My Masterlist

… . …

Chapter Seventeen

As you stood outside gate C14, you tightened your grip on Sunny’s leash. With a wagging tail and shining eyes, she pulled in every direction, determined to greet every passing traveler.

“Hey,” you whispered, “I know you’re excited but be good before they kick us both out.” You weren’t exactly sure if she was supposed to be there but sometimes it was better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission. She made a displeased whining noise as she sat down next to you. “Don’t you want to see Javi?” Her ears perked up at the familiar name. “I thought so.”

You glanced back at the gate through the crowd of people. There was still no sign of any disembarking passengers. You took a deep breath and tamped down your own excitement, deciding to crouch down next to Sunny and pet her rather than stare at the empty gate. Your affectionate touch calmed the both of you.

So when she yipped again, you knew exactly why.

Glancing up, you found Javier scanning the crowd and his eyes were drawn to Sunny’s bark. A grin broke out on his face that certainly matched yours.

The two of you met somewhere in the middle. You don’t even remember making the conscious decision to move toward him. It was just instinctual. Like the way you threw your arms around Javier’s neck and his wound around your waist as your lips met in one long deep kiss that left you weak in the knees. You leaned into him, knowing he’d keep you steady, and savored the way he hummed in pleasure against your lips.

“Hi,” Javier breathed as he rested his forehead against yours. You traced the curve of his smile with the pad of your thumb as you cupped his cheek. It was one of those perfect ones that crinkled the corners of his eyes and left him looking years younger. And so damn happy.

“Hi,” you echoed, unsure if you could find another word in that moment. But maybe you didn’t need to say anything else. It was enough just to feel his arms around you again.

“I missed this,” he murmured. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Javi.” Your eyes fell as you took him in. Long-sleeved plaid shirt tucked into his well-fitting dark wash jeans and paired with his signature boots. You ran your hands over the soft material covering his chest. “You didn’t have to come back,” you whispered.

“I wanted to.”

“What about your dad?”

“He has plenty of family to spend the night with. He was fine with me leaving early.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah,” he answered, rolling his eyes. “When he found out you were spending New Year’s Eve alone, he smacked me upside the head and told me to get on the next plane to LA.” You made a surprised noise that quickly turned into giggles. “Don’t laugh at that. That’s not funny,” he said with a smile of his own.

You laced your fingers with his and kissed the back of his hand, trying to hide your grin. “It is, actually.” Your smile fell. “Still, you didn’t have to come back just for me.”

“Yes, I did. I wouldn’t have been happy knowing you were alone. I’m right where I want to be.” His grin widened and you felt a quiet laugh in his chest. “I don’t think you were the only one who missed me.” You followed his eyes to find Sunny, tongue out and tail wagging, with two paws on Javier’s hip as she vied for his attention. He let go of you only to kneel down to greet her. “Si, si, te extrañé,” he shushed as he tried to calm the excited dog. Your heart soared as he planted a kiss on the top of her head.

“Should we stop by baggage claim?” you asked.

“Nope.” He stood and swung a worn leather duffle over his shoulder. “Let’s go home.”

You tried not to read much into his turn of phrase as he slung an arm around your shoulders and guided you out of the busy terminal. “So,” you decided to prod as you waited at the crosswalk leading to the parking garage, “you told your dad about me?”

“Well, he figured it out.” He continued only at your confused expression. “He said I was happy.”

You kissed him. “I’m happy too,” you said, slipping a hand in his back pocket and squeezing his ass through his denim jeans. That earned you a wolfish grin that brought out that lone dimple just for you.

… . …

“It looks like 1985 in here,” you commented as soon as Javier could even set his duffle and your overpacked tote on the kitchen counter and flick on the lights. “Well, at least the parts you’ve unboxed.”

“Didn’t want to get too settled.” You peered over your shoulder at him with a bit of a scowl. All he could offer in response was a shrug as he slid your coat off your shoulders and hung it next to his. “I didn’t know if I would last the first week of classes let alone the first month.”

“You absolutely did. You survived the whole fall quarter.”

“Only because of you.”

Two fingers gripped his chin and turned his face toward yours. Your eyes locked onto his. “You’ve got to start giving yourself some credit, Javier. You’re a damn good professor. Whether you like it or not.”

“Wouldn’t you rather inspect what I have decorated?” he asked, placing two hands on your hips and spinning you around. “I know you’re dying to.”

“Maybe a little,” you admitted with a light laugh. With a firm hand on the small of your back as he pushed you further into the apartment. “Bedroom and bathroom are that way,” he said, pointing down the dark hall.

You gestured to the closed door on the opposite side of the living room. “What’s that room?”

“Empty spare bedroom.”

“God, I hate you. You have a gorgeous two-bedroom apartment in Brentwood, and you don’t even appreciate it. An empty room, boxes still unopened. Why don’t we ever come here? Your place is so much better than mine.”

“It’s fucking depressing,” he scoffed.

“I could help you make it feel like home.” You meant that innocently. He could hear it in your tone. You were probably only referring to adding a few throw pillows or candles or something like that, but already just having you there felt different. He’d thought he was going back home to Texas, but the truth was he felt more at home now just by being with you. “Yeah, I think you could.” You might’ve responded, but something caught your attention.

Almost reverently, you picked up a framed photograph off the lone bookshelf in his living room. “Your mother?” you asked quietly. He didn’t have to look at the photo to know which one you were drawn to.

“Yes,” he answered as he moved to stand behind you. Wrapping his arms around your shoulders, he pulled you back against his chest so he could peer down at the black and white photo in your hands. He was maybe five. Just a gangly boy with limbs too long for his own good and a cast on one arm from when he’d fallen off his new bike. That younger version of him sat his mother’s lap in front of a birthday cake lit with thirty-some odd candles. Much like the way he held you in that moment, his father stood behind the pair with his arms around his wife. She wore a dazzling smile that his aunts swore he inherited from her. If he remembered correctly, his father was behind the camera, muttering something that made them all laugh at the time.

“She was beautiful,” you commented. Lost for words, Javier pressed a kiss to your temple. But the mood clearly shifted. “And you were adorable.” Your eyes narrowed as you looked back at him. “What do you think happened?”

Javier grinned at your dig. “She would’ve liked you.”

You reached for the only other framed photograph. A more recent shot of Javier and an equally mustachioed blond man sitting together at an open-air bar, both looking unusually relaxed and happy with a beer in one and their arms around each other’s shoulders. One of the rare moments like that in Colombia. “This must be Steve,” you observed.

“His wife sent me that as a housewarming gift.”

“That’s so nice of her. You need something to cheer this place up.” Still clutching the photo, you turned in his arms. “Do you– I don’t know if I’ll ever get to meet them, but do you think they would like me?”

He almost laughed at your question. It was genuine on your part but so absurdly unnecessary. “Mi compañera,” he murmured as he pressed his lips to yours, “they already do. They were surprised though.”

“Do I want to know why?” you smirked. He had a feeling you already had some inclination as to why that might’ve surprised his closest friends.

“No,” Javier laughed. He watched you as you smiled at the photo, tracing a fingertip along the image of him. A strange feeling gripped his chest. It was as if you were trying to know that version of him. “You never talk about it. I know you don’t like when others ask you about your time in Colombia, but you never even mention anything that happened down there to me.”

“You don’t want to know about any of that.”

“Why not?”

Because you won’t like me, his traitorous brain supplied. He let you go and joined Sunny on the couch. “Want me to put on the Times Square thing?” he asked instead.

“Yeah sure. I don’t mind either way,” you responded lightly. He cringed inwardly at how habituated you were to him deflecting your questions. Shaking his head at himself, he dug the remote out from between two of the leather couch cushions and switched on the television despite having no intention to watch.

A moment later you joined him on the couch, dropping down next to him unceremoniously as you draped an arm around him. “Don’t mope,” you compelled with a kiss on his cheek. He turned to you with a raised brow. “And don’t look at me like that.”

Javier held your gaze for a long time, entranced by the soft look in your eyes and the way your fingers played with the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck. That seemed to bring him back to the present moment. “How does pizza sound?” he asked instead of a reply.

As expected, you smiled and nodded happily.

… . …

Much like your own at home, Javier’s kitchen table was covered with stacks of books, papers, and folders. Rather than clearing it off, the two of you sat on the floor around his coffee table eating pizza slices straight from the box. With the television muted in the background, you talked quietly, mostly recounting the little things that had happened while you were apart. You asked him more questions about his family, and he seemed keen to answer. You’d learned to savor every bit of himself that he elected to share with you.

After dinner, you wandered over to the unsurprisingly well-stocked bar cart, fingers dancing over the crystal glasses and bottles of whiskey and tequila as you contemplated pouring a couple of drinks. Until you noticed something amongst the mess on his kitchen table.

You picked up a book with dozens of sticky notes peeking out of it and flipped through the pages.

Talk about this in lecture.

Assign this chapter next quarter.

Fuck. She’s brilliant.

The notes went on for pages and pages. When you finally lifted your head, finding him across the room through watery eyes, Javier looked like a boy caught red handed. His wide brown eyes locked on to you as he gauged your reaction. “You’re reading my book?” you asked, voice barely more than a whisper.

He nodded quietly. “I finished it. It’s amazing.”

“Ja– Javi.” You attempted to speak but his name was just a broken sob.

He was on his feet in an instant. With a hand on either arm, he attempted to soothe you. “Don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying,” you insisted as you roughly wiped at your cheek with the back of your hand.

“Honey,” he chided as he pulled your hand away and replaced it with his own, cupping your cheek and wiping your errant tears with his thumb. “Why does that upset you?”

“I’m not upset.”

“You’re crying.” He would think that. He’d never seen you cry before. You’d cried from laughing at something he’d said on more than one occasion. There were a few tears once when you were frustrated. But nothing like this.

“That– that doesn’t mean I’m upset. It’s just– That’s–” you tried to collect yourself as you fisted the front of his shirt with one hand and pulled him closer. You took a deep breath and met his gaze. “That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

The scrunched up look on his face was almost comical, and you would’ve laughed any other time. “That is?” he asked, dumbfounded. Before he could say anything else, you slotted your mouth with his, kissing him with everything you had. “Of course I read your book,” he assured you, kissing you over and over again. Your body practically melted against his. “You’re fucking amazing, mi compañera” His hands moved to your face, wiping away the tears. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re... you’re crying again. What’s wrong?”

“I think I–” You stopped yourself. Or rather the words threatened to choke you, so you swallowed them down and hid them away. Instead, you caressed his face as you looked at him through half-lidded eyes. “I need you.”

Javier hesitated, watching you for a moment longer, eyes smoldering as they bored into your soul, before his mouth met yours with renewed determination.

You didn’t even bother looking around Javier’s bedroom as the two of you burst through the door. The two of you were a mess of limbs desperately trying to strip the other of their clothes. He walked you back toward the bed until your calves hit the frame.

“Why are you still holding this?” he asked, prying the book out of your hand and tossing it on his nightstand. He lifted your thick knit sweater off your body and over your head with ease and his hands quickly found the button of your black denim jeans while you worked on his shirt buttons.

As soon as your clothes had fallen aside, he laid you back in his bed, letting you rest against the pillows as he eagerly kissed a frenzied path down your body.

“Javi, wait.” He froze above you with concern in his eyes “Please be gentle with me,” you asked softly.

The implication was clear. And it weighed heavily between you.

Javier nodded once, almost imperceptibly, and you relinquished yourself to him. He changed course, and his lips found yours once more. While he kissed you, his fingers gently prodded you, stretching you out and readying your body for him. You whimpered against hip lips, wanting more than anything to feel him inside you.

“Shh, baby,” he shushed you huskily, intertwining your fingers in a tender gesture, “I’ve got you now.” You spread your legs wider, aching for him. Only him. And mercifully, he lined himself at your entrance, dripping with your desire, and slowly thrust forward, filling you to the hilt and stealing the air from your lungs.

As he moved inside you, every kiss, every touch seared your skin with invisible brands that would mark you forever as belonging to Javier. And you let him.

Neither of you said much of anything, preferring to simply breath each other in. You let the moans and mewls falling from your lips fill the room as your bodies rejoined and relearned each other. Hand in hand and warm skin on warm skin.

Until a wave of euphoria pulled you asunder and you came hard and shaking beneath him.

“You’re so beautiful. So fucking beautiful.” You only heard his murmurs of praise as you broke the surface and came up for air. He kissed away the teardrops streaking your cheeks. You tried weakly to apologize for crying again. “It’s okay,” he assured you, “I feel it too.”

You gaped at him as you watched him move above you, still buried deep inside you, chest heaving and some unspoken emotion drowning his eyes. You wanted him to feel everything that you did in that moment. Wanted to make him to feel the same sticky sweet pleasure

With little resistance, you pushed Javier onto his back and straddled his hips. He looked divine beneath you. His hands reverently caressed your back as you settled on top of him before snaking around your body to hold you tightly against him. You pressed your forehead to his as you rolled your hips, sliding up and down his cock and coating him with your creamy pussy.

Only when his chest hallowed with a broken, desperate groan did you finally take pity and sink down on him. You caught his sharp exhale with your lips. You focused on kissing him, pouring all your affection into him, and he slowly rocked up into you. It was unrushed and unhurried, as if the two of you had all the time in the world. Maybe you did.

“I need you to cum with me. Right now.” His fingers found your clit, coaxing a second climax from you.

“Let go for me,” you whispered against his ear.

Javier shattered beautifully under your touch.

… . …

Javier pulled back the bedsheets for you as you slipped back into bed next to him after spending way too long in a steaming hot shower together. “Did you bring these for me?” he asked, fingering the fabric of your satin sleep shorts with a lopsided grin. Dozens of little embroidered dogs dotted the fabric.

“Yes,” you chirped. “They always seem to make you smile.”

He shook his head at you. “No, honey, you make me smile.”

When he said things like that, he took the breath right out of your lungs. The rest of the world faded away and nothing else mattered. It was only the two. It was then that you noticed the time on the clock behind him. Time hadn’t stopped after all. In fact, it was 12:01 on the dot.

“Happy New Year, Javi,” you said with a smile. “I think this is going to be a really good year.”

“I do too,” he agreed. He cupped your cheek and guided your lips to his for a midnight kiss. “Happy New Year, baby. Now c’mere.”

You laughed as Sunny responded to his command. She seemed to appear from nowhere only to hop up on the bed and lay half on top of him with her head on his chest. “Yeah, you too,” he smiled, scratching behind her ears. You indulged for a moment, hoping you could commit the scene to memory. But Javier looked like he was on the verge of sleep, so you switched off the small lamp and happily curled up next to him. He draped an arm across your waist as you looked up at him. “I fucking missed my girls,” he mumbled before drifting off into a dream. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you watched him in the faint moonlight.

You weren’t sure if it was the holiday season or that magical stroke of midnight, but as you gazed up at him, you realized you didn’t just want Javier to be your yesterday, today or tomorrow. You wanted him to be your whole future. You wanted to spend your whole life with him because…

Your heart belonged to Javier Peña. You loved him. Truly, deeply loved him.

That thought didn’t scare you as much as you thought it would.

... . ...

Thank you for reading!

... . ...

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writefightandflightclub · 3 years

Text

Return to Sender: (Richard Alonso Muñoz x GN reader)

What is this? This is 4/10 one-shots/blurbs for my “friends to lovers” event. I’m not gonna share the prompt as it’s spoilery, but it was requested by @sergeantkane who is a genius for picking this combo! It’s a prompt about LOVE LETTERS! Omg! And thus, it matches perfectly with Richard (trust me, I had NOT made that connection when I made the prompt list :P). Thank you so much for requesting, Clarke, and I hope you enjoy it. I’m excited about this one!

If you’d like to read/keep track of the other fics, I’m keeping an up-to-date friends to lovers list in my pinned post.

Author’s note: Oh, I really quite like this one. Hope it makes you feel as soft as I did for Richard while writing it! Also- it’s my first bash at writing him, so let me know what you think! Thanks to everyone who helped with film details too: those not already tagged in the post- @prurientpuddlejumper @witchyavenger @veuliee2 @waatermelon-sugaar @pascal-isaac

Word count: 4.5 k. So not a blurb, then? :P

Rating: Mature, for light steam (not explicit, but 18+ or out, please!)

Warnings: mentions of food/eating. Mild angst (but it ends well), Steamy. Kissing, brief non-explicit mention of erection. Implied coitus (cut scene). Richard works in a “correctional facility”. Small mention of attempted break-in. If I missed any let me know.

Tagging: @anetteaneta @isvvc-pvscvl @nowritingonthewall @supernovafeather (ONLY READ IF 18+)

GIF by @nathan-bateman

“Have you ever received a love letter?” Richard wonders shyly, without looking up from his crossword puzzle, his long eyelashes fanned out as his gaze dances over the monochrome squares.

Meanwhile, your eyes snap up immediately from your magazine, which you are idly leafing through, a breath catching in your chest.

You bristle at the question, and yet Richard seems either entirely oblivious, or entirely determined not to look-up at you. Perhaps both. So, instead of looking, he simply slurps the dregs of his milkshake, and pushes his plate of waffle remnants further toward the far end of the diner booth.

When he finally raises his gaze – a gentle prompt for you to answer him- his eyes are large and shining under the fluorescent lights as he peers at you over his glass, dabbing at his thick moustache with a paper napkin shortly after.

“No, never,” you state sadly, heeding his prompt with a small smile and a shake of your head. Not even a love e-mail.

“I’m surprised,” he flatters with a cautious smile. And, if you’re not mistaken, his eyes light-up with the faintest trace of desire. The barest undercurrent of passion, which is enough to have your heart beating like a drum. You notice it sometimes; this dull heat emanating off of him. It is a spark which never ignites, however - to your endless disappointment; you would fan that flame if only you knew how.

You swallow. He’s surprised? He can’t be that surprised, you think, a stone sinking through your stomach as you dwell too long on the topic of love letters, and meanwhile, Richard’s attention seamlessly diverts back to 3 across.

“You deserve one,” he says, still looking at the page, but a smile animating his wiry moustache. “A letter.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, a spiralling sadness catching hold of you. Does he not understand what this is doing to you? This painful reminder? “Can we drop it, Richard?” you say tensely, and when his eyes meet yours again, they are even more soft and cautious than usual, causing you to admonish yourself for the bite in your tone.

“Yes,” he says. “Of course,” he smiles thinly, apologetically.

It’s simply the new job, you think. Director of Communications. The man has letters on the brain. Richard is so considerate, that you realise he must not intend to hurt you in dredging up the past; he would never. In a way though, you think, it’s even worse that he brings it up so… casually. You can only conclude he has forgotten that you sent your letter to him at all. Had your heartfelt words, declaring your love, had so little impact on him?

Maybe that’s it. After all, they seemed to have so little impact upon him at the time. What could you expect years later? On the other hand, you -apparently- remain rather sore about the topic, all this time later. It’s natural to be sensitive though, isn’t it? You’d written him a love letter and he didn’t write you back. He didn’t say it back. Didn’t feel it back.

And, perhaps it still stings so much, even all these years later, because you never did stop loving him, even if he never started loving you.

Feeling a sudden, overwhelming haste to leave, you thumb through the pages of your magazine so furiously that the next table turn their heads to look at you, until you find what you were searching for.

“Here, Richard. The article I mentioned. Dramatherapy for people who are incarcerated.”

You fold the magazine back on itself, fobbing it off on him with an unprecedented urgency, hurriedly signalling to the waitress that you’d like the check. The roomy diner booth suddenly feels suffocating, and you want to get out. Meanwhile, oblivious, Richard chuckles at the title of the article -some kind of pun, you recall- as you try to push down the unpleasant emotions surfacing within you.

“Thank you for this,” he smiles, looking up at you earnestly. Looking concerned as he reads the expression on your face. “Are you alright?”

Your eyes fix on the table, where his fingertips inch hesitantly across the surface, hovering moments from yours as he debates whether to extend comfort. You make the decision for him, snatching your hand back from his reach.

“Yes. I’m Fine,” you say, unconvincingly. “Can we please go? I need some fresh air.”

“Alright,” Richard agrees gently. He looks a little flustered, but, now sensing your urgency, he begins to sweep up his papers and to shrug on his jacket. He pulls out a small comb to fix his neat curls in place, and offers you a soft smile. “Maybe we can go to the park next?” he suggests.

As much as you want to run, you nod, some of your agitation dissipating now that the prior topic seems to be forgotten. “Okay. Yeah. That would be nice.” You school your expression into something calm, and you offer him a reassuring smile as his soulful eyes dance over you, a lingering but unobtrusive concern there.

As you split the check, you tell yourself for the millionth time that being his friend is enough; but even after the millionth time, you can’t quite believe it.

Still, today -Sunday- is your one day with him this week. And, no matter what you can’t have; you’ll take anything you can get.

He’s too dear to you to settle for anything less.

************

One month later:

You crouch in amongst the boxes on Richard’s front lawn. He is having a clear-out, setting out some items for goodwill, and some for a neighbourhood yard sale happening next weekend.

You are having fun assisting him in sifting through various items, occasionally bursting into a fit of laughter when he reveals yet another ill-informed, late night shopping channel “bargain” – usually some new-fangled, scarcely-used exercise contraption, which he proceeds to demonstrate in good-humour, making you fold over clutching your stomach in mirth. Occasionally, as you rifle through the boxes, you’ll be overcome by a pang of sentimentality when he uncovers an item with a memory attached; and -no matter how useless- he usually sneaks said item into his ever-growing “to-keep” pile.

“But this is the picnic hamper we took to Bound Beach Island! For your birthday, remember?”

“Yeah, Richard, but it’s battered! It has holes! It needs to go.”

“It was a beautiful day. The light and the dunes were beautiful… and… and y-“

“-Oh my goodness, what is this?! Please for the love of God tell me you never actually wore this!”

You work through the midday sun until you come to a tired, dead halt on the grass, finally parking your ass down and wiping your brow. Richard looks warm too, a “v” of sweat soaking his old, oversized “Save the Turtles” t-shirt. No - he really doesn’t throw anything away. You smile fondly, though, remembering his sea turtle phase. Of course, he’d read some article. He always was looking for a cause.

“I’ll make us some iced tea,” Richard announces with a tired puff of breath, looking more spent than he probably wants to admit after shuttling the various boxes. Still, the way his grizzled curls have fallen away from his harsh side-part appeals to you, sitting disobedient and undone on his forehead.

Thinking of him undone, you hear a faint beating of drums sound in your chest.

You ignore the music though, like always, instead smiling gratefully as he heads inside, and you take a second to collect yourself before dragging the nearest box towards you, deciding you may as well continue. This next box is taped securely shut, and you chuckle quietly to yourself when you notice it’s labelled “workout-gear”.

You peel the packing tape away and open it up, scooping out the pile of miscellaneous papers sitting right on top. Beginning to leaf through, you surmise it’s mainly unopened junk mail; mainly garishly printed promotional flyers - from a pizzeria which closed down years ago, you recognise. Probably hastily stuffed in before his last move and never dealt with. Absent-mindedly, you begin to bundle it up for the recycling pile, when a smaller, more humble envelope drops out on to your lap, a hand-scrawled address on the front. The stationary is resoundingly familiar.

In fact, everything about it is familiar.

Your heart hammers in your chest as it immediately dawns on you.

It’s your letter.

The letter you sent him, all those years ago. You’d needed to be apart from him- needed to go away to take care of family, and you simply couldn’t go without letting him know. Letting him know you were in love with him.

The memory is like a slow knife sinking into your chest as you idly turn it over in your hands.

But… It can’t be…?

It’s… unopened.

All the air leaves you lungs.

No. No. It doesn’t make a shred of sense.

You’d spoken to him right afterward, on the phone. The first time he’d called after you left town he’d almost pleaded with you, giving you an unequivocally clear, and endlessly painful answer that he didn’t want what you wanted. What you’d written about. He’d made it abundantly obvious that he simply wanted to be friends. “I- I don’t want anything to change. I want everything to stay exactly like it is between us – please? Can we still talk every day?”

But if he didn’t read it…?

You heart pounds so hard that you hear blood rushing in your ears.

He doesn’t know.

His words didn’t mean what you…

Oh my god. All this time.

You shoot abruptly to standing when you see him approach, as if you’ve been caught red-handed, guiltily stuffing the letter into your back pocket before he can ask you what it is, an abundance of thoughts screaming in your head.

He hands you the glass of tea, ice tinkling gently, and you take it from him, the coolness shocking your palms.

Assessing what you’ve been up to in his absence, and noting the carcass of another box, Richard glances down at the pile of papers strewn at your feet. He looks suddenly worried for a moment, as if you might have found an old porn stash or something – and he looks just as suddenly relieved when he sees they are more innocent papers, scooping them up from the grass.

“Richard?” you say, your eyes burning a hole in the back of his head, and the letter burning a hole in your pocket as he drops the items into the recycling. He hums for you to go on. “Do you... You know when I moved away...?” your voice is strained, and you gulp hard. “Just before, do you remember getting any unusual letters or... weird post from me?”

“Like what kind of thing?” he asks curiously, turning back to you.

“I don’t know exactly,” you lie, nervously. “I have a feeling I sent you something? A sappy goodbye thing?”

You see him mull it over, combing his impressive moustache with his fingers. “I don’t remember, sorry. But apparently I was drowning in junk mail at that apartment. Maybe it got lost, or returned to sender?”

Despite everything, you exhale a small laugh. In a roundabout way, you suppose it had been returned to sender after all. You look at the ground.

“Was it important?” he asks, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand as he looks at you.

Biding time, you take a sip of your tea while you search for an answer. It’s refreshing.

“It… Uh. It was a long, long time ago. Doesn’t matter now, I suppose,” you muse, masking your sadness, and he nods, looking at least half-satisfied with your answer.

Except, it does matter. It matters more than anything. And, with a sudden, overwhelming need to grab on to the past, you track to the “to go” box, rescuing the battered picnic basket from the pile of junk.

“You shouldn’t get rid of this,” you state, your back to Richard, hoping he doesn’t notice the way your voice falters. You tense as you feel him settle by your side, his hand hovering tentatively at the small of your back but never quite touching. “It was a beautiful day.”

“No,” he insists. “You’re right. I shouldn’t hang on to it.”

His words are like a punch in the gut. You turn your head to your side, where Richard is, your eyes and heart almost overflowing.

Noting your sadness, and connecting it to the picnic basket, he does everything he can to smooth things over, like always. “We can get a new one,” he says, his brown eyes sweet and hopeful and bright.

You love him. You love him still and you can’t help but turn towards him and reach out your arms, dragging him in for a hug.

“No! No, I’m sweaty,” he protests self-consciously, but you don’t care. You just need to hold him, even only for a moment – and, for a moment he stills as you loop around him, never quite clutching you back.

When you pull away though, you could swear that dim spark of passion is present in his eyes again. That spark that never catches, no matter how much or how often or how hard you wish it would. Oh, how you wish.

“Don’t ever change, Richard,” you say sincerely, your voice imbued with fondness. “Okay? You’re a sweet, wonderful man.”

His eyes are immediately soft and bashful again, the colour of his cheeks deepening a little, a crimson undertone blooming under his brown skin.

“Yes. Okay,” he offers, with a nod, his eyes creasing at the corners, and his posture even bolstered by the compliment, you could swear, his chest puffing out proudly.

For the rest of the afternoon, you ignore the unread words in the back of your pocket; but for the life of you, you can’t ignore those drums.

************

One month later:

You bundle the yapping, happy little white dog into your arms, relieved that she’s okay as her little tail happily beats against your arm.

“Are you okay, Lady?” you coo as she nuzzles her snoot into your face, eagerly lapping little kisses on to your cheek. “Thanks goodness, sweet little floof,” you baby-talk as your eyes quickly scan around Richard’s place, setting his spare key down on the kitchen counter.

You’d barrelled across town to get here, after receiving a call about an attempted break-in. His neighbour to the left had your contact details in case of an emergency -it’s not very easy to reach him at work, of course- so here you are. You came to give things a quick checking over, assured that no-one suspicious had continued to loiter. Richard won’t be much longer -his shift has nearly ended, and you’d left him a voicemail so you’re sure he’ll hurry- but you still thought you’d go on ahead of him, especially so that he wouldn’t worry about Lady.

Looking around, thankfully all seems well, and you don’t think anyone made it inside after all. Slowly then, you allow your nerves to calm and your heart to settle, bouncing the little bundle of fur in your arms, and feeding her a treat from the packet on top of the microwave, just in case she’d been stressed out.

Calming, you can’t help but smile as you look around, absorbing all the little details of Richard. You do hang out in his apartment a fair amount, but most often you will meet or sit outdoors, when the weather allows. After all, he loves to feel the sun and fresh air on his face, especially after spending all day cooped-up in windowless rooms. To you though, this Richard-ness is like a breath of fresh air, and you let it all wash over you, drinking in the details of his simple daily routine. The discarded half-plate of frijoles and rice by the sink. The ironing-board piled with identical uniform-issue shirts, pants, and plain white t-shirts. The photos on the fridge door – some of you and him too.

Doing a lap of the living space, you further note the dining-for-one TV table, evidence of his relatively solitary existence, and you can almost see him sitting there. Can almost hear his soft voice relating the far-fetched storylines of his favourite telenovelas. You imagine him chuckling warmly - perhaps shedding a tear sometimes too.

You decide you should pop your head into the bedroom and bathroom to check there too, for good measure, and you set Lady down, the dog trotting along at your heels. Once you’ve done a loop, you sigh, seeking out a fresh task, and you circle back to the sink, scraping his discarded plate and rinsing it, stacking it in the dishrack. Then, you move towards the TV chair, intending simply to sit yourself down and wait for Richard to come home. After all, you’re here now - you may as well say hello; or, maybe you can even prepare him dinner after his long shift, you muse.

As you revisit the small, rickety table, however, your eyes more keenly notice that a bunch of papers are strewn over it, all identical- a series of pastel pink leaves of paper and envelopes.

Letters.

Handwritten, in his familiar scrawl.

Letters addressed to you.

Your brow furrows in confusion, as you wonder what they could be. You don’t want to invade his privacy, of course, but perhaps this is something that’s meant for you? After all, sometimes he leaves you notes when you come over to feed or walk Lady.

Still, this feels different, and, with a lump in your throat that you don’t quite understand, you pick up one of the leaves at random, skimming the first line, yet feeling only more confused than you did before.

You see your name at the head of the paper, followed by the words “my dearest love,”, and underneath, some other half-formed paragraphs, scribbled over and crossed out.

No, you shake your head, your stomach flipping over. That can’t be right, you think, even as your fingers scramble for another leaf - for leaf upon leaf, until you piece together what’s going on. Until, with every line you read, fragments of both English and Spanish, you feel as though you are piecing together his heart.

Could it be true? Is this really true?

Your fingers dive for a sheet more developed that the rest, where you see paragraphs of writing, and you devour the words like you are starved of love; for you are, aren’t you? Starved? And yet, you suddenly feel so full. Brimming.

My darling,

There are infinite ways to fall in love. Some are elemental, like a raging fire. A shock of lightning on first sight. Some are slow-burning and constant, the heat of friendship warming your hearth, defrosting your iced fingertips when you come in from the cold.

There are infinite ways to fall in love, and I should know, my heart, as I have experienced every one of them with you.

You can barely read the rest as tears blur your eyes, and your hand comes to clamp over your mouth as realisation sinks through to the pit of you, the page quaking -like a leaf- in your fingers.

You make my heart beat like a drum. When I look at you, I am music, without being played. When you’re with me I am dancing, without movement. If only you would touch my skin, I feel like I would sing. If only you would-

“-Are you safe? Are you alright?” Richard asks from behind you, and you tear your eyes away from the page with a start. You were so absorbed by this swell of beating music that you didn’t hear the scrape of his key in the lock. You didn’t hear his hurried footsteps coming up behind you.

“Richard,” you suspire, and for once his touch is on you without hesitation, his hands clasped around each of your shoulders, slowly running down your arms, and you nod quickly to reassure him, your mouth opening wordlessly. You’re safe.

His touch is warm through your clothes, and you think he is right- your skin would sing for him too if he touched you. Your love rattles you, like drums beating musically in your chest, pulsing through your body.

Then, Richard clocks your sideward, guilty glance at the pile of letters, and you see his panic instantly surface at the thought of all his unsent and unspoken words laid bare before you. All the pieces of his heart exposed.

At first, he looks apologetic, but then you step forwards a little more, into the circle of his arms. Arms which suddenly fall, unsure, at his sides once again. And, achingly slow, endlessly sure, you lift up you hand and you place it on his chest, over his heart, smoothing over his shirt and over the cool metal of the shield he wears there. You feel his heart really is beating like a drum. His chest is rising and falling beneath your hand, his breath quickened – eyes nervous.

You step a little closer, and your fingers continue their slow crawl, dancing up around his collar, inching further up until your fingers finally brush the bare skin at the nape of his neck, pushing up into the curls behind his ears, your thumb skimming his sideburn. You touch him, with your fingertips, and he does sing for you, a half-choked moan leaving his mouth at your tender caress.

“Richard,” you say breathily, searching his face, eyes openly appraising his beauty. “Don’t worry, sweet man. I love you too.” And, when you next meet his eyes there is no nervousness there. Not any longer. Instead, you find his dark, expressive eyes brewing with adoration, and that gentle but ever ascending note of passion.

“Darling, can I kiss you?” he pleads, his voice dogged by desire, his brow knitting together and his hands slipping bravely to your waist, circling you as you arch into him.

“Yes. Yes,” you say, and his mouth meets yours in a desperate, tumultuous crush. You sing too, your skin thrumming as you finally know the feeling of his thick moustache brushing against you. As you taste the sweet flavour of cherry sucker on his kiss. As you finally feel the texture of his slicked curls beneath your fingertips.

You kiss, urgently, until you are each smiling too broadly to continue, and instead Richard beams and presses sweet, intermittent kisses all over – your cheeks, your forehead, your hair, your neck- his moustache tickling wherever it touches. His hands are everywhere they can be politely, roaming over your back and your arms and your hair, and it feels so good to finally be held like this.

Eventually, he pulls back, his smile no longer tugging at his lips so keenly -lips now kiss flushed with deep colour- but shining in his liquid eyes. “How long have you loved me back?” he asks in a still choked, disbelieving voice.

You bite your lip, but then allow your face to split in a radiant, unrestrained grin.

Always. Always. I loved you first, you think.

You reach for your bag, reluctant to break from him so trailing your love’s hand in yours- and you fish out the letter. The one you’ve carried around since it was returned to you. “Take a look, Richard,” you encourage.

He looks from you to the small envelope, turning it in his spare hand as you pass it to him. “What is this?”

His brows rise in confusion as you tap the stamped postmark with your index finger. Years. Years ago.

“I sent you a letter,” you explain. “Telling you I loved you. That I love you,” you correct, squeezing his hand tightly in yours, amazed at how natural it feels already, to touch him.

He audibly gasps in air, looking pained. Devastated. “I never got it. I would’ve-“, he fumbles for words, but he can’t finish them, the magnitude of all those years lost to yearning too big to wrap his lips around. “I never got it,” he repeats sorrowfully.

You shake your head. “Don’t worry about that now,” you soothe. “I got your letter.” And, as you engulf him with your arms a soft smile takes over his features once again. He can’t help it.

“I’m so glad you did,” he beams, drawing you to him for another kiss, which you eagerly accept, opening your mouth to him.

God, he’s a good kisser, his tongue in you deep and eager, and the heat generated is quick to catch, a fire lit in the pit of you. That moustache is a divine thing too, his lips soft and full beneath, his mild-mannered tongue positively sinful as it works against yours.

Letting the kiss grow, you grab hold of him by the belt to draw his body closer to yours, arching your hips into his, and you feel an impressive bulge greet you as you do so.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers bashfully, angling his hips away from you, in case you’re not ready for… that yet. “You’re perfection. So perfect, I… I’m a little bit, uh, excited.”

You don’t blame him. You’re a little bit excited too. There’s a drum beating in your chest. Music in your heart. A song everywhere. A dance in your body.

“W-would you like to take me to the bedroom, Richard?” you purr, softly. “We’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?”

You wish you could capture the bliss which sparks in his eyes then, and keep stoking it forever more. His whole being glows as if you are the sun shining down on him. He loves the sun on his face. He loves you.

He loves you.

*******

Later that night:

At some point after round three, Richard is ravenous, and so you head to the kitchen to grab some snacks. One of Richard’s plaid shirts wards off the slight chill, settled over your otherwise naked body. As you microwave something quick, you can barely keep the smile from your face – even more so as you glance over at the table full of half-finished letters. As the microwave pings and you grab out the plate, another idea occurs to you, and you simply can’t help yourself.

So, you pad mysteriously back towards the bedroom, where Richard is waiting. The blanket is slung low over his hips, skimming the dark trail of hair which draws your gaze down beyond his abdomen. He is covered, and yet you bloom blissfully with heat at your new-found knowledge of what lays beneath. He’s laying with one hand folded behind his head, and one hand rested on the soft, roundness of his stomach, which you had laid your head on only moments ago.

Richard’s eyes shine with unadulterated admiration as you enter, and you flash him a mischievous smile as you transfer the plate to his hands, and subsequently tip a cascade of his letters into the middle of the bed.

“What’s all this?” he asks, with a contented laugh as you bounce eagerly into bed by his side, humming in equal contentment as you slot yourself under his arm.

“I want you to read them to me. Will you?” you ask, sweetly, and he looks bashful all over again. “No-one has ever sent me a love letter.”

“Me neither,” he chuckles. “Or I thought so…”

He hesitates, perhaps feeling shy, but he wraps his arm around you securely, nuzzling you into his side as he picks up the closest leaf of paper.

He hums gratefully as you begin to stroke his smooth chest. He really does sing whenever you touch him.

“They’re not finished,” he caveats. “I wanted to find the perfect words and I… I couldn’t.”

“The words don’t have to be perfect. It’s more important that they’re delivered,” you say, your voice soft as you sink into him, and so, he gently clears his throat and he begins to read, his words and his rich, soothing voice filtering over you like warm sunshine.

After a moment listening, and letting his love and his letters envelop you, you interrupt him gently. “My sweet man. Promise me you’ll never write me another love letter?”

“Are they that awful?!” Richard exclaims.

“No!” you laugh, into his chest, tipping your chin up to look him in the eyes. “They’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. It’s just… I think I hate love letters, Richard. They’ve only ever kept me from you.”

His expression becomes wistful, lost in thought until a smile finally captures him. Then, with a finger curling gently under your chin, he dips down to plant a small kiss to the very tip of your nose.

“No more letters then,” he promises softly. “Let’s always promise to say it out loud from now on. Let’s talk every day.”

You heart full, you bring your hand up to caress his cheek, before planting a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips; and, despite what you’d just suggested, you plead for him to keep reading to you, his voice and his love lulling you to sleep in his arms.

With the love letters as kindling, your dim spark finally catches, your fire now blazing. You set it in a hearth in your chest, and you vow to keep it stoked for always.

THE END

Bonus:

#richard alonso muñoz x reader #Richard Alonso Muñoz #the letter room #richard alonso munoz x reader #oscar isaac #richard alonso-munoz x reader #luna's tumblrversary

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intheticklecloset · 3 years

Text

Pizza Party (My Hero Academia)

Primary Universe

@kwaiibb I’m trying to @ you but I don’t think it’s working, since your name won’t pop up in the list as I type. Either way, this one’s for you! This is the fic I’d written and planned to have out last Monday, but something about it was really bugging me, so I decided to put it on hold. I ended up rewriting the whole thing, and I like this result much better! I’m very happy with it. Enjoy!

Well, this was incredibly awkward.

On the outside Shinsou remained as stoic as ever, but on the inside he was panicking. How did I wind up in this situation? This guy hasn’t liked me since the day we met and now I’m alone with him in Kaminari’s bedroom? What do I even say here? Will he even want to talk to me at all?

“So, uh…” Ojiro finally broke the silence, shifting slightly. Both of them were seated on the floor, waiting for Kami to come back. “How are you adjusting to the hero course?”

“I’m doing all right.” Ask him something in return! “Do you and Kaminari often hang out on your own? I only ask because I never see your class in particular friend groups most of the time.” Not bad, Shinsou.

“We hang out a lot, yeah. Kaminari is kind of friends with everybody. He’s good at being a people person.” Ojiro gave him a tiny smile. “I mean, he even got you to hang out, didn’t he?”

Ouch. Shinsou nodded. “His persistence is contagious, I have to admit.” Silence settled between them again, more crushing than before. Shinsou sighed heavily. “Ojiro, I’m…I’m sorry.”

The blonde blinked at him. “Huh? For what?”

“I used you to my advantage during the sports festival, which made you feel unqualified to continue because you hadn’t earned the slot on your own. Then during my match against Midoriya I called you some unpleasant things. It was only to get him to respond to me, but I still get the feeling you’re upset with me for all of it.” Shinsou bowed his head. “I apologize.”

Ojiro was stunned. This is not what he’d expected when he agreed to hang out with Kaminari and his new friend this evening. “Wow. I mean…thank you, that’s pretty cool of you to say, man. Apology accepted.”

Relief washed over Shinsou. “Thank you.”

At that moment, Kaminari returned in a flurry of motion, kicking open his door while awkwardly balancing a pizza box, some soda cans, and a few plastic cups. “Hey, guys! The pizza party can officially begin!”

Shinsou – being closer to the door – jumped up to help him, taking the soda cans and cups. Together he and Kami cleared a space for their pizza and drinks on his desk. When Ojiro got up to join them, the end of his tail brushed against Kami’s side, and the electric teen jumped back.

“Dude! Watch where you aim that thing,” he teased, pushing the tail aside and poking Ojiro’s ribs in retaliation.

Ojiro grinned. “Wasn’t trying to tickle you. You just got too close.”

“I was here first! You know, that tail of yours could be a serious weapon in a tickle fight. Have you ever thought about that?”

“I’m thinking it now. Maybe it could hold its own against your tickle-shocks, huh, Denki?”

Neither of them seemed to notice that Shinsou had gone silent and was pink in the cheeks. “Um,” he said softly, “there are no plates. Or napkins. I can get some.” He turned to go, but Kami stopped him.

“No, man! You’re our guest! I’ll get them.” He hurried to the door. “Be right back!” And was gone. Again.

Ojiro finally noticed the change in Shinsou’s demeanor. “Hey, Shinsou. You okay?”

The purple-haired boy’s voice came out quieter than normal. “You guys really do have tickle fights a lot?”

The blonde shrugged. “Some of us more than others, but yeah, it’s normal around here. Does that make you uncomfortable?”

Crap. Crap, crap, crap. Shinsou could feel his blush darkening. “No. I don’t mind.”

“You sure? You seem uncomfortable to me.” Ojiro picked up a soda can. “None of us will tickle you until we’ve gotten to know you better, assuming you really are okay with it. If not, we won’t touch you. You just have to set your boundaries. Iida hates it, so we all respect that and leave him alone.”

“I don’t mind,” Shinsou repeated, reaching for a soda of his own. “Kaminari has already tickled me once.”

This time, the silence was different.

“Oh?” The teasing tone in Ojiro’s voice set Shinsou on edge. “I see.” When he glanced at him again, the blonde wore a smirk and there was a mischievous glint in his eye. “So when you say you don’t mind it, it’s like when Midoriya says he doesn’t mind it.”

Lost. Shinsou was completely lost. “W-What does that mean?”

“He told us from the beginning he didn’t mind being tickled, but it was pretty obvious right away that he actually liked it.” Ojiro tilted his head, still smirking. “Does that sound about right?”

Kaminari returned once again, plates in hand, and Shinsou could not be more relieved for a break in the odd tension that had begun to form between him and Ojiro. “Got the plates!”

“And the napkins?” Shinsou said without thinking, immediately regretting it.

“Aw, crap!”

“I can get them—”

“Nuh-uh! Stay!” Denki grinned at them and left once again.

Shinsou swore he was doing this on purpose somehow. When he looked at Ojiro this time, he saw the blonde setting his soda can down, still with that smirk on his face. In a blind panic, the boy from 1-C dropped his unopened can on the ground and dove for him, tackling him to the floor and grabbing onto the first ticklish spot he could find.

“Gah! Hehehehehehey!” Ojiro sputtered, grinning. “Oh, so you lihihihihike doing the tihihihickling? I gehehehet it.”

“N-No, it’s not…” Shinsou cursed himself for getting so flustered, but then decided to embrace the opportunity and straddle the blonde, letting his hands fly everywhere he could, making Ojiro finally lose that smirk and start giggling. “You know what? Yeah. I do like doing the tickling.” And taking it, but we can cross that bridge later. Way later. “Now you’re going to regret provoking me.”

“Provohohohohoking you?” Ojiro’s giggles rose in pitch when Shinsou focused on his stomach, so he stayed there for a bit. “I wahahahahahas only teheheheheheasing. Whahahahahat, can’t tahahake me pohohoking a little fuhuhuhun?”

“You were about to tickle me.” Shinsou started pressing harder, drifting to his sides now.

“Yohohohohou were practically ahahahahasking for it.”

“What?”

“Come ohohohon, you’re so obviohohohohous.” Ojiro looked up at him with that big, tickle-induced smile and teased, “I knohohohohohow that lohohohohook. You’re juhuhuhuhust like M-Midoriya.”

Shinsou had no idea why he kept being compared to that green-haired boy, but he felt a sudden urge to get a little rougher. He shoved his hands into Ojiro’s underarms and dug in deep, and finally the blonde lost his cocky attitude when he threw his head back and laughed.

“GAH!! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!”

“No, you know what? I don’t think I will.” Shinsou smirked, keeping it up, enjoying how Ojiro squirmed helplessly beneath him. “You’ve been teasing me far too much. I think you deserve some punishment for that.”

“YOU DESEHEHEHEHEHERVE IT!!”

“How, pray tell?”

“YOU OWE MEHEHEHEHEHE!!”

“For what?”

“FOR R-RUHUHUHINING MY CHAHAHAHANCES AT THE FEHEHEHEHESTIVAL!!”

Shinsou stopped suddenly, sitting back, frowning. “I said I’m sorry—”

In a flash, Ojiro used his tail to help propel him upwards, effectively knocking Shinsou onto his back so he could reverse their positions. Once the taller boy was straddled, the blonde pinned his wrists above his head and smirked. “That was far too easy. I can only assume that you do enjoy it, at least a little.” Ojiro started poking his sides and ribs. “Am I right?”

Shinsou squirmed, already giggling softly, his face a dark pink color. “I-I…w-wahahahait, Ojiro…!” Ojiro merely flashed him a smile and dug in a little harder. Shinsou jerked, giggles flowing out of him freely now. “Ah! Wahahahahahait, wait! Ojirohohohoho!”

He’d been hoping the blonde would continue teasing him, but the smug look on Ojiro’s face told him that wasn’t going to happen. He thinks I’ll brainwash him if he responds to me now, Shinsou thought, the idea sobering him even as he giggled helplessly. It’s just like with everything else. Everyone’s afraid I’ll use my quirk on them outside of combat.

“Plehehehehease, Ojiro,” Shinsou sputtered, shoving his embarrassment aside for the sake of showing his old rival he wasn’t a threat in this situation. “Dohohohohohon’t just stahahahahay quiet lihihike thahahahahahat. It r-reheheheheally sucks!”

Ojiro quirked a brow, showing he was listening but still not speaking, not giving in to what he thought was another trap.

“I wohohohohon’t brahahahahainwash you, I swehehehehear!” Shinsou hated that he couldn’t even cover his face to hide his blush, since his wrists were still pinned above him. “I swehehehehear, just plehehehehease dohohohohon’t tihihihihickle me without sahahahahahaying anything!”

“If you’re lying…” Ojiro hedged.

“I’m nohohohohohot!” Shinsou’s giggles grew a little lighter, encouraged that he was at least being given a chance. “Plehehehehehease!”

Finally, the blonde broke out into another smirk. “Well, now. So not only do you like being tickled, you like being teased, too, huh?” Shinsou wanted to groan, but it came out as more of a giggly whine. “You do? Well, then, allow me!” Ojiro poked and prodded all along his torso, searching for a stronger reaction. “Tickle, tickle, tickle~ Let’s see if you have a good spot~”

This time Shinsou knew what he meant, and the sound that escaped him was the clearest excited whimper he’d ever allowed past his lips. He squirmed and giggled under Ojiro’s experimental touches, moving around a little more the closer he got to said “spot.” When the blonde finally reached it, however, he jolted and let out a pleading, “No!”

“Oh? Here?” Ojiro latched onto the cry and started squeezing now, making Shinsou begin to really struggle, laughter bubbling in the back of his throat. Ojiro grabbed onto both hips and dug in. “Oh, yes. I think here is a great spot!”

“NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” Shinsou couldn’t hold back the explosion of laughter that left him as his hands flew down instinctively to push at his attacker. He writhed and kicked, but his smile couldn’t be more genuine. “NOHOHOHOHOHO, PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!”

“Aw, what’s the matter? Can’t take it here?” Ojiro chuckled, switching to kneading. “Tickle, tickle, tickle! Whoa!” Shinsou bucked his hips, nearly making the blonde lose his balance. “This really is a good spot! Ha! Consider this revenge for using me in the sports festival!”

“I’M SORRYEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!” Shinsou shrieked, growing increasingly flustered from all the teasing and the focus on his hips. He couldn’t control his reactions at all, and the loud laughter and thrashing he was doing made him feel a little self-conscious despite how much fun it all was. “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!”

Ojiro kept up his ticklish assault for another couple of minutes, grinning at the mess he’d made of Class 1-C’s quiet loner. This really did feel satisfying, even if his jab about revenge had been made purely in jest. After a solid two minutes of relentlessly tickling that spot and forcing a few more hysterical pleas from his old rival, Ojiro let up his attack.

Shinsou rolled onto his side, still giggling, his smile plastered to his face. Ojiro laughed. “Have fun?”

“Y-Yeah,” Shinsou admitted, covering his face in embarrassment. “You must think I’m ridiculous, though.”

Ojiro lunged for him again, poking along his sides and stomach. “I do not. Plenty of my friends like being tickled. You’re no different from them. Take it back. Take it back. Take it—”

“Okay, okahahahahay, I tahahahahake it back!” Shinsou squealed, pushing him away. He shakily sat up, blushing. “Well…Kaminari did say I’d fit right in, I suppose. This isn’t how I was expecting this evening to go, but…I could get used to it.”

Ojiro grinned, then suddenly realized, “Hey, where is Kaminari? He should have been back with those napkins by now.”

Just then the door opened, and Kami walked in with a handful of paper towels from the downstairs kitchen, grinning from ear to ear. “Did you guys work everything out? Are you friends now?”

They both stared at him.

Shinsou spoke first. “Y-You were just…standing outside that whole time?”

“Well, I didn’t want to interrupt, so yeah.” Kami winked at him. “Sounds like you had a good time, though.”

Ojiro groaned. “You are such a dork, Denki.”

“Maybe,” Denki replied, still with that megawatt grin in place. “But I’m a dork with napkins for our pizza party! And I bet you’re both even hungrier now that you’ve had some exercise.” He laughed in response to the withering stares he got for his comment. “I thought so. Let’s eat!”

#fanfiction #tickle fic #boku no hero #my hero academia #bnha #mha #hitoshi #shinsou #denki #kaminari #mashirao #ojiro #pizza #party #fluff #friends #tickling #ticklish #tickle

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kikaikitai · 3 years

Text

Glitches [Apex Legends - RevFinder]

A/N: I'm just cranky and robohorny 🥺👉🏼👈🏼 -- Revenant is in a bad mood. Pathfinder would be able to tell from the fluctuations in his energy field alone. But the intensity of the simulacrum's grip, how hard he mashes their frames together, tells him everything and more.

Revenant growls on top of him, chasing the friction, not letting up even a little. They haven't established a cable link yet and the air is thick with electric tension.

Pathfinder wants to help him get whatever it is out of his system. His servos tighten on the other's waist, thrusting up into him with increasing force. He might not have much of a pelvis for the other to hammer into but it gives Revenant a good challenge.

Eventually the creature's head tilts back and his chassis racks with the gratifying expulsion of steam.

Pathfinder slows to a stop only to prevent either of them from redlining and burning something too soon. His audials take in the sound of the other's vents stuttering and kicking. Simulated panting.

As always, the MRVN takes his time observing, tilting his head curiously. Revenant notices, his optics flickering with annoyance as he regains his senses.

"What are you staring at?" he rasps.

Pathfinder's optic gleams in contrast. "You, friend. You almost overheated there."

Revenant cracks his neck and shoulder with something that might've been an eye-roll. It's his usual response to the bot's nonstop cheerful attitude. And to being called friend.

"Would you like to break for coolant—"

Revenant slams his curled hand over the bright screen on Pathfinder's chest, boring his gaze into that giant puppydog optic. His body arches, not dissimilar to how he moves when he's going in for the kill, and he drags his metal pelvis against the other hard enough to draw sparks.

Pathfinder doesn't mind the roughness. When you're made of metal, denting each other up is part of the appeal of these encounters. Oftentimes Revenant doesn't even want to fuck. Just sparring is sometimes enough to settle his circuits.

But not today.

"Plug in already," Revenant growls.

Path obliges, flashing a smiley face on his chest. Before he pushes the jack of his cable in, he enjoys the soft buzz his servos detect from Revenant's plating. His field only vibrates this way just before interface. His port is small, hidden away by protective panels under cloth. A delicate secret, the point of interface, the direct pathway into his systems.

"Now," Revenant demands, grinding impatiently.

Pathfinder clicks it into place. The connection snaps the static in the air, stilling Revenant for a long moment, the rush of energy and data dizzying. Before long he's grabbing the MRVN's servo to forcefully guide him to his own cable's hiding place. Path is happy to complete the circuit for him, taking his own moment to shiver at the crackling sensation.

They twitch together in silence for only a few seconds more before Revenant is slamming himself into him again. He snarls and rumbles like an animal so much so that Pathfinder wonders if his creators had mixed something up in his programming.

So focused yet so frantic—Path's voicebox is already glitching, something akin to moaning, from the intensity of the energy ripping through him. His screen cannot hold its image completely and blips to choppy flashes. It's always a scramble to package the charge up and send it back through their link at the speed that it hits him while still helping him maintain the friction.

What is he so upset about this time, Path wonders?

Revenant's optics burn in the dim light. He's leaving dents in himself and his smiling partner. If Path didn't have such a good grip, Rev would fall off of him constantly, the twig. But he's got him nice and secure, and gives it to him harder by the minute.

Eventually the swell reaches their inner systems. Revenant's assault does not ease up when he gets to Pathfinder's firewalls, who returns the gesture only to be met with more snarling.

Revenant is wild, almost daring him to try breaking down his defenses. They both know it's a bad idea, but a little teasing never hurt anyone. Right?

Path's vision is getting fuzzy but he can see the arcs of energy leaping from Revenant's skinny frame. Feel and hear the rattle of his plating.

One servo slides up and around, into Revenant's torso. The simulacrum lets out an anticipatory moan, and Path tugs on his inner cabling. He pulls hard enough to strain, to draw out more desperate licks of static.

The shrieks that follow are not of human code. Revenant's optics strobe, his body contorting through it all, claws scratching, scoring, digging into Pathfinder's plating as system overload tears through every circuit and node in his core. Path is swallowed into the crashing waves of static with him.

When it's over and his HUD blinks online again, his chemoreceptors note the smell of something burning.

He realizes his companion is out cold on top of him, a tiny trail of smoke rising from his back.

Uh-oh. He'd better move.

-----

When Revenant comes online, his response is nothing out of the ordinary. He behaves like an animal waking up in a cage, even though no one has trapped him. Corner to corner, gaze feral, until he sees the box with a smiley face drawn on it.

On top of it rests an unopened vial of coolant.

Right. They'd agreed two fucks ago to this arrangement. It's never ended well when someone else is around for his post-coital freak out.

He remembers, slowly, with a sharp pain in the center of his processor. He takes the vial and follows the sound of music into the next room over.

There Pathfinder sits, humming along to a song while working out some dents in his chassis. The deeper scratches and paint transfers will likely require a Bloodhound housecall to buff out.

(Do they know? Probably.)

Revenant stares, like he always does.

He remembers things in pieces. Path has never pressed him about it. Only asked what he could do to make it easier.

"Want some help?" Pathfinder asks, a glint in his optic.

Help? Revenant stares some more but this time follows the other's gaze to his own chest: completely dented up. His pelvis is worse.

Pathfinder waits for Revenant's silent answer, the smallest shift of his head that could barely be called a nod, and turns the music down, down, down, and off.

This part is always quiet. Only the sound of the vial being used, their ventilations, and dents being carefully popped out.

Pathfinder, being careful? And Revenant letting him be gentle with him?

His vocalizer grinds out a snort despite his fatigue and numbness, and he looks away when that big bright optic glances up at him.

Maybe both of them are just glitches after all.

#revfinder #pathfinder #revenant #apex legends #nonsticky #plug and play #fic

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mymoonagedaydream · 3 years

Text

Home (Part 3)

Summary: You’d made your decision, now all you had to do was stick to it.

Pairing: Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Language

Author’s Note: Final part, hope y’all like it :)

---

You woke up the next morning feeling sick, memories of the night before flooding into your mind as soon as your eyes peeled open.

The dejection in Bucky's face as he stood up and left, how he didn’t look back even as you called his name, the sound of his heavy footsteps on the stairs and the slamming of the front door.

How he’d left the ring box on your dresser, where it was still sitting, unopened.

You buried your face in the pillow and did all you could to push last night out of your mind, but it was impossible trying to claw your way out of this pit of despair whilst being peppered with pangs of guilt and remorse that kicked you further and further down. Eventually you just had to accept that there was no way you’d be able to stop thinking about it.

And the more you thought about it, the more you doubted your decision.

An increasingly loud voice in the back of your head was screaming at you that these past few days were the happiest you’d had in such a long time, so you must’ve been insane to turn down Bucky’s offer of making this life permanent, while the rest of your brain was ferociously arguing that there was far too much you’d have to give up to make that happen.

Were you really going to turn your back on the life you’d been working so hard towards for the past two years? At times it could be lonely and thankless, but it’s what you’d always wanted.

So much had changed, you and Bucky had your own, separate lives now. You couldn’t just suddenly drop everything and move back home... right?

You went round and round in your head like that for hours, slowly building new trains of thought just to watch them derail and catch fire, fully aware that it was creeping up to midday but entirely unable to muster up the energy to get out of bed.

The destructive cycle was finally broken by a faint knock at the door.

You slowly sat up as it inched open, your mother’s head appearing in the gap.

‘You want to talk, sweetie?’ Wiping your face, you nodded faintly, prompting her to step in and close the door behind her. ‘What on earth happened last night?’

Without a word, you gestured your head towards your dresser. All the colour drained from her face when she spotted it.

‘Oh fuc- is that- did he- what did you say?’

‘He bought it before I moved.’

‘Holy shit.’

A short, half-hearted chuckle escaped your lips. She really had a knack for effectively summing up complex, emotional sentiments in the shortest and sweetest of ways.

You folded your legs as she perched herself on the edge of your bed and started to stroke your shoulder, her face swimming with intense concern and pity.

‘Well he left very suddenly, so I’m guessing that conversation didn’t have a happy ending.’

‘He asked me to stay.’ Her mouth fell open, eyebrows shooting up her forehead. ‘But I can’t, right? We both have our own lives now. I have my job and he has the workshop, too much has-’

‘Sweetie. Are you trying to convince me or yourself?’

You smiled faintly, pulling your knees up to your chest. ‘I just need time to think about everything.’

‘Well, do you love him?’ It took less than a second of deliberation before you felt yourself begin to nod. ‘Isn’t that enough?’

‘I don’t know.’

The two of you sat in silence for a minute. You could see her really scrambling to find the perfect thing to say, something that would make it all better, but she seemed to draw a blank. Instead, she leant forward and planted a short kiss on your forehead.

‘I’m sure you’ll figure it out.’

Giving you a final sympathetic smile, she stood up and headed towards the door, not hearing you whisper to yourself.

‘I always do.’

---

The next few days were like torture.

You were too nauseous to eat, constantly tired but unable to sleep and obsessed with checking your phone every few minutes to see if Bucky had tried to contact you.

You’d pined for him before, but this was different, this was painful.

Every so often you’d scroll through your contacts and hold your finger over his name, willing yourself to just suck it up and call him, but in your panic you’d always manage to convince yourself that you’d already blown it for good.

All you could think about was his face as he left, surely there was no way he’d want to hear from you again after that.

The days slipped away and, before you knew it, it was the morning of your flight.

Wearily gathering your things from your bedroom, you eyes wandered over to the ring box, still sitting where he’d left it. It didn’t feel right leaving it behind, but taking it would mean living with a constant reminder of what you’d walked away from.

You were far too tired for another internal war, you just grabbed it and stuffed it in your pocket.

Your dad tried to make conversation on the drive but your mind was elsewhere. The further you travelled from home, the more cracks you could feel forming in your vision of a happy future with Bucky. It wouldn’t be long before it completely shattered.

Hugging your parents goodbye, you felt hot tears begin to stream down your face, prompting your mother to ask you over and over if you were sure about your decision.

You just nodded, plastered on a smile and turned away, making your way into the airport.

Once you got to your gate, you slumped yourself down in the waiting area, staring blankly at the floor and gently stroking the box in your pocket. Your trance was only broken when you heard the announcement.

Your flight was boarding.

Just as you heaved yourself onto your feet, your phone pinged in your pocket.

It was a text from Bucky’s mom.

Roger’s bar. He’ll be there all evening.

---

Your cab skidded to a stop and you quickly jumped out.

Glancing up at the neon sign blinking over your head, you began to hear the vague music and laughter coming from inside. Minutes passed as you stood out there in the snow, watching the figures through the foggy windows, building up the courage to go inside.

Taking one last deep breath, you marched forward and pulled the door open, diving into the sea of people inside.

The place was small but absolutely packed. You frantically scanned your eyes around the place, eventually spotting him, alone at the bar. A solitary, slumped figure, the only person in there who didn’t look like he was having a good time.

You pushed your way over, stopping a few feet behind him.

‘Buck.’ It came much weaker than you’d intended, he didn’t hear you over the crowd. ‘Buck!’

He spun round, his eyes widening when they settled on you. ‘Y/n? What are you doing here?’

You tried to answer, but your words got caught in your throat. Not wavering your gaze from his face, you dug the ring box out of your pocket and held it out to him.

He shook his head indignantly, grabbing it out of your hand. ‘You really came here just to give it back?’

‘No, I- I didn’t mean-’ You closed your eyes for a second and took a deep breath, collecting your thoughts. ‘Ask me.’

‘What?’

‘Ask me, if you still want to.’

His eyes flicked between your face and the box in his hand, his irritated frown softening as the corners of his mouth started to curl into an excited smile.

‘You wanna get married?’

‘Yes.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’ You laughed through a beaming smile. ‘More than anything.’

He lunged towards you, lifting you off the ground and squeezing you tight as you wrapped your legs around his waist. You placed your hands on either side of his head, tilting it upwards and capturing his lips with yours, melting a little when you felt him smile against you.

It was only a few seconds before he pulled away, setting you back down on the floor before excitedly pulling the ring out of the box. He took your hand in his and gently slid it onto your finger.

Your breath hitched when you saw it for the first time.

‘You like it?’ Bucky snaked his arms around your waist and drew you into his chest, grinning proudly as he watched you place your hand on his shoulder and just gaze at the ring.

‘I love it.’

‘I knew you would.’ You raised an eyebrow at him, trying not to chuckle at his overt smugness. ‘I know you too well, Lilypad.’

---

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seventeensarmy · 4 years

Text

(1) Stuck With You (OT7!Hybrid Au)

Pairing: OT7xReader, Jungkook x Reader, rest will come in the course of the story

Warnings: Toxic parents that lead to toxic relationship to food, reader isn´t eating good, character death (But not in detail), angst, fluff, some technical ballet words (but i explained them and they aren´t that important), tell me if i missed something!

Words: 4.750

Summary: In your society, hybrids are seen as pets, nothing more, not having many rights. You meet the bunny hybrid Jungkook, deciding not to follow the norms of society you befriend him and fall in love. On your journey to a happy life, you meet six other hybrids, who tag along in your journey. (The summary will get better as soon as i know where to go with the story, i promise xx)

Hybrids: New Zealand red rabbit!Jungkook, Black panther!Yoongi, Birman cat!Jimin, Tundra wolf!Namjoon, Red fox!Hoseok, gerberian shepsky!Taehyung, sugar glider!Jin, human!reader

Chapter one

“I´m Jungkook, but I don´t mind you calling me Kookie”

15 years ago (Reader is 6, JK is 7)

How is a child supposed to know what right and what’s wrong? You would expect the parents to teach their child basic human decency, but sometimes it´s the parents who teach their child the exact opposite. You see, hybrids were weren´t a rare sight in your society, a lot of wealthy people owned some. While children loved to play with them, it wasn´t really a secret that adults, who could afford breaking the laws, had other plans with them. It is highly frowned upon, using hybrids, who still didn´t have the same rights as humans, to one’s gain, but at the same time, no one really did something against it. There still are a lot of people that believe that hybrids are just abominations and don´t deserve to be even alive, let alone have rights. Those are the people who want nothing to do with hybrids, who look away when a hybrid is being abused. Those are the people you´ve come to hate.

Those people are your parents.

“But Mother”, you whine, following her through the house, “I wanna go play with Hei Ryung, not with her hybrid. I won´t even look at her, I promise.” Your mother shakes her head before she turns around, making you almost run into her, but you manage to catch yourself. Her gaze almost makes you flinch backwards, but you stand your ground, though you´re not looking up to her. “If you want to play with your friend, you´re going to have to wait till you see her at school, that way I know for sure no animal will come near you.”, you bite back the urge to correct her, saying that hybrids aren´t animals, like she makes it appear. You´ve met Hei Ryung´s hybrid before, a cute Pomeranian girl, just a bit older than you, but your parents could never find that out, the risk of you and the staff at home being punished was far too high. The last time you got punished you were not only grounded for two weeks, but you also weren´t allowed to attend your ballet classes, which was the only thing, other than school work, you got to do in your spare time.

Sensing that you aren´t going to argue back, your mother puts a smile on, “See, waiting till school isn´t that bad. Also, you need to train more, you´ve got a competition coming and I´ve seen you dance, you still need a lot of practice if you even want to attempt to win a medal.”

Ouch, you swallow. Your mother has always been your strongest critic, always finding something you could´ve done better. Still, you nod, knowing that with her last words the conversation was over and you should go practice.

Practice always ended with your muscles hurting, you weren´t dancing on pointe, your teacher saying you are still too young to dance like that, much to your mothers dismay. If it were up to her you would probably have started wearing pointe shoes as soon as you could walk and you were thankful, that none of your past teachers let her have any say in your training. You were training every day, four times a week with your teacher, the rest of the week alone, sometimes the staff came to watch, but now you think they might have been a bit worried about a six year old girl spending most of her time either in school or the practice room.

.-.-.-..-..-.-.-.-.-..-.-.-.-..-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

You were alone again, both of your parents not being at home wasn´t something new. In fact, you hadn´t seen your father in almost three weeks, some business trip to Europe, though he promised to come to your competition in a week. You weren´t sure what your father was doing to earn as much money as he did, you just knew it had something to do with a lot of deals and signed papers, that made him swear in his study upstairs.

As for your mother, you really weren´t sure what she was doing, other than spending your fathers money, though she always said “our money”, but you weren´t asking, you learned fast that, if you are a child, people don´t really care about your opinion (or you in general) and therefore don´t feel the need to talk to you. You overheard her talking to kitchen staff, explaining that she was going on an important trip to Bali for a few weeks (as you grew older you learned that her trips to Bali weren´t really of important nature, more of needy and lying nature, but that´s a different story).

It was always the same; your parents leaving you alone with the staff at home, you´ve come to see them more as your family than your actual family.

Your nanny always took pity on you, when you were training the whole day, letting you watch some TV in the evening, something your parents never allowed you, telling you it´s a distraction, though you found yourself more at ease the next morning as when you would have gone straight to bed or studied some more instead. The kitchen staff also had a soft spot for you, always receiving a strict diet for you from your mother, which left the cook speechless. You never really knew if your diet plan was different than your usual plan, seeing as the chef never made it when your parents were gone. You overheard him talking to you nanny once, complaining how you would become too skinny and weak if he were to actually cook what your mother planned for you. “Sometimes I think she´s crazy”, you once heard them whisper, “That´s not a diet for a child, not that a child should ever be on a diet. The portion size she wants me make is ridiculous, if I would make one dish and give everyone this portion I bet you I could feed half the street!”, the chef raged, he had been your cook since you could think and you sometimes think of him as your father or uncle by the way he cared for you. Your nanny agreed quietly, it wasn´t a secret how the staff thought about your parents, but the chef wasn´t done, you heard paper rustling and figured he was showing her the plan your mother made for you. “Two dishes per day. That woman has no clue how to feed a child. She wants her to eat only two times a day and then compete at a competitive sports competition.”

Needless to say, the staff took better care of you than your parents ever could. Which is why you were now sitting in the far back of the garden, with a box of cookies and a bottle of soda on your side. Today had been your dance competition, you won, but neither your mother, nor your father were there to witness, only your nanny, who gave you a tight hug after you came down. Your nanny was always there for you, always praising you and giving you little rewards for your good work. She and the kitchen staff saw, that though you won, you were still upset over your absent parents, so they told you to go enjoy yourself in the garden and they would bring snacks for you.

After they arrived with the cookies and the soda, you went off to your secret hiding spot in the garden. You knew no one could see you there, leaving you alone to your upset thoughts and snacks that you still didn´t touch.

You remember thinking, that maybe your parents were upset with you and decided not to come as a punishment, or maybe some important business hindered them from coming and they would call in a bit. Your six year old brain couldn´t accept the possibility of your parents simply not caring, it had to be something you did. Your thoughts were interrupted by a rustling coming from the bushes, you sit up straight, “Hello?” you call out. The rustling stops and a figure starts to rise, the first thing you see are... bunny ears? Then a head and in front of you stands a boy, not much older than you. A hybrid. In your garden? You quickly turn around, looking back to the house and let out a relieved breath when you see no one.

“What are you doing here?” you ask the boy as you turn around. He looks at you with big eyes; he looked scared, ready to run if danger should approach. “I was walking around” he explains and you raise your eyebrows, “In my garden?” The boy turned red, “I didn´t know that was your garden, I´m sorry, please don´t call the police”, he begs, suddenly in full on panic mode. Your eyes widen and you take him in, he was skinny, his clothes were dirty and he looked like he hadn´t had a good night’s rest in a long time. He´s a stray.

You raise your hands in surrender, letting him know, that you didn´t plan on calling the police or anyone on him. “Don´t worry”, you promise, “I´m not calling anyone. Are you hungry?” You offer him your unopened box of cookies. His eyes grew even wider and he surprises you by sitting down across from you. “You don´t mind?” he asked and you shake your head, opening the box and putting it down in front of him. “I´m y/n” you grin at the boy, who already had one cookie stuffed in his mouth. He replied, but you didn´t understand a single word, causing you to giggle, “I´m sorry, I don´t speak cookie or is your name cookie?” you giggle again, causing the boy in front of you to turn red, he swallows and speaks again, “I´m Jungkook, but I don´t mind you calling me Kookie”, he grins.

.-.-.-..-..-.-.-.-.-..-.-.-.-..-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The following days were probably some of the best in your life so far, thanks to your new friend. Whenever you could, you would sneak out loads of food and drinks, concerned by Jungkooks small figure. But he always insisted on you joining him eat, to which you only replied with a small smile, saying you already ate. You couldn’t risk your mother finding out that you ate something other than what´s on her diet plan for you or even worse, her seeing that you gained weight. The training she would then put you under is one you never want to repeat.

You saw that Jungkook didn´t believe you when you said you ate, he could probably smell if you ate or not, he once told you, that your house never really smelled of food, you only shrugged, not really knowing what to say. But he never said anything, not till the day he saw you almost faint on your way to your secret hideout in the back of the garden, where he was already waiting for you. As you arrived you let yourself fall back against the tree. “y/n”, Jungkook´s voice asked worried. You looked at your friend and smiled, “I´m alright Kookie, just a bit tired from practice. Don´t worry.” Your friend looked unconvinced and he got proven right, as he heard your stomach rumble. “You should eat y/n-ah. When did you even eat the last time?” You wave your hand, “You worry too much. I ate this morning and my mother comes home tonight, so I´ll eat with her this evening.” The bunny hybrid looked confused in your direction. “But what about lunch, didn´t you eat something now? You can´t just eat two times a day” he exclaimed.

The concept of you eating lunch is so strange in your mind that it´s your turn to look confused. You later realised, that even when your mother was gone, the staff gave you only two dishes a day, so you wouldn´t get used to eating three times a day. If your mother were to find out you would eat more times a day than she liked, the staff and you would be in big trouble. But your six year old you didn´t understand that at this time, eating three times a day was something you never did. Why eat lunch, when you could´ve also practised at that time?

“My mother says I don´t need to eat three times a day, I would get fat and then the judges won’t like my dances at the competitions anymore” you explain with a shrug, missing the way Jungkook tensed, he decided in that moment, that he doesn´t like your mother. How would you get fat? You first had to stop being underweight and from what he gathered, the only things you do are study, dance and meet up with him.

The sun started to go down and you knew you had to leave your friend soon. “Listen Jungkook”, you started and his ears straightened up, as you addressed him by his name, not the nickname you called him since your first day, “My mother will arrive today, my father probably too. They are pretty strict-” “Are they gonna lock you away for talking to me? Are they gonna lock me away?!” You quickly took his hands in yours, calming him almost instantly. “No no no, nothing’s going to happen to you”, you promised, “My parents, they, they can never know about you, okay Kookie. They are not nice”, Jungkook frowned, not liking the idea to leave you alone with the mean people who don´t feed you and apparently don´t like hybrids, he remembered his first question. “y/n. Are they going to look you away?” You shrug, “Maybe, I don´t know if I did something yet.” You don´t look at him, you can imagine what he looked like, probably mad, he was the scariest seven year old you had ever seen. “What do you mean, you don´t know yet, wouldn´t you know if you did something?” You give him a wary smile, “Sometimes I don´t know what I did until they tell me, Kookie. Maybe I gained weight; maybe my dance is not good enough. They would want me to fix my mistakes. That´s why you maybe won´t see me for a while. I just wanted to tell you, so you don´t worry even more” you giggle a bit and poke his cheek, “If you keep frowning like this, you´ll have wrinkles as soon as you turn ten.”

If it were up to Jungkook, he would grab you and bring you as far away from those people as he possibly could. He didn´t have a family, never had, the streets are all he ever had and remembered, but even with no knowledge about family and love Jungkook knew, that what you had in this house, was neither. Before you left, you told him, he should keep the snacks and eat them, he shouldn´t wait for you and Jungkook didn´t understand how you could be so concerned about him eating enough, but still neglected your own needs so much. He wanted to help you so bad, but he was only seven.

And your worries came true, you didn´t see Jungkook for two weeks. The next time you were allowed to go out, he noticed that you were skinnier, but he didn´t say anything as you koala-hugged him.

.-.-.-..-..-.-.-.-.-..-.-.-.-..-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Five years ago (Reader 16/ JK 17)

It was a bit past midday when your parents left, leaving you alone once again. The only difference, this time, not even the staff stayed with you, this was a first, but it left you buzzing with excitement. It meant that you had could have Jungkook staying over for two weeks. Over the years your friendship with the bunny blossomed into one of the best things you could´ve ever asked for.

Your parents never noticed the teenager living in the small shed in the back of the garden. You both quickly realised, that it would be way too risky sneaking Jungkook into the house with your parents present. Their distaste for hybrids only grew over the years, since the government gave them more rights, giving the hybrids at least a bit of independence, though they were still nowhere near having the same rights as humans.

This wasn´t the first time Jungkook stayed over, over the years you tried to let him stay over as often as possible. It did help a lot that the staff in your home found out and decided to help, no longer questioning why to took so much food with you whenever you went to the garden.

Though, this was the first time they ever left you completely alone, you didn´t know why, but you didn´t question it, relieved to be able to spent time with your best friend, without having to worry about him. Your mother had given you a detailed plan of your diet, which you couldn´t help but follow, not having realised yet, that all those diets weren´t really as healthy as your mother claimed.

You were eating an apple, a snack you allowed yourself to enjoy, seeing as your next real meal would still have to wait a few hours, though you weren´t even that hungry yet. You just needed something to focus on while waiting for Jungkook and you knew it made him happy to see you eat.

You sat down on one of the garden chairs, waiting for the bunny to show up, though you didn´t need to wait long, as you saw his tall figure already approaching. “Hello little dancer”, he grinned, pulling you into a bone crashing hug, he eyed the apple in your hand with a satisfied smile. Over the years Jungkook grew up quite well, he was now towering over you and you couldn´t deny, that he was getting more and more handsome.

You smiled and pulled him into the dining room, “I figured you´d be pretty hungry by now, so I prepared some food for you, then we can relax for the rest of the day.” You had prepared some steamed vegetables and chicken, knowing that Jungkook loved your cooking. He frowned as he saw that you wouldn´t be eating with him, but he choose not to say anything, it was your first day and he wouldn´t want to argue with you immediately. He started to dig in, almost scoffing at how much you prepared for one person. “You don´t need to practice today?” he asked confused, normally you would be training every day, especially seeing as you had a show in a few days. You smiled a bit sheepishly, “I got up earlier today and did my hours”, already knowing how Jungkooks face would look like you chose to study the picture on the wall in front of you. Your training hours were absolutely ridiculous in Jungkook´s opinion. Sometimes practicing up to ten hours if you didn´t have to study for school, he dreaded thinking about the hours you spent training today.

He finished eating and you started to clean the table, while Jungkook went and took a quick shower. You also started to look for movies on Netlix that he would like, both of you loved movies, but Jungkook never had the opportunity to watch them and you never had the time.

Jungkook came back, letting himself fall down next to you, arm around you shoulder, pulling you close. His was hair slightly wet and he had changed into new clothes, which you had bought for him. You stared at him, he really was handsome. You blushed at your own thoughts, but you couldn´t help but feel attracted to him. He noticed you staring at him, seeing as he was also busy staring at you, the chosen movie in the back forgotten.

“Kookie?” you asked quietly and he looked at you waiting for you to continue. “Do you want to come with me on Tuesday? To my show?” A smile broke out on his face, his ears straightening up, eyes wide. “Are you for real? Yes I´d love to”, but his smile fell as quickly as it came. “Do they allow hybrids there? How could I get in?” You frowned, you hadn´t thought about that. Then an idea plopped in your head and you took all your courage to speak it out loud. “We´ll just say you´re my boyfriend. They won´t question you if you cover your ears and you´ll be backstage with me.” The bunny thought about that idea and his smile returned, though there was mischief sparkling in his eyes. “Only if I get to give you a well done kiss after you´re done. Like a good boyfriend would.” Never has the usually shy bunny been so forward about anything and your breath stocked, but you found yourself nodding. No matter how shy you were, you couldn´t let the chance to kiss your crush and best friend fly away. He grinned and pulled you closer, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, causing you to hide yourself in his chest. “Watch out mister” you warned, poking his chest. The bunny only laughed at your flustered state.

.-.-.-..-..-.-.-.-.-..-.-.-.-..-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Nervous. That´s the word that would describe you the best right now. You had already thrown up in the morning, leaving Jungkook worried, asking if you were really in the condition to perform. You had waved it off, telling him that´s how you are before every show, which didn´t seem to comfort him at all. Though your best friend and maybe boyfriend or fake boyfriend (who knows) stayed with you for the last couple of days, you didn´t really find any more time to relax, spending most of our days practicing. Jungkook didn´t seem to mind though, he started using the gym next to your dance room. Your parents never seem to use it anyway, so it wasn´t really a problem and Jungkook came to love having an outlet for all his energy. In the evenings both of you were too tired to cook, meaning empty take out containers were piling up in the kitchen.

“You got this” Jungkook murmured, warm hand lying comforting on your lower back. You were backstage already, wearing your plush bathrobe to keep you from freezing in your dance outfit. It wasn´t as hard as expected to take Jungkook with, a beanie covering his ears, his tail comfortable tucked away in his pants covered by a nice dress shirt you had bought him a while ago. You stood on your pointe shoes, still not being on eye level with the bunny but close, and hugged him.

“What if my mother finds out? Oh I shouldn´t have done this, maybe I can-“ you were interrupted by a pair of lips on yours, you felt yourself sinking into his strong hold. Jungkook smiled at you with the softest smile you had ever seen. He knew you were worried about your piece.

It was contemporary ballet, a form of ballet your mother despised. She was all for classical ballet, often making you train with the Cecchetti method, which Jungkook found out to be really hard on the body, no longer surprised why you were so drained after your lessons. But you had told him one day, that though you do love this form of ballet, you had started to fall in love with neoclassical and contemporary ballet. It was more modern, allowing you to bring more of yourself in your dance, Jungkook didn´t really know anything about ballet, so he had just nodded, but after seeing you dance in both, a classical and modern way, he understood why you liked the modern form so much.

“Hey, calm down, little dancer” he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You looked up to him with big eyes, he had just kissed you. Jungkook kissed you, and you found yourself craving his kiss again. “You worry too much, stop thinking about if something is a mistake. Maybe this kiss was a mistake, who knows, but it didn´t feel like it, I liked it and I know you did too. You like dancing contemporary, so do it, your mother isn´t here to support you or critic you. I´m here and I´ll support anything you do.” Touched by his words you found yourself hugging him closer than before. “Oh, what would I do without you?” you asked, playing with his hair that wasn´t covered by the beanie.

“y/n y/l/n! Ready to perform in ten, please move to the curtains!” came the loud voice of the director. Slowly Jungkook let you go, “You´ll do great, alright? Just have fun” the bunny smiled at you. You decided to collect all the courage you had and looked into Jungkook´s eyes, “Don´t I get a good luck kiss?” The male’s eyes twinkle and he can hardly contain a smile, “You get a well done kiss when you´re done, little dancer” You pout, but you know arguing with bunny won´t work, so you just sigh in defeat. Jungkook chuckled as he realised that there will be no arguing, he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Go on little dancer, show me what you got. I´ll be right here when you get back.”

With those last words you moved towards the stage, ready to dance your heart out, but you felt oddly calm. With no doubt thanks to the bunny who was cheering you on from the side. The music started and you have never felt so free dancing.

And as promised was Jungkook waiting for you after your performance, you jumped into his waiting arms, “You did so well, you are amazing” he pressed little kisses all over your face, till he finally reached your lips. Needless to say, today was a good day and something told you, that it could only get better with Jungkook next to you, holding you close.

.-.-.-..-..-.-.-.-.-..-.-.-.-..-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The past one and a half weeks had to be the best you’ve ever had. Life with Jungkook couldn´t have been easier and dread filled your chest, as you thought about how your parents would be arriving today and some part of you wished they wouldn´t. Jungkook noticed your mood change too and tried everything he could to make you feel better, not even complaining about how you skipped breakfast this morning, which you knew took a lot for him. You were stood in the kitchen; the bunny had his arms wrapped around you, hugging you from behind, watching as you were gathering the ingredients to make you guys a shake. Occasionally he would sneak a kiss to your neck or cheek.

But all that froze, as you both watched a police car park in your driveway. “Hide”, was the only thing you said, as the doorbell rang and Jungkook didn´t have to be told twice, as he hid in the guest bathroom next to the front door. He was a bit confused, seeing as normally hybrid control would come to collect stray animals and these cops didn´t even have dogs with them, but he didn´t want to risk it, almost holding his breath as you opened the door.

“Good evening”, you greeted politly, though Jungkook could hear the slight tremble and smell your panic. He wanted to jump out of the bathroom and hold you close, never wanting you to feel scared if he could prevent it.

“Good evening, Miss y/l/n, can we come in, we have some bad news for you? It´s about your parents.”

Time slowed down as you received the news. Your parents died. The blood in your ears rushed, you had trouble making out what they said. You heard that they were asking if they should call someone, but there wasn´t anyone you could call. You had no family here; the only person you wanted was hiding in your guest bathroom down the hall, probably hearing every word.

The police told you, that in the next days a lawyer would stop by to explain to you what would be happening next, you were still underage with no family. They were asking you, if you would want to sleep in a supervised home today, but you shook your head, explaining with shaky voice that the staff would be arriving tomorrow morning and you wouldn´t be alone. After the police left you sank to the floor, “Kookie”, you croaked, vision blurred with tears. You felt strong hands pulling you into a hug, “I´m here y/n. I´m here.”

Taglist: Open, just ask!

Hope you enjoyed!

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palbabor-writes · 3 years

Text

So, uh, I got excited with this ask

Anonymous said:

so what if, and I’m just spitballin’ here, you wrote a little something for Tomura, a jealous!reader x Tomura, perhaps? Ik there probably wouldn’t be an actual situation where somebody would try to steal him away or anything but just a little something on the reader seeing something that wasn’t what it looked like and Shiggy kind of reassuring her in his own special way? 😌 pls &thank you sm in advance, but you of course absolutely don’t have to write it if you don’t want to (: love your work!

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x Gen!Reader

Warnings: Adult language, angst, jealous feelings, mentions of past relationship and heavy petting, mm, imma say it’s rated T, for the teens and upper betweens

Word Count: 4387

Notes: Lol. I’m pretty sure this was meant to be like, a drabble or head cannon in your mind nonnie. Me, being me, I stretched it out into a freaking fic. I can’t shut uppppp sometimes. First time trying for a Gen!Reader, so hopefully it’s a thumbs up. Not beta edited, so any mistakes are mine, and mine alone.

“O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock The meat it feeds on.” ― William Shakespeare, Othello

It’s been two months, two freaking months and you’ve hardly gotten two texts strung together, let alone a call, from Tomura.

While he’s never been what anyone would call a frequent texter, your last message has sat, unread, on his phone for the last 3 days. You know he’s busy, you know he said he’s got shit to take care of, but you can’t help the angry pit of worry that simmers in your gut. He could at least tell you something. Like, hey, I’ll be out of touch for a few days, talk soon. Is that too much to ask?

Apparently it is.

The two of you have always been a quiet item. Most of the League knows, or at least, heavily, heavily suspects. It’s not like you tried to keep it a secret, it’s just the way you both are. Besides, you usually liked how the arrangement worked.

You’d met him through your job. You worked with Giran as a courier of sorts. Sometimes you’d lug shipments back and forth, sometimes you’d make deliveries. It was one of these deliveries that introduced you to Tomura. He was quiet, sulking toward the back of the bar, but you’d managed to strike up a conversation with him as Compress double checked his requested items.

He was waspish, sharp. At first, you worried that your questions had only managed to pissed him off. But then, just as you started to chat with another guy in the bar, a snarky fellow, who was covered in some serious, serious burns, Tomura tugs your attention back to him with a pointed question.

“Can you tell Giran that you’re only one who’s permitted to transport the deliveries to the bar?”

That one query had started a landslide.

You were summoned to the hideout frequently, practically on the daily after that. Giran just shook his head and asked you not to fall too deep. You didn’t know what he meant then. Two months later you understood his meaning perfectly.

How could you not fall head over heels for this guy? Fuck, he was so desperate, so wanting, so fucking needy for you. God, you missed it now that you didn’t have it. After the Kamino incident, he’d called on you even more and you loved that you could help him. He honestly seemed, in his own, gruff way, appreciative.

But, then he’d said he needed to leave the city.

At first, your contact with each other had maintained some semblance of normalcy. You would text and he would reply. You could call and he would answer. Often, he sounded tired, strained, but every once in a while you could pull a laugh from him and all would feel right with the world.

Now?

Now nothing feels right and the only link you have to him is Dabi. He’s the only person in the League that’s responding to your emails or texts. Even Giran isn’t answering anything. That’s not normal either because Giran always, always answers. What the fuck is going on?

It’s starting to feel like you’ll never know. This is mainly due to the fact that Dabi is a shitty, shitty font of information. At first, you’d eagerly taken his calls and texts. In lieu of a tip, you asked him about this mission Tomura was on. He fed you vague, flippant, answers.

“Tch, this again? I already told you, they’re all fighting this giant. It’s some pet of the doctors.”

“And like I said the last, oh, I don’t know, twelve times, giant makes no sense to me. Can you expand on that a little bit? Like, what the hell does that mean? They’re fighting a fucking giant. Is that supposed to be some kinda bizarro hint? Cuz’ it sounds like you’re giving me shoddy information to get me off your back,” you snap, placing your foot on his box of requested medical kit supplies.

Dabi practically keeps you on standby now. The guy has gotten more aggressive in the last month, and the heavy price his fire quirk extorts on his body meant he needs a steady flow of burn cream, meds, stitches and pain relievers.

“Fuck, look, I don’t know how else to explain that fucker. I didn’t give a shit about boss man’s little mission to tame him, so the doctor and I worked out something else for me to do. I’m not around those guys right now, I’ve got other things I’m working on. Now give me my shit and get out of my face. Ask Toga about your little fuck buddy, I could give two shits about his well being.”

“Why follow him if you hate him so much?” God, this asshole is such a prick.

Dabi considers you for a long moment, his vibrant blue eyes lingering on your scowling face. “He’s a means to an end. I’m just here to see this society fall to its knees. Boss wants the same thing, so, for now, this arrangement works for both of us. Now, if I have to ask you to give me my fucking shit one more time, I’m gonna’ singe you where you stand.”

Sucking your teeth, you kick the box toward him and turn on your heel, slamming his door behind you. If he’s not going to be useful to you, why be useful to him? We’ll see how he likes it when you accidentally miss some of his shipment deadlines.

You pace out into the night, shrugging your jacket up on your shoulders. If they’re so far out, if they’re fighting something that sounds like an impossibility, why not ask you to bring them some supplies? Why haven’t they reached out to you?

As you wait for your train, you pull your phone from your pocket, your cold fingers resting against the glass. There’s a missed call from another contact, but no other notifications. You swipe over to your messages from Tomura. Your last text sits, still unopened, unread, uncared for, in his box. It’s not fair, you think, sliding your phone back and pressing your hands into the meager warmth of your pockets.

Tomura used to confide in you and you felt close to him. And not just in a physical sense. At first, the relationship between the two of you was just that, something that eased an itch. But you kept asking him things, liking the soft tone his voice could take on when he lost some of that anger.

Then, he started to wordlessly ask you to stay a little longer, his arms wrapping around your bare form, holding you against his warmth. It was nice. It was so, so satisfying and now it’s gone. Is this his way of moving on from you? You would have thought that he would have said something. He’s never struck you as someone who hides from a confrontation. So why the radio silence?

Another week passes and Dabi keeps calling. He’s practically got your entire schedule blacked out now with deliveries, upcoming shipments and transports. What. The. Fuck. It’s gotten so frustrating that you’ve started to waffle on picking up his calls, sending him straight to voicemail.

“What kinda courier leaves their fucking name on their voicemail? Stop ignoring my calls, (Y/N).”

Yeah, he’s a real charmer. At least he answers your messages though. It’s better than nothing, you keep telling yourself, trying to ignore the gnawing, munching feeling of bitterness that keeps rising. Yeah, Dabi’s gotten to be such a constant in your life that your phone keeps recommending him as a new favorite.

Would you like to add the contact: Dabi, to your favorites list? No, no you would not.

Then, suddenly, out of the blue, Dabi’s not answering you either. Your first, gut instinct, tells you that he’s likely annoyed with your spotty replies or he’s busy with...”Dabi things”. He’s always reminding you about the oh, so important “Dabi things”. ‘Don’t pester me with your shit, (Y/N). I’ve got something big I’m working on.’

But now? Fuck, now you’d kill to hear from him.

There’s absolutely nothing. No response from Toga, Compress, Spinner, Dabi and most important of all, Tomura.

He’d finally read your text. After two whole days had passed from the sent time stamp, he’d read it, and then opted to not respond. It stung. You can still feel that tightening emotion of dread, of abject hurt, that had radiated from your chest when you saw that he’d finally looked at your message and then just decided you weren’t worth his time.

Yeah, after seeing that, the last few days have been nothing but a full tilt boogie of emotions for you.

This must be a planned thing. Why else would they all coordinate their ghosting. He must have wanted to leave you behind and now, this distance has made it possible.

He’s been changing a lot lately.

Even before he left for this, whatever it was, he’d grown in confidence and skill. Fuck, he’d taken on a Yakuza boss and won. He’s becoming a leader, a competent force to be reckoned with. He doesn’t need you to bounce ideas off of anymore. A courier picked up at the start of his career isn’t a necessary piece to add to his collection.

Yeah, chances are, he’s moved on. He’s out of your reach now and you can’t help the thoughts that rise in the back of your mind. What if he’s found someone else? What if he just got bored with you? Did you put too much thought into this relationship? Well, that question has kinda answered itself. You put way too much into this. You had planned for things, hoped for…

Your phone rings and the noise startles you out of your head. You fumble for your vibrating device and lift the screen up before swiping to answer the call. Oh, it’s Toga. Fingers shaking, you lift the phone to your ear and are so happy to hear her babbling voice.

She tells you that she’s been meaning to call you, but, gosh, everything has gotten in the way. Plus, she took a bad hit in a fight. Oh, she’s ok, but it’s been a crazy week for her.

As she chatters about some random series of events that you can’t string together, you let out a long sigh. That coiling that’s been building in your stomach loosens and you’ve never been so relieved in your life. There’s still a chance. Maybe he hasn’t decided to leave you in the dust. Maybe...whoops, Toga asked you something.

“Deka City? No, I’ve never been there.”

“Oh good, well, I wouldn’t try and go now. Tomura sorta, mmm, crumbled it to bits.”

“What?”

“Oooh, and we’re part of a bigger group now…”

She tells you about something called Gigamantia and their new connections. Apparently, Tomura’s made another step up in the world. Now he’s leading something called Meta Liberation? What is that? It sounds kinda familiar, but where have you heard it?

Toga is winding down her conversation, her voice smoothing out. She promises she’ll answer your other texts soon and emails you a set of coordinates, saying they’ll see you there and clicks off.

You lower your phone to your lap, biting back the grin that won’t stop spreading across your face. Ok, so, maybe you’re not as abandoned as you thought. Maybe they, no, maybe he still needs you.

******

You found the building alright. It was impossible to miss. This place is massive, fit for an army. The security is tight, so tight that you’d even been screened by a guard at the door. Once they confirm that you are who you say you are, and you know who you say you know, you’re permitted entrance.

Who are all these people?

As you enter the “meeting room,” which is really a space that looks like a concert area, complete with a well lit stage, you’re pressed into the mass of bodies. There must be hundreds of people here and there’s some hulking creature, dozing in the corner.

Is this that giant Dabi mentioned? You totally thought he was making that shit up. And, wait, wait, is that a pro hero a few spaces away? What is this? Where is the League?

The overhead lights dim and your attention is drawn back to the sage. People are bustling around the elevated area and a plush chair is placed in the center. Looks like the show is about to start.

A loud, booming voice announces the arrival of a man called Redestro. He must be that long faced guy in the motorized chair and, oh, there he is.

He walks up slowly, it looks like he’s leaning on something, but you can’t see clearly. The crowd shifts around you and an inordinately tall man is blocking your view. Huffing out a sigh, you try to maneuver yourself to a better vantage place.

He’s seated now, his long legs spread out in front of him. Fuck, he looks both wonderful and terrible, at the same time. Wonderful because it’s Tomura, terrible because he’s covered in bandages and he’s got a brace on his leg. What happened to him?

Your eyes can’t stop roving over him, trying to drink in everything. He looks like he’s on edge, his fingers clutching at a small slip of paper, as his good leg jiggles against the chair. Why...ah, he’s being introduced. Wait. He’s being introduced as the leader of the Paranormal Liberation Front? So...so all these people...this entire organization...is his to command?

He clears his throat and you hear his voice for the first time in months. He’s halting at first, but as he continues his speech his tone deepens, strengthens, losing that early hesitation. He sounds good, powerful and confident.

You tear your eyes away from him and give the crowd a quick glance. They’re enraptured. A few paces away you can hear people whispering to each other, their voices low, awed.

“He took down Redestro…”

“He’s so young.”

“He’s kinda...I don’t know...handsome.”

“You’re right, he looks regal.”

That coiling, trembling feeling is making a strong comeback. It’s an ugly return and it makes your flesh prickle and cool. He’s left you in the lurch for months and now he’s become some sort of leader, of an entire, what is this...a cult? An organization? An army? How the fuck, would you know? No one, least of all Tomura, has told you anything, about any of this.

When the address and introductions (the League had made a, uh, flashy entrance) are over, someone comes up and taps you on your shoulder. It’s another one of those security guards. She says you’ve been requested, the League wants to see you.

She takes you past the stage and down a long hallway. It’s quiet back here and the silence doesn’t soothe your frayed nerves. You’re pointed to a large set of doors and you bite your lip before pushing them open.

Another large room greets you. This one is filled with plush couches, elegantly carved tables and multiple chairs. There’s so much to look at, you don’t even see them at first. No, you hear him before you see him. He’s talking with a tall woman, who is writing down what he dictates, her pen moving rapidly across her paper.

Fuck, you’ve missed his voice.

It’s quiet now, a little hoarse from his speech and you want to step closer. He’s standing next to some large windows, his back turned to you. He hasn’t even noticed you. What were you thinking? He’s this...God, leader now. What are you? Just a nobody he met when he was still pounding the pavement, looking for anyone who could help their cause, their mission. There’s nothing for you here, he’s…

“(Y/N).”

Your eyes snap up to his. Tomura has turned, one arm braced heavily on his crutch, and is looking right at you. His eyes are hooded, dark, you can’t get a read on him from here. You want to step closer, but that sickening feeling is falling, like a stone, into your gut. Despite your turbulent emotions, you can’t stop staring at him.

The thick bandages are off and his hair is longer, the white strands hang close to his collarbone now, gleaming and pearlescent. He looks, damn, he looks tired and...what’s that? There’s something dark on his hand, it’s black and it covers three of his fingers. Why is he wearing that half glove, oh, oh no. It’s not a glove you realize, horrified, it's a prosthetic. He’s lost some of his fingers.

“It took you long enough, come here, (Y/N).”

His voice has dropped an octave, lingering in that distant tone that he would use when he dragged his lips across your neck, rumbling and murmuring against your skin. He knew that you liked that, he knew that it would make you so desperate for him, your hands pawing at his shoulders, pulling...

No. He’s ignored you for weeks, no, months. You’re not about to just fall to pieces at his feet, crawling and begging for him to want you. Your eyes latch onto his and you minutely shake your head at his request, fingers squeezing into your palms.

The woman, noting the tension that’s suddenly entered the room, looks between the two of you, and abruptly makes herself scarce, her heels tapping against the floor as she walks to the door. Once you hear it close behind her you unstick your mouth, your tongue heavy against your teeth.

“Who was that?” you ask, your voice croaking, thick with disuse. You can’t help the question. It tumbles from your mouth before you can stop it. You’d meant to ask him something else, but the query just, pops out, angry and trembling.

“I don’t know. One of Redestro’s cronies. Why-” His face scrunches abruptly and a wince of pain passes of his features. “Why does it matter?” He finishes, his hand gripping a little tighter against his cane.

“You didn’t have to send for me, you know. It looks like you’ve upgraded everything else, why not me too?”

A scowl echoes across his lips. “What-”

You won’t let him finish his question, you can’t stand it anymore. You also can’t seem to stop. All of the emotions, the anger, the betrayal, the fucking, God, jealous thoughts that you’d slip into, alone in your cold bed. No, you’re not going to back down.

“You didn’t call, you didn’t text, and when you did, finally, manage to remember that I exist, the texts were so far and few between...fuck, sending a letter would have been faster. The only link I had to you was Dabi-”

“What?” He snaps, repeating his question, his red eyes, flashing, gleaming, glaring. “What does he have to do with anything?” His face is set in a deep snarl, his scar lifting along his white teeth. His fingers coil into his crutch, one digit arched away, and he begins the long journey to where you’re stubbornly standing.

You watch him on bated breath. The sheer excitement of his renewed presence is making you shake. The warring feelings that are rising inside you are too much. It’s too much, it’s, oh...he’s right in front of you now.

“Answer me, (Y/N). What the fuck does Dabi have to do with anything?”

You gulp. Tomura has never, ever liked you interacting with Dabi. It was that first subtle flirtation between you and the flame user that had set Tomura off in the first place. He had barely given you a second glance that first time you met him, but once your attention wandered over to Dabi, suddenly he was all ears. That animosity grew as time wore on.

If anything, Dabi took advantage of it. He liked to press you, corner you, it was one of the many things you disliked about him. He was a selfish ass, only manipulating things for his own, twisted amusement.

It’s a low blow for you to land on Tomura, to play up his own jealousies, but turnabout is fair play, right?

“He’s the only person I could reach. You want to know who my phone keeps asking me to favorite now? Fucking Dabi. I kept asking him about you, about what was going on, but he never knew.

So, then I tried reaching out to you, directly. But then you decided to conveniently lose my fucking number, or something. You didn’t answer a single thing after that last text I sent you, what, two weeks ago? You didn't call. You didn’t even act like I exist, it-”

“I told you it would be a while.”

“Yeah, a while doesn’t typically mean two months. And how do you come back to me? With a broken leg and, fuck, three missing fingers? What is going on Tomura? You’re a different person now. Do you even want me anymore? You don’t have to ghost me. You could have just told me that you were moving onto bigger and better things.

Congratulations, by the way. You’re the leader of a cult. Now, you can cut off all those lousy loose ends, like me-”

“You’re jealous.”

His voice has dipped into that low octave again, rasping, deep, and oh, fuck. You sputter at his assessment, your hands clenching into your pants. You need something to tether you, to keep you from reaching for him. You’re angry, remember? He’s left you, all alone, so alone and...

He’s shifted to lean into you, the warmth of him rolling over you in waves. You can hear his breathing, if you move a little bit closer you could feel it, too. He knows what he’s doing. He’s used this tactic on you before. It’s very effective. His crutch taps him nearer. He’s practically flush against your heaving chest and your eyes flick up to his.

The red is dark, tempered, and that swirling agitation has left him. He looks…

No, no, he left you for months, he can’t look at you like that. You shake your head, your eyes wincing shut, blocking him from view.

“I’m not...I-I’m not jealous, I was just-”

“Come here, (Y/N). Don’t make me ask you again.”

His new, half prosthetic hand reaches for your neck and traces over your trembling throat, ghosting over you, forcing you to press toward him. Once he’s satisfied you’re not going to reject his touch, he lets the digits tap onto you, gently, slowly, like he’s coaxing you out of your temper. The contrast of cool metal and warm skin makes you gasp, your eyes fluttering open.

He’s curved over your lips, his white hair drifting softly around your face. Unthinkingly, unquestioningly, you reach for him. Your fingers lace into the silken tendrils and he lets a slow exhale wash over your face. His verdant eyes are so close. They’re fixated on yours, refusing to let you slip from his gaze again.

You can’t breathe. There’s something else you want to scold him for, but...but his lips are so close. His nose bumps against yours and you bite your lower lip. He’s so warm. He smells nice too. It’s a rich smell, earthy, thick with some enticing aroma that’s all him. It floods your senses and you’re downing, distracted and lost.

Tomura’s won this little stand-off because you reach for him first. Your fingertips urge him to you, one thumb dragging a familiar trail across the mole on his chin. His lips are chapped, rough, but oh, oh you’ve missed this.

He lets you lead him, your lips pressing and lifting, planting feather light caresses against him. Your tongue swipes across his lower lip and he groans. It’s a husky, broken sound and it makes you yank at his clothes. His new suit crumples under your hands. You’d almost feel bad, if he hadn’t been such a neglectful ass to you. You’re nipping at him now, your kisses losing that sweet vulnerability.

Tomura approves of this frantic pace and one arm cages against your back, lifting you closer and dragging you against his front. His crutch clatters to the floor, but neither of you have the wherewithal to care.

Besides, you think happily, you can be his crutch now.

He’s biting and sucking, his teeth drifting from your trembling lips and pressing into your pulse. One particularly hard nip has you arching into him, a gasping whimper on your lips. His tongue laves over the hurt, lulling the nip.

Your hips instinctually lean into the his and you moan when you feel the hardness that is waiting for you there. Tomura presses back, dipping his nose into the juncture of your shoulder, his lips distractedly kissing against your skin. Your fingers trace down his front again and one hand goes lower still, running along his pants until you find what you’re searching for.

He growls when you apply just the right amount of pressure and he’s pulling your lips back to his, demanding more. You’re skirting your other hand to the clasp of his belt when someone barges in the door.

Gasping, you start to pull away, trying to turn, but Tomura holds you to him, lifting his chin until it’s resting against your shoulder. He’s glaring out at whomever the fuck is standing in the doorway, but his fingertips are moving against you, pressing and soothing down your fevered skin.

“Hey boss- ah…” Dabi is brought up short by the sight that greets him and you can hear the sneer that he must have thrown Tomura’s way.

Tomura, for his part, is quiet, content to silently stare down the man who stupidly interrupted him. He turns his head a fraction of an inch, but it’s enough room for him to drag his rough lips against your neck. You quake at the stimulation and hear Dabi let out a barking laugh.

“Ew, well this is fucking disgusting. Looks like the two of you can go back to fucking normal, eh (Y/N)? You and boss man can bone and get all that pent up insecurity out of your-”

“Get the fuck out,” you and Tomura say in unison.

You hear another scoffing chuckle and then the door slams shut.

Notes: The Dabi bits miiiight be in there because I finally got my belated birthday present of his Banpresto figure in today ԅ(≖◡≖ԅ)

Tags: @spicy-skull, @xwildskullx, @yixxes, @ghstmthr, @evesmores

*I think that’s everyone for now. If you wanna be added to a list just drop me a line & I’ll get you on the Google Doc: Shigaraki works, Dabi works, Hawks works, BNHA works, All works...works, works. There’s likely more to come, but that’s what I got for now. k byeeee.

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taetaespeaches · 4 years

Text

“I’m the lay of your life, huh?”

taehyung x reader (or oc) genre: smut; fluff word count: 3.3K

a/n: Here is the smut scene that takes place right where “I’m pretty sure we just smashed your cowboy hat” leaves off. Sooo it’s Tae and Peaches’ first time. Anyways yeah, it’s literally just sex the entire time so if you don’t like smut, don’t read this... it’s 3.3K words of just sex lmao. For those of you who do like smut, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy :))

“Everyone loves a little platonic friendship,” Taehyung smirked as you gasped against his mouth making him let out a breathy chuckle. He met you in a messy kiss, your hand on his bicep squeezing the muscle as your other hand desperately reached down to grab his wrist.

He pulled his lips from yours, resting his forehead against your own as he paused the movement of his hand, looking into your eyes. “You’re sure this is ok?”

Smiling, you craned your neck upward to kiss his lips softly, nodding. Before giving him the verbal answer you knew he wanted, you lifted your hips up against his hand, Taehyung letting out an amused scoff as he kissed you harder.

Stubbornly, however, he refused to move his fingers again. His lips hovering over your own, he nudged your nose with his cutely. “Use your words, Peaches,” he told you in his husky voice.

You groaned in annoyance, squeezing his wrist in your hand trying to get him to do something with it. “Fuck,” you huffed, Taehyung smiling widely. “Yes, Tae, I’m sure.” Kissing you softly, his fingers started circling your clit again, you opening your mouth in pleasure as Tae began kissing your face sweetly.

Grinding your hips against Taehyung’s fingers, he groaned lowly, trailing his lips down your neck, to your collarbone, sucking on your skin. His mouth continued traveling down the center of your chest until he met the lace of your bra. Taking the material between his teeth, he tugged on it, his eyes looking up to lock on your own. He pouted at you, making you giggle as you let go of his wrist before shoving against his chest to direct him to sit up. You followed him, reaching behind your back to unlatch your bra, letting the straps fall off your shoulders, keeping your eyes on Tae’s as he stared at your chest with a hooded gaze. Pulling the bra from your body, you tossed it somewhere in the room, letting out a light moan at just the simple gesture of Tae chewing on his lower lip.

You grabbed his wrist again, bringing his hand to your chest to which he instantly gently squeezed the flesh, your other hand grabbing the back of his neck as you guided him to kiss you. He easily took control, using his weight to push you back to the mattress as he brought his mouth to your chest, wasting no time in attaching his mouth to one of your nipples.

He moved his hand back down to your center, overtop your underwear this time, as he focused most of his attention to your breasts. Your fingers threaded into the hair at the nape of his neck, panting as Tae suddenly scooted down your body, kissing your stomach just above your panties. Reaching underneath the clothing, he slid them down your legs, you bending your knees to assist him.

Taehyung smirked at you from where he sat between your legs, dangling your underwear from a finger, you rolling your eyes in response. You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him forward making him stumble atop you, catching himself with his face hovering over your waist. Giggling, he kissed your abdomen a few times before positioning his body lower, laying flat on his stomach with his face overtop your middle.

He took his time as he allowed his eyes to roam freely over your body. Feeling exposed and vulnerable, you tried to shut your legs, but he placed his hands on the insides of your thighs keeping them open as he continued staring.

“Tae,” you whined, your body feeling hot and needy. He smiled amusedly before turning toward your thigh, leaving a lingering kiss to the flesh. You whined again, Taehyung chuckling as he looked back up at you.

“What do you want, Peaches?” He asked, an evil glint in his eyes as you glared at him. “Don’t wanna tell me?” He raised his eyebrows. You stubbornly continued to glare at him without a word, Taehyung staring right back. “That’s fine, I can just hang out down here until you decide to speak up,” he told you as he settled the side of his head against your thigh, using it as a pillow. “The view is nice here.”

Letting out a frustrated sigh mixed with a laugh, you tried to shove him off your leg by jolting it upward, though he just giggled, nuzzling against it even more. “Fuck, Taehyung, just eat me out,” you told him bluntly, Taehyung lifting his head to look at you enthusiastically.

“Of course, Peaches,” he smiled, lowering his mouth to hover over where you need him most. “Whatever you want,” he whispered, his lips barely touching you as he spoke the words, your breath hitching at the sensation. His tongue was suddenly pressing against you, you raising your hips making Tae use one of his arms to hold them down as he continued working you with his tongue.

“Oh my god,” you breathed out, rolling your head to the side, your arms folded over your face. When you continued to fight against his hold, trying to lift your hips, he reached for your ankles, pushing your knees toward your chest, hindering your movements as well as allowing him more access to you.

Every reservation you had about being so exposed to him was throttled when he let out a growling moan against you, sucking and licking with no inhibition. In that moment, you thought this man must have been put on this planet to eat pussy because oh my fucking god.

He released your ankles, placing one hand flat against your abdomen while his other hand snaked down to your core. He looked up at you to catch you staring down at him with your lustful gaze and he had the audacity to smirk just as his finger slid inside you. You took in a breath of air, chewing on your bottom lip as he kept his eyes on yours, leaving a sweet kiss to your clit. With a scoff, you threw your head back against the pillow.

As you started clenching around his finger, he inserted another digit, switching between plunging them in and out of you and folding them forward and back quickly, his tongue staying focused on your clit. There was something sexy about the way his hand just rested upon your stomach as you clenched and breathed in response to his mouth and fingers. You could tell he liked feeling the way your stomach contracted and expanded in response to him.

“Tae,” you whined, Taehyung’s hand on your stomach squeezing as he pushed on the muscles of your abdomen. You placed a hand on his head, lacing your fingers in his hair as your other found his hand on your stomach.

Tugging on his hand, Tae looked up at you. “Come here,” you told him with a blissful smile. The man raised his eyebrows as he smiled happily, crawling up your body. Straddling your waist he looked down at your body.

“You’re stunning,” he admired, his eyes finding yours as he flashed you his gorgeous boxy smile. He reached up to your face, gripping your chin between his fingers and you took his wrist in your hands before folding his fingers down except for the ones that were just inside you. Guiding the fingers into your mouth, you watched Taehyung’s eyes become even heavier with lust as you sucked and swirled your tongue around the digits. “Fuck,” he breathed out, pulling his fingers from your mouth as he unabashedly reached inside his own underwear, pulling himself out and stroking slowly.

You wet your lips at the sight, his golden skin on display for your eyes as you reached down and gripped the back of his thighs. “Get up here,” you told him, guiding him to crawl up your body. His eyes widened in surprise but he eagerly scooted up the bed until his thighs were on either sides of your shoulders. One of your hands left his leg to grip his length, your thumb circling the underside of the head, Tae letting out a sharp breath.

You grinned amusedly as Tae beamed down at you in disbelief. Looking up, you met his hooded gaze and you dropped your jaw, inviting him into your mouth. He let out a breathy chuckle as he moved his hips forward allowing the head of his cock touch the top of your tongue, to which you instantly swirled it.

“Shit,” he stuttered out before pressing his hips gently forward, his length pushing further inside your mouth. He let out a deep groan, louder than you had expected in that moment but the sound had your entire body tingling. The rawness of the groan egged you on, encouraging you to take him further into your mouth. Your movements were limited in the position with him on top of you, but you bobbed your head as much as you could, sucking and moving your tongue around him.

One of his hands found the top of your head, his fingers threading through your hair. He moved his fingers against your scalp in soothing motions as he stared at your lips wrapped around him. Your hand on the back of his thigh squeezed the muscle as you took him particularly deep, Tae jolting forward and catching himself against the headboard.

“Fuck, Peaches, you gotta stop,” he warned with a chuckle.

Releasing him with a pop, you beamed up at him, amused and very turned on by how he stared down at you as if you were a goddess. “Aw, but I’m having fun,” you teased, slowly moving your hand up and down his length.

“This is six years of build up,” he smiled, “And you’re way too fucking good with your mouth.”

You giggled at his compliment, admiring the fondness in his features that was all because of you. “Do you have a condom?” You asked. Taehyung immediately leaned over to pull a box of unopened condoms from the bedside drawer.

“Ok, don’t get me wrong, I’m super relieved you have those, but-”

“Don’t be jealous,” he grinned. “I bought them like two weeks ago.”

“Two weeks- we were messing around by then,” you shot him a glare.

“Yeah, obviously,” he told you, raising his eyebrows with a smirk. Your expression turned to one of confusion when suddenly realization overtook your features, a small embarrassed smile spreading across your lips. “Yeah,” he chuckled. “They’re unopened because this is the first time I’ve had you naked in my bed, so, like, if you’d let me proceed.”

Holding back a smile, you nodded in approval, Taehyung’s tongue swiping over his bottom lip as he let out a low breathy chuckle. He opened the box quickly, taking one out and carelessly tossing the box, the thud of the box hitting the ground followed by the little packages spilling over the floor echoing in your ears. “Jesus,” you laughed, Taehyung smiling proudly.

Scooting back down your body in less than graceful movements, you laughed as Tae giggled cutely. In that moment, you were reminded how special this man was. Never had you felt so comfortable with anyone in any situation, much less in bed. As he tore the package open and rolled the condom on, you realized how easy it was with him. How easy everything was with him. And suddenly you were filled with worry because, what if this doesn’t work?

When Tae looked back to your face, he easily spotted the stress in your features and his eyebrows pulled together in question. Taking your hand in his, he gently squeezed it. “What’s wrong?” He asked you kindly.

“I don’t ever want to live without you,” you confessed openly. There was no point in hiding your worry, he would know if you concealed it. He always knew.

He blinked a few times but you could see he understood what you were saying. Bringing your hand to his lips, he left a kiss to the back of it before he unstraddled your hips and sat on the bed next to you.

“Maybe it’s naïve to say we won’t ever have to live without each other, but I really can’t imagine a scenario where we don’t end up together, Peaches.” The words were spoken so sincerely you found yourself sitting up so your shoulder was rubbing against his own. “There’s not a day I wouldn’t at least fight for you,” he continued as he looked toward you, “fight to be in your life.”

You rested your chin on his shoulder before pressing a kiss to his warm skin, him giving you a soft smile in response. “I’ve fought for you before, I’m not just gonna let you go,” he told you. Looking into his eyes, you knew neither of you could predict the future, but you also knew neither of you was going to give the other up easily. For six years you’d loved all of each other.

Without a word, you gently brought your free hand to the side of his face and ran your thumb overtop his cheek a few times, trying to convey your feelings of surety to him. The way he raised his eyebrows gave him an innocence only Tae could possess. He watched as you sat up on your knees and swung your leg over his own. Before he could even ask if you were sure, you whispered, “I want this. I want you. I have for years, baby.”

His hands found your hips as yours slid into the hair at the nape of his neck, and you kissed him deeply, pouring six years of love and trust into the action. Tae slowly dropped his back to the mattress, you following him, your lips never disconnecting. As your hand left his neck to reach for is length, one of his slid down to hold onto your upper thigh. You pulled away from his lips just enough to look into his eyes.

“You’re my person,” he told you softly.

“And you’re mine,” you confessed as you guided him inside, a gasp leaving your lips just as he kissed you again.

Before you could move, you felt Taehyung’s hands grip your body with strength, his eyes staring into yours, searching. “You’re absolutely certain?” He asked, making sure there wasn’t even a single ounce of doubt.

“I am,” you told him before placing a lingering kiss to his lips. “And you?”

“Of course,” he nodded, kissing you sweetly again.

Smiling into the kiss, you began rolling your hips on top of him, a low groan sounding from Taehyung against your mouth.

“Fuck, baby,” you whimpered against his lips. Taehyung bucked his hips up into you, making you moan louder than you normally would.

Enjoying the affect his action had on you, he smirked as he bent his knees and positioned his feet flat against the mattress. Slamming his hips upwards, you paused your movements allowing him to take over and set the pace.

“God,” he breathed out, his face pulled together in concentration, “you’re so incredible. So beautiful.”

Letting out a whine, you smiled lethargically. “So are you,” you breathed sharply as he pounded up into you. “You’re so pretty,” you moaned.

“Pretty?” He smiled sincerely, you nodding quickly as he fucked you. He let out a breathy chuckle, whispering “pretty” once more before hastily flipping you over, his cock slipping out as he did so making you groan in frustration. He smirked above you as he stood on his knees, his eyes raking over your bare frame. “Unreal,” he sighed, dipping his length inside you before pulling it back out teasingly. He repeated the motion a few times before you whined in annoyance. “What, Peaches?”

“Tae,” you complained.

“What do you want, baby?” He asked with a smirk.

Scoffing with a smile, you shook you head. Tae simply raised his eyebrows expectantly and you chuckled lightly. “I want you,” you whined, topping it off with a pout.

The man cooed above you, lowering his body to yours so he could kiss your pout. “You have me,” he told you sweetly, you kissing him again.

“I want you to fuck me,” you whispered against his mouth, reveling in the way his lips curved upwards at the comment. He pushed back into you, your arms wrapping around his lower back.

“That’s all you had to say,” he teased as he thrusted in and out, slowly but hard and intentional. You smiled, letting out a small laugh just before he confessed, “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

“Me either,” you told him breathily. You knew he must have been closer than you when his hand slipped between your bodies, his fingers working your clit in hopes of bringing you to your high with him.

When his moans got louder, you reached down to his wrist, pulling his hand away and intertwining your fingers with his as you clenched around him, pushing your heels into the backs of his legs, pulling him closer to you.

He locked his eyes on yours and you smiled. He smiled back before squeezing his eyes shut, resting his forehead against your own. His thrusts got quicker and shallower as you placed sweet kisses to his cheek. His hand that wasn’t wrapped up with yours found your waist as he squeezed your dewy flesh. Kissing you hastily, he moaned loudly against your lips. He squeezed your hand and you squeezed back, your hand on his lower back clenching the muscles that were contracting and tensing.

“Come on, baby,” you moaned in his ear, “Fuck, cum for me, Tae,” you continued, the pleasure mounting for the both of you. He let go into the condom with a low drawn out groan against your neck, his hips stalled as he came down from the sensation. Your hand slid out of his so you could thread it through his dampened hair.

“Wow,” he chuckled against your lips before placing a few kisses to them and then trailing them down your chin to your neck where he exhaled against your dampened skin. He caught his breath, his cock still inside you as he chuckled in the crook of your neck. “I promise you’ll cum first next time,” he giggled against your neck, no embarrassment or shame present in his tone, which for some reason was extremely sexy.

You expected him to stay still against your body for a bit longer, but he surprised you when he started trailing kisses down the valley of your chest. Your eyes followed him as he traveled down, pressing sweet kisses to your abdomen, and when he reached your center, he took no time in burying his face between your legs.

You gasped at the return of his tongue, letting out a breathy, “Tae.” He moaned against you and in another twenty seconds you were crashing into your orgasm full force, Tae smirking as he continued to work you through your high. When you jolted against him, overwhelmed by the sensation, he pulled away, looking up at you with a wide happy smile. “Holy shit,” you breathed out, Taehyung chuckling.

Crawling back up your body, Tae crash on top of your form, his golden skin glistening in a light sheen of sweat. “You’re phenomenal.”

“You too,” you giggled, the man continuing to laugh with you.

You both stayed like that for a moment, fingers grazing over bare skin, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake as you drank in the feeling of being joined together like this. However, Taehyung broke the comfortable silence when he popped his head up, resting his chin at the very top of your breast and shot you a goofy smile.

“Don’t think because you just gave me lay of my life that you don’t still owe me a cowboy hat,” he teased, you bursting into laughter at the stupid comment.

“I’m the lay of your life, huh?” You asked through your giggles.

“Definitely,” he beamed.

“Well,” you started as your laughter faded out, leaving behind a stupidly smitten smile. “Yeehaw, baby.”

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