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justwearthegoddamncardigan · 6 months

Note

Hi Rin! I've been reading your writings and I've been having the best fun, thanks you for the hard work! Seeing that you are accepting requests I was wondering if you could do a Minho x reader? (Female if possible but ofc if not that's good too!) With reader having a sweet and caring personality and Minho at the beginning scoffing at her bc he thinks everyone is too soft on them but newt and others commenting of him being hyper aware so they tease him saying he has a crush? And then a scene where he starts developing feels and he's like nonono but there's no way out hehe. Hope you have a very lovely day!

This is so cute!!!!!! Thanks for requesting (and waiting 😭) ❤❤

Got a very teenage vibe from this as I was writing, hence the title

Teenage dream

Minho x fem!reader

Set during tmr (movieverse, before Thomas)

Notes: this is more of a Minho pov fic? Hope that's ok :))) Kinda switches back to reader at the end though

Warnings: vomit tw, language, reader's drunkness levels change drastically within minutes, ALSO TEENAGE AWKWARDNESS TO THE MAX, I swear Minho has better game in my other fics, he's just a silly sweet guy here lmao

"Light 'em up!"

Minho stands back as the other boys throw their stakes into the bonfire, watching you giggle at their raucous cheers from across the Glade, an involuntary smile rising on his face.

Before long, the party's in full swing; meaning everyone is now yet again horribly, stupidly drunk.

Minho, as usual, has only had a bit of Gally's concoction, and is idly chatting with Ben as he hears a loud crash.

"What the..."

He leaves Ben, jogging over to the scene to see... of course.

It's you, the two-months-in Greenie, and you're sprawled out on the ground in a mess of barrels that have been knocked down, potatoes spilling everywhere.

Your arms are tangled with Newt's- Newt? and you're both laughing, harder than Minho's seen Newt laugh in a while.

"We- the potatoes. The potatoes," Newt manages to say, gasping between cackles.

"Eh. Problem for tomorrow," you sing, extracting yourself from the barrels and potatoes that are now all over the ground.

"Here," says Minho, containing his eyeroll and stepping forward to offer Newt an arm.

"Thanks, man."

Minho tugs Newt up, and yep, he's plastered cause Newt flies up and stumbles forward, crashing into an amused Jeff and nearly sending them both tumbling down.

You stand beside Newt, body folding in laughter as you reach out to grab his arm.

"What's going on?" Alby's voice cuts through the chaos.

You wobble over to him, grabbing one of his hands and clasping it between both of yours in a praying motion. "Sorry, Albs. We'll clean it up in the morning, promise."

"Yeah, you better," says Alby, and his voice is stern but Minho can see the smile reaching his eyes.

What the hell? What happened to their strict leader?

"Thanks, leader man," you say with a grin, patting his chest and giving him a cheesy thumbs up.

Suddenly shouts sound out nearby, and Minho turns to see someone staggering around before turning and throwing up right onto a tabletop.

"Dammit, Ben," mutters Jeff, pinching the bridge of his nose and rushing over.

"Did someone throw up?" Minho hears you ask, before you jog over, veering slightly off to the side as you run.

He sighs and follows you, to where the Gladers are standing around Ben making various ew and gross sounds as if they don't have someone chuck up at least every couple months.

"I ain't cleaning this up for you," Minho tells Ben as he helps him up.

"The whole damn table is gonna stink for months," groans Jeff, looking over the table the Medjacks lent for the bonfire.

"Sorry," mumbles Ben, his words slurring slightly.

"It's alright," you say comfortingly, grabbing a piece of wood you got from god knows where and scraping the stuff into a bin.

"Hey, strong men," you call. "Grab this table and go spray it at the hose."

"Sorry," repeats Ben.

Minho sighs, and shakes his head. "Not your fault you're a lightweight," he says light-heartedly, punching his friend in the arm gently.

He watches as you wash your hands quickly before grabbing a cup of water and bringing it over to Ben.

"Here," you say, handing it to him. "Don't worry, the table's fine. Worst case we'll use it as firewood for next time."

You trip slightly as you step back, and Minho shoots out an arm to grab your waist before he even knows what he's doing. "Alright?" he asks.

You grin, patting his arm. "Guess I'm not as steady as I thought I was."

"Oh really," Minho lifts an eyebrow. "You thought you were steady when you fell into three barrels of potatoes?"

"Ya know, the one time that happens..."

"You mean, just now?"

"Yeah, that one time,"

"Stop with this couples banter," groans Ben. "My head hurts."

"Hungover and drunk at the same time," you say, nodding so sympathetically Minho genuinely can't tell if you're acting or not. "Here, let's get you to bed."

⭒----⭒

"Every month we manage to top the last month's mess," announces Alby, sitting on a table as he addresses the Gladers, most of whom are still waking up and groaning.

He throws out orders for each group, eyes shut and massaging his temples as he speaks, before he gets to; "Y/n, Newt. Gardeners."

"Minho and I already packed up the potatoes from yesterday," begins Alby, and Minho warms as he feels your eyes on him.

"Some of them were crushed under the barrels," Alby continues. "We lost some supplies."

You bite your lip, looking up nervously. You exchange a glance with Newt, and you're wearing identical guilty expressions.

Alby rolls his eyes. "Like scolded children, both of you. Just get to your jobs, go on."

"Thanks mate," says Newt, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

"Yeah, thanks Alby." You give him a little sheepish smile before leaving.

"I'll check on our leftover supplies," says Newt. "Minho, come with?"

"Wh- sure," says Minho, following behind.

⭒----⭒

"Something on your mind?" asks Newt, shifting some food barrels around.

"You're all too soft on her," mumbles Minho, crossing his arms.

"What's that?"

"You, all of you. With Y/n. You shouldn't be letting her get away with things just cause she smiles, or reward her cause she does one tiny nice thing."

Newt turns around, an amused expression on his face, which is infuriating but also extremely worrying.

"What," snaps Minho.

"Nothing," says Newt, all innocent. "What do you mean 'get away with'?"

"Like just then," says Minho. "She got drunk at the bonfire and made a whole mess, then what? Just flirted her way out of trouble? That's bullshit right there."

"I was with her, I made that mess too."

"You weren't the one who fell into the barrels," Minho fires back.

"And how would you know that? You must've been watching her pretty closely." Newt's full on grinning now, hands on his hips in mock sternness.

Minho deflects. "Whatever, she shouldn't get away with making a mess like that."

"Mate, everyone gets shucking plastered at the bonfires. Don't tell me you've been blind to Zart passing out on the ground every month or how Ben can hardly get through his morning runs."

"I mean, yeah, but people don't knock whole barrels of crop over."

"Winston damn near fell into the fire last month."

"That's different," insists Minho.

"Fine," says Newt, sighing. "Can we go back to when you said she flirts her way out of trouble?"

Minho freezes. "...what?"

"Go on then," says Newt, grin stretching on his face. "What'd you mean?"

Minho averts his gaze, uncharacteristically conflicted. "Ya know, just like... how she had her hands all over Alby last night, when he should've been yelling at her or something."

Newt raises an eyebrow, tilting his head at Minho. "What, did you want her to get in trouble?"

"No! Of course not," protests Minho. "Just- in general, it's not fair. To flirt like that and... you know," he finishes weakly.

"That's not flirting mate, she's just an affectionate drunk."

"Yeah... Whatever."

"You know," begins Newt. "One of these days you'll understand, and the rest of us'll be here, laughing our damn asses off at you."

Minho scrunches up his face, confused.

Newt laughs, tossing an arm around his friend. "Give it time, you'll get it."

⭒----⭒

It's a month later, after the next bonfire, that someone finally has the courage to tell it straight to Minho.

" -and people think she's like, the greatest soul to bless the Glade. It's stupid. The other day, she helped Gally carry something, ya know, cause his shoulder was shucked, and I swear, the whole of the Builders had stars in their eyes." Minho huffs, rolling his eyes.

"And," he continues. "She looks after Greenies like they're incapable of walking. Then suddenly everyone loves her?"

"Everyone loves Newt," Ben points out. "Why aren't you getting all pissed about him?"

"I'm not pissed," argues Minho. "I'm just observing... stating. People give her credit for just being a vaguely decent human being."

"Minho. You sound insane. You're literally listing good things, and twisting them into... whatever bullshit point you're trying to make."

Ben continues. "Y/n is a decent human being. She's kind, caring, better than the rest of us assholes at accommodating the newbies. She helps people out. Is that so bad?"

"I mean, no... but-,"

"But nothing!" interrupts Ben. "Why are you so obsessed, anyway? Haven't you given some thought into why you're hyperaware of her every move?"

"Oi! Are you telling him?" Newt's voice rings out from across the empty dining hall.

"Yes," says Ben, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Cause this is exhausting."

"Shuckin' finally," says Newt, clapping Ben on the shoulder as he slides into the bench beside him. "Someone needed to do it soon."

"What," snaps Minho.

"You have a crush," says Ben, tugging on his hair exasperatedly. "A stupid schoolyard crush- which I don't even have memory of, but you're just so-"

"What Ben is trying to say," interrupts Newt. "Is that you like Y/n."

"What? No, I-"

"And," Ben cuts in. "Somewhere in that thick head of yours, your lovey-dovey feelings are fighting with your denial and causing this." He gestures vaguely towards Minho.

"I don't know what you're talking about," retorts Minho.

"Of course not," says Ben flatly. "But now that we've told you, it should only be a matter of time."

"I mean..." Newt struggles for a second, before giving up, shoulders sagging. "Yeah, Ben's summed it up pretty well."

⭒----⭒

A crush? There's no way. Minho frowns to himself, lost in thought as he walks out of the shower block.

The Glade is in the best time of the day right now. It's when everyone's wrapping up the day's work and hitting the showers, before waiting around for dinner.

Minho's showered early today, so the dining area just has a few people idly sitting around chatting. He nods at Newt, who makes eye contact with him across the dining area and starts walking over.

Newt stops though, as someone else slides into the bench across from Minho. It's you.

Minho widens his eyes at Newt, who simply grins and turns to sit somewhere else.

Fine. Minho sighs internally, turning to you. "Y/n, hey."

"Hey," you greet, flicking your hair back. You've got a small towel resting on your shoulders to keep your clothes dry while your hair's still wet. Minho notes this information for no particular reason.

"Listen," you say, leaning forward intently. Pretty. The thought crosses Minho's mind without his consent. You look clean, fresh out of the shower, sunset casting your face in a warm glow. Nope, no way this is happening.

"Uh Minho, ya with me?"

" 'course," he responds quickly. "What's up?"

You grin, clearly seeing through him, but you continue anyway. "So, Ben tells me the forest around the Runners' hut is really pretty. Flowers and all. Is that true?"

"Yeah," says Minho. "The pond is nice too."

You hum, nodding in thought. "Take me sometime?"

"Yeah, sure," says Minho.

You know what, shuck it.

"Do you wanna go now?" he offers, resolve clicking inside him.

Minho's heart picks up at your smile, beaming at him. "Yeah, let's go."

⭒----⭒

"I can't believe you've never been here," says Minho, standing with his hands in his pockets as you wander around the forest.

"I can't believe no one ever brought me here," you reply. "It's beautiful."

"Yeah..." He trails off, watching you bend and smile at some purple orchids. "...beautiful." Fuck.

"Can I be honest with you, Minho?" he hears you ask.

"Of course," he responds, leaning on a tree.

"I was kinda worried," you begin, still looking down at the orchids. "That you didn't like me, or something."

Minho's eyebrows fly up. "Wh-"

"I just- I wanted to clear it up. Cause you seem like a cool person, and I'd like for us to be... friends." You sound uncertain, and Minho feels like an absolute shit.

"No!" As your head whips up, he hastily continues, "I mean, yes, of course, just-"

He groans. "It's my fault, I'm just- I was stupid. An idiot, actually. I've been-"

You've got a confused expression as Minho huffs out a frustrated sigh. "It wasn't anything like... what you're thinking. I just had some other feelings- thoughts, in the way. And I guess it came off like I didn't like you. But I do. I like you a lot," he admits.

You let out a soft laugh. "I'm glad. I didn't want it to be," you gesture vaguely. "Ya know."

Minho smiles, and seems to shake himself slightly, nodding towards a tree near the Runner's hut. "Come check out these ones."

He leads you to a tree with white flowers peeking through the leaves.

"Hey, Minho."

"Yeah?"

"What'd you mean 'other feelings'?"

Um. "What?" He asks nervously.

"You said there were 'other feelings' in the way. What did that mean?"

"Just... in general," he says weakly. "Feelings, thoughts. Etcetera."

You frown slightly at him, confused, but you're distracted as he reaches up to the tree.

"These're Ben's pride and joy," he says idly, plucking one of the flowers. "A damn pain to grow at first, but now they just bloom on their own."

You swallow as he turns to you, holding up the flower.

"Here."

Your heart beats fast as he steps into your space, and tucks the flower into your hair, behind your ear.

Neither of you move. Minho's hand is still hovering at your cheek, your face tilted up to meet his eyes, open and earnest.

Oh. Oh.

You break first, ducking your head down. "So, uh-"

"Yeah," says Minho, hand rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously.

He takes a deep breath. "So I, uh- I don't know what I'm doing, like... at all. Ya know, Ben and Newt had to sit me down and... whatever. I just- I like you," he confesses in a rush. "And I know I've done a shucked job of showing it, but I really, really like you."

You huff out a laugh, incredulous. "Minho, I like you too. That's mostly why I wanted to get closer to you."

"Oh," says Minho. "Well... do you think we could go on a date sometime? Maybe here, with the flowers. We could do dinner?"

You smile. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"Great," says Minho, grinning in a way he knows looks stupid (he doesn't care). "Cool.

"I guess we should be getting back, then." Minho gestures back to where the Glade is probably eating dinner now.

"Yeah," you agree, starting off behind him.

"Minho?" He turns at your voice, looking down at the hand you've extended, palm-up.

As he puts his arm out in the same way, slightly confused, you slip your hand in his, interlocking your fingers. You see his wide grin as you glance to your side.

"Hey, Y/n, think that date can be tomorrow?"

"Yes, absolutely."

Went full teenager throwback for this one - the awkwardness is tangible

Thanks for reading <3 Requests are open as always :)

#the maze runner #minho x reader #tmr minho x reader #tmr minho #my writing

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snippychicke · 7 months

Text

It's Just Business Part One

Go ahead, say it. 'Eliza, don't you have enough WIPs?

Yes. I do. But One Piece has brought me the most productive Muse I have had in a long time. And who am I to resist? Especially this face

Hopefully my last WIP for One Piece LA, and I can get all three done.

Fandom: One Piece (LA mainly)

Rating: Teen so far

Pairing: Sanji/Reader

Warnings: No real warnings, but god, I hope you like pining

Summary: You felt like you had known Sanji forever, considering your family had been the main merchants Zeff used to supply the Baratie. You had a small crush on him, but knew it was hopeless considering you were the one woman he didn't seem to pine over.

It was fine. Or so you thought until you ended up on the Going Merry as a bookkeeper and supply manager. Being around him 24/7 was a lot more difficult than just a few days a week.

(Please note 》°《 denotes a scene in the past while -*- will be a regular scene break. Because yeah, I like my non-linear story telling.)

Masterpost | Ao3

Destination:

You grew giddy as you saw the lights of the Baratie against the darkening violet sky. The trip had been longer than usual after getting blown off course by a squall you had encountered midway, and you had worried it wouldn’t be until late in the night before you were able to reach your destination.

Lining up your ship with the deck at the back of the restaurant was pure muscle memory at this point. You had been doing this run since you were a child living on your parent’s merchant boat, after all. Patty called your name as you approached, a large grin on his face as you threw the rope to him to pull the ship in and anchor to the floating deck. "We were beginning to think you weren't going to make it tonight!"

"A small squall pushed me off course," You explained as he boarded, and you gestured to the barrel before grabbing a much smaller package along with your bag. "But you can rely on me, promise!"

The dark man huffed as he picked up the crate. "Uh huh. Just make sure to tell the others to come help before you fall too deep in Sanji's blue eyes."

"Patty!" You hissed, face burning as you paused. " I don't--It's not like that!"

The cook's laugh echoed across the deck and into the night. "I was young once too."

Theoretically, you knew he was right, yet at the same time to think of him, or many of the other veteran cooks of the Baratie as young seemed wrong.

Like Zeff.

The aforementioned chef greeted you by name as you entered the kitchen not long afterwards, his eyes crinkling as he smiled towards you. "Good to see you made it, I was starting to worry!"

"Just took a minor detour!" You excused over the clamor of the kitchens, your eyes scanning discreetly for the other blonde chef. (Sous chef, chef, cook, you still were confused by the differences.)

"Eggplant is waiting tables tonight." Zeff called, meaning your attempt at being subtle had failed spectacularly.

"Oh no," You laughed despite the blush at being caught red handed. "What'd he do this time?"

"Bein' a little shit like always,” Zeff finished whatever he was working on and washed his hands before bellowing out over the clatter of the kitchen. “Those not actively working on orders go unload Lil' Miss' ship! And you, lil' lady, let's go discuss business."

You carried your package with you back to Zeff's office. The place was nothing like the clean organized chaos of the kitchen. Instead it was pure chaos with papers and log books piled everywhere. It felt like home to you, honestly. You had been raised by merchants, after all. Your parents had taught you the motto that if a person’s office was clean and well organized, business was bad. Chaos meant business was booming and they barely had time to keep things tightly organized.

And business was always booming at the Baratie.

You took a seat across from Zeff’s desk and you two quickly fell into a heated discussion as you haggled over prices, giving each other needlessly hard times for the hell of it. After finally settling on prices, the topic moved onto what was needed for the next run.

"Alright then," Zeff said as you placed the order in your bag, along with the stack of money as payment. "You run off and find Sanji. I'm sure by now he's heard you're aboard and getting antsy."

Your smile faded as you blushed. It was a very common tease from the crew, and you were fairly sure they were just playing around. Giving everyone a hard time seemed to be the cooks’ mutually favorite pastime. "Hardly. I'm sure he's been chatting up some pretty gal or three and hasn’t even noticed."

Still, you held the package close to you as you made your way to the restaurant proper. Nemo, the Maître d’ smiled as you entered, showing you over to one of the smaller tables on the second floor balcony where you could watch the rest of the restaurant. One of the benefits was always having a table reserved on the days you were due to come in.

Even with the late hour, the Baratie was still rather busy. Couples mainly filled the tables, though you saw a few groups you assumed were friends and others that were likely business meetings. With the melting pot that was the baratie, there was no way to really tell who was civilian, marine, or pirate.

"Well, there's the lady of the hour," A familiar voice stated, pulling your attention back. Sanji smiled at you as he placed your favorite drink in front of you. "I was relieved to hear you made it safe and sound, though I did miss our usual lunch date."

"Me too, but the weather wasn't very cooperative today," You smiled as you offered the package to him. "Fresh from the tailors, as requested."

Despite being on the clock, Sanji took the seat across from you before opening up the garment box, revealing the silk button-up shirts he had ordered. There was a faint smile on his face as he examined the shirts--he had left the color and pattern choices up to you so you had went with ones that would make those sky blue eyes pop.

"You never disappoint," he said softly, apparently satisfied with your choices.

"Gotta keep my favorite business partners happy." Which was true in a sense. It was just business. He had paid you in full last time for you to go buy the shirts. But seeing Sanji smile at you like that, his blue eyes sparkling from behind fine blonde hair, woke the butterflies in your chest and was a payment of sorts all in itself.

"Well then, let me go see if those lazy asses have your usual ready. If not, give me a minute and I'll whip it up myself."

》°《

You could remember first seeing the fishshaped restaurant emerging from the fog as a child. The Baratie wasn't quite as famous as it would be, but your parents, both descended from profitable merchants themselves, could sniff out a good partnership in the making.

That's when you met the infamous Zeff. You could remember peeking out from behind your father's leg to look at the tall muscular chef, amazed by his braided mustache.

And also when you met Sanji--not much older than yourself--and at the time a fair bit thicker.

And you got along like cats and dogs.

Years passed and while you and Sanji were more likely to glare daggers at each other then say something nice, he was also the only person your age you saw the most. Your merchant ship visited every few weeks with produce, and both of you were usually roped into unloading and putting things away.

"Damned oregano," You heard him mutter as you stocked the spices.

"Doesn't that go in spaghetti?" You asked as you carefully poured sugar into the large barrel.

The look Sanji had could've killed, but you were used to him shooting daggers at you whenever you were in the same room. "What did you say?"

"Oregano,” you repeated as if he was dumb (in your defense, you were eleven and firmly believed he was.) “I do know how to make spaghetti sauce now."

"I'm just going assume you mean some kind of marinara sauce you put on spaghetti noodles," He sneered as if you were the thick one, making you roll your eyes.

"Oh right. Sorry Mr. Fancypants, but not all of us literally live in a restaurant." So many sauces and different types of noodles hardly meant anything to you when you typically ate the same thing every day when out at sea.

"Yeah, some of us weren't allowed in the galley until she was ten,” Sanji muttered under his breath not-so-quietly. “And can barely boil water as it is."

You lost your temper despite promising your family you would be on your best behavior, and impulsively grabbed a handful of the white crystalized sugar before throwing it at Sanji.

He yelled as the sugar hit him, glaring at you with murderous intent before giving another yell as he tackled you.

And the fight was on. Punches, kicks, spit, everything flew as you tussled on the floor, trying your best to make the other conceded..

"What the hell is going on here!" Zeff boomed as he pulled you both apart by the back of your shirts just minutes later, swearing both of your names. "The fuck do you think you were doing?"

"She started it by throwing sugar!" Sanji snarled.

"He was making fun of me!"

"I was just stating facts!"

“I don’t care who started it!” Zeff snarled. “But that is the wimpiest fighting I have ever seen! Absolutely disrespectful. I’m dragging both of you outside for a lesson.”

#one piece #one piece live action #sanji #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #one piece sanji

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passengerseatsam · 2 years

Text

bar fight

pairing: eddie munson x female reader

word count: 2.7k

summary: you're a bartender at the hideout. when a fight breaks out, and the band's guitarist gets thrown out, you follow him outside to make sure he's okay. what you discover might surprise you.

warnings: mentions of alcohol use; mentions of blood; sexual harassment; swearing; fist fight; mutual pining; fluff and hurt/comfort

notes: this is the first thing that I've written and finished in, like, four years.

After Eddie gets thrown out of the bar, you wait a few minutes to go find him. It takes a while for the commotion to die down. The patron with the black eye is talking gruffly to the manager, holding a cold bottle to his face, but at least he isn’t calling the cops. The barback, Gary, sends you pointed dirty looks as he mops blood off the floor. You stay planted safely behind the bar, waiting for the storm to pass.

It is partially your fault. This probably wouldn’t have happened, except you, despite knowing that Eddie’s ID was absolutely fake, let him do a few shots of tequila before his set. You didn’t think it was a big deal. He’s twenty years old, and that’s close enough to legal— not like you were feeding alcohol to a high school freshman. Besides, he had been playing here with his band every Tuesday for months, and he’d never caused any trouble. A little bit of booze to loosen up before a show couldn’t hurt, right?

Wrong.

The man was older, forties or fifties, with thin hair and breath that smelled like rum. He was laying it on thick— leaning way over the bar, into your face, telling you that certain parts of you were very pretty. Corroded Coffin had just finished their set, and Eddie, lugging an amp off the stage, had caught sight of the guy trying to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. He came in hot, all bravado and no technique. It was downhill from there.

In the end, they toss Eddie out the back door, with his bandmates on his heels. You’re left watching the chaos settle, meeting Gary’s death glare, and keeping your hands busy until the adrenaline fades.

Within a few minutes, the tension evens out. Once the creep is gone, and the manager storms back into his office, it’s easy enough to find a moment to slip out the back door. There were only five customers there, to begin with— four, now that Eddie decked one in the face. They’re good and soused; won’t need you for a while. It’s the time of night where you start watering down their drinks, anyway. You grab a bottle of bottom-shelf vodka on your way out.

Sure enough, the van is still parked at the back of the building where it usually is. Gareth and Jeff are pacing back and forth, loading drums and equipment into the back. When you step outside, Jeff pokes his head out from the van, looks you over, and sighs. “Hope you’re here to give us a hand with all this shit.”

“You wish. Where is he?”

He jerks his head to the side, directing your attention toward the front of the van. Eddie is sitting sideways in the passenger seat, holding a black bandana over his left eye. The only streetlight is flickering, so it’s hard to get a good view of the harm done. Already, you can tell that a bruise is blooming across his left cheek, a fat trickle of blood streaming from his nose and over his split lip. He took a few hits, but he seems well enough. His legs are swinging guilelessly where they hang off the edge of the van, Reeboks untied and barely on his feet. God forbid he ever sit still.

“Hey, Rambo.” You call, appraising him with a lifted brow. His head lifts. “Haven’t you ever heard you shouldn’t start a fight you can’t finish?”

“I did finish it,” Eddie grumbles. “I finished it on the floor, but I finished it.”

You snicker. “I’d ask how the other guy looks, but I saw him already. I think you look worse.”

“He looks like an asshole,” he gripes. He has the soft, unfocused air of drunkenness still lingering over him. Apparently, the beating didn’t quite sober him up. At least, you’re hoping that it’s lingering drunkenness, and not a concussion. “He is an asshole.”

“Well, the manager promised that asshole free drinks next time as a thank-you for not calling the cops.”

“So he gets free drinks and I get banished?” Eddie scowls. You shrug. Life is unfair that way.

“You threw the first punch,” you remind him. In all honesty, you do feel kind of bad. He’s drunk, but he thought he was doing the right thing. You’ve seen plenty of bar fights break out over less. He scoffs, head shaking.

After a beat of silence, his good eye glances back at you. “How about — are you okay?” His words are soft around the edges too, blending together in the way only tequila can do. “Me? I’m fine. That guy’s been here once or twice.” Or three, or four, or five times. But you had been working at the Hideout for about a year now, and getting hit on was kind of par for the course. The guy was a little rude and a little forward, but up until today, he’d been generally harmless. At least he tipped well. You had it under control.

So you didn’t need Eddie to come tumbling to your rescue, guns blazing. Maybe you should tell him as much— and you will, eventually— but that isn’t the point. You didn’t come out here to lecture him. You didn’t come out to flatter his ego, either. You didn’t ask for this, so you don’t really owe him your thanks. You just came to… check on him, you suppose. Make sure he’s all in one piece. After all, he meant well. You hate to be the reason he’s out here, bleeding in the cold.

Instead, you hold up the bottle of vodka in your hand. “Well, we don’t have a first aid kit.” Don’t tell the health inspector. “But I grabbed what I could.”

Eddie groans. “No more. My head is already spinning.”

“It’s not to drink, dumbass,” you interject with a soft laugh. “You’ve had enough.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

You stretch your hand out, and Eddie proffers the black bandana he’s been holding. It’s crumpled, damp with sweat; the corner he’s been holding to his face is saturated with blood. With it gone, you can see the extent of the damage. There’s a gash slicing through his eyebrow, dripping thickly toward the hollow above his lid. The red mark under his eye is most definitely going to be purple by tomorrow. You open the bottle, and soak a clean corner of the bandana in the alcohol. Eddie’s nose wrinkles at the smell of it. For a second, you’re worried that this was a bad idea, that the smell might be the thing that pushes him over the edge. You’re not quite sure how drunk he is, and the last thing you need now is for him to be puking out the side of his van. But he swallows, and his face evens out, in control. “You don’t have to do all this,” he says, contrite.

“I know, but it’s the least I can do. This is the most action I’ve seen on a Tuesday shift in ages.” He snorts a laugh at that, his fat lip in the way of his halfhearted grin. You’re passively thankful that the brawl left him with all his teeth.

You decide to start with the eyebrow. Eddie hisses when you touch the wet bandana to the spot, grin curling into a snarl. “Sorry,” you rush. You dab at the crusted blood that’s matted into the hair, as gently and as precisely as you can manage in the dim light. It’s quiet for a moment, you working and him trying his best to sit still, for once.

You’ve never looked at Eddie closely like this. Of course, you knew his face— you saw him every Tuesday when he played, and sometimes on weekends when he came to see another band. He was basically a coworker. You’d never taken the time to notice the details. His eyebrows are thick and symmetrical, with a slow and steady curve. His jaw is square, overtly masculine, but his cheekbones are high and defined in a way that softens the rest of his structure, boyish. He has a smattering of freckles near his temple, mostly hidden underneath the unruly bangs. Although the fight had been over for thirty minutes now, and despite the September air, there’s still a thin sheen of sweat on his skin. His chest is still rising and falling distinctly, as if he can’t quite catch his breath. If it weren’t so dark, he might be able to see the blush creeping up your throat. You swallow.

“Does it hurt?” you ask, voice barely above a murmur.

He shrugs. “I’ve had worse.”

“I meant your pride,” you tease with a smirk. “That old guy kicked your ass.”

“Oh.” He scoffs. His tone is casual, but his voice is thin. With your eyes focused on his brow, you don’t notice him sneaking a glance at your lips, parted in concentration. “Please. He’s lucky I left my rings at home. He’d be in the hospital right now.”

“And you might be in the back of a cop car.” You don’t mean to be sour, just realistic. This isn’t a high school hallway, after all, and it isn’t one of his fantasy games. Actions have consequences here. He can’t just go diving into bar fights totally unprompted.

He frowns. “I wasn’t trying to kill the guy. I was just trying to make a point.”

“And what point is that?”

“That drunk old creeps should know that you’re way out of their league and leave you alone.”

You sigh heavy, lips pursed. “Look… thanks for what you did, but I don’t need you to defend my honor, okay? I’m a big girl.”

And that’s true, but if you’re being honest with yourself, it’s also the first time anyone has stepped in to defend your honor. It was stupid and dangerous, but it was also… kind of sweet. Gentlemanly, in a fucked up, small-town kind of way. Maybe you’re just used to fighting your battles on your own.

Somehow, he looks even more deflated than he did before. Maybe he was hoping for a different reaction, a little more enthusiasm. You’re grateful, sure— but you were never a damsel in distress. A damsel in moderate discomfort, maybe. You’re not falling into his arms because he punched a guy in the face.

The thought makes you hesitate, fingers hovering over his skin. Is that what you think he wants?

Shaking your head, you decide to move on; lighten the mood. “Besides, I get hit on by drunk old creeps all the time. That’s kind of part of the job description, actually.” It doesn’t work; he doesn’t answer. His lips pucker, sucking the split flesh into his mouth, apparently deep in thought. You take this as a cue to work a little more quickly. You’d been taking your time, without realizing, focused more on the conversation, on him. Despite the chilly night, Eddie is warm, alcohol and adrenaline making him run hot. It radiates off of him, draws you in. He smells like lime and salt and motor oil.

You move on to the blood that has dried under his nose, dabbing halfheartedly. Without realizing, you lean in closer to get a better look, squinting in the dim light. Without realizing, Eddie spreads his legs further apart, making space for you to move in closer.

“...Yeah, well,” he says eventually, as if he were already in the middle of a sentence, and not ending a long pause. His eyes are on you. You realize it suddenly— then feel foolish, of course they are, you’re right in front of his face— but you can’t help that your ears suddenly feel hot. His fingers are drumming on his knee, restless. “My mom always said you should stand up for the little guy.”

“Your mom sounds wise,” you say thoughtlessly. “She was.” Oh. Shit. You press your lips together, trying to keep your face even while you swallow the awkwardness rising in your throat. “Sorry.” “No biggie. It was a long time ago.” He shrugs, but doesn’t elaborate any further. It’s the sort of thing you couldn’t have known, wasn’t like you were supposed to know, but you feel bad all the same. And now that you know, it opens the door for a dozen other questions you have. He’s strange, this metalhead that you’d only known from a distance on Tuesday nights. Intense but unreserved; forthcoming but pensive. He shares his most sensitive thoughts freely, but keeps the superficial stuff hidden. You don’t know what to make of it.

Another moment of silence follows. You’re not sure if the lull is comfortable or not. Before today, every conversation you’ve had with Eddie was surface level. Although you’re still only making small talk, it plays at something a little deeper— something you’re not ready to think about too closely. It’s safer to focus on cleaning him up quickly. You’ve been at this for several minutes now, after all, and the vodka must be stinging in his open wounds. You’re not trying to torture him.

“So,” he says eventually, once again nonchalant. “Are we fired?” “Huh?” “The band. Are we allowed to come back?” “Oh—no, I don’t think you’re fired.” His shoulders slump, apparently relieved. That must be what Gareth and Jeff were so cross about. “Trust me, it’d be too much work to fire you. The manager won't go to the trouble to look for a new Tuesday night act. You should be good.”

“Good.” He grins lopsidedly. “This is kind of our only real gig, so. I’d go beg on my knees if I had to.”

You chuckle. “I’m surprised. You guys are good. I thought for sure you must have a weekend gig— somewhere cooler than the Hideout.”

He dismisses this, snickering impassively. “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

“Am not!” you promise, “I’m here, like, every night. I see the other bands they hire. You’re good.” He glows. You add, “But you know, you’d probably get a little more traction if you quit assaulting the audience.”

He laughs again, more genuinely now. “Yeah, probably.”

This time, you’re certain that the silence is comfortable. He seems less tense than before, but still thrumming with energy— not adrenaline, just his typical vim and vigor. You’re thrumming too, you realize. Fingers and toes tingling with something you can’t quite name. You didn’t have a crush on Eddie Munson when you came out here, but you might be leaving with one.

The time comes to call it; you’ve done all you can do. “There,” you say, leaning back to check your work. His skin is still stained red, but the clotted blood is gone. “That’s about as good as it’s gonna get.”

“Good enough for me.” He reaches up, gingerly touching his eyebrow before brushing his bangs out of his eyes. “Thanks.” “Don’t mention it. Like I said… this is the most excitement I’ve had on a Tuesday in forever.” Although, the meaning has slightly changed since the first time you said it. You wring out the bandana, clearing it of excess vodka. He takes it and shoves it somewhere in the recesses of the van— likely never to be seen again, if the state of the interior is any indication.

His eyes flicker from you to his feet, then back. “I know you can handle yourself. But, uh. If you ever need back up, let me know.” Halfheartedly, he smirks. “I might lose, but it’ll make a point.”

The kiss you plant on his cheek is soft. It’s a product of impulse, of lingering guilt and that tingle clawing its way into your chest. You were never a damsel in distress. And you don’t owe him anything. But he cared enough, despite barely knowing you, to step in where he thought someone should. That counts for something. “Thank you,” you murmur— then, poke a finger into the center of his chest. “But don’t do it again.”

And if he’s left there, grinning like an idiot until Gareth shoves him, you don’t need to know.

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #written by me #my posts

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quiet-compassion · 5 months

Text

OFMD Fluffvember Day 10: Holiday

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51648301

As a general rule, Ed tries not to spend too much time pondering Stede’s old life. It’s not that he’s not curious. He’s extremely curious actually. It’s just that there are a lot of painful feelings and insecurities wrapped up for him in that Before. And he knows that Stede loves him. He knows there’s a reason Stede left all that behind. He knows that he and Mary weren’t happy together. But that doesn’t stop the thoughts that nag at him sounding like “He’s from my world, not yours” and “You left me for Mary”. He’s not proud of it; he’s working on it.

But, if he were going to ponder it, he’d imagine Stede’s old life was pretty boring for him. After all, Stede’s so full of whimsy and drama, he must have outshone everyone around him. Ed can see in his mind’s eye a placid and simpering wife, mild-mannered children, a straight-laced community that could never hope to keep up the explosion of chaos and creativity that is Stede. He almost feels bad for them, having to live the rest of their lives without Stede, but not bad enough to give him back.

They’re sitting together in their cabin, winding down after a long day. Ed’s head is in Stede’s lap, eyes closed as he listens to Stede recount his theories about the island’s local bird population.

“I’ve seen a few warblers, of course, and there was that Antillean bullfinch the other day. But I swear, Ed, the call I heard today sounded exactly like a yellow-shouldered blackbird! What it could be doing here, I can’t imagine, but I’m pretty confident that’s what I heard. We’ve definitely got to keep our eyes peeled for it. That’d be a sight, wouldn’t it?”

Comfortable and relaxed, Ed gives a languid hum of agreement. “For sure, mate.”

He waits for Stede to continue his avian oration but is met only with silence. Cracking one eye open, he finds Stede looking down at him wearing an expression of embarrassment and guilt.

“Sorry,” he says with an apologetic smile, “I’ve been rambling on and on. You don’t want to hear about this.”

“Pft, um yeah I do,” Ed insists. “I don’t know much about birds, beyond gulls, but sounds like this yellow-shouldered guy is pretty rare! It’d be annoying to miss out on seeing the little shit just because I didn’t know what it looked like.”

Stede’s eyebrows raise in surprise, searching Ed’s expression for any hint of insincerity.

“Really? I’m not…boring you?”

“Fuck off, of course not! Now come on, describe the bird so we can both be on the lookout.”

It takes another moment; Stede keeps staring at him in shock, though Ed can’t fathom why. Eventually though, with a timid smile, he goes on.

“Well, it’s the wing you want to pay attention to…”

…

Ed puts the incident (but not the bird) out of his mind, until a few days later. They’ve been working on building some kind of structure capable of housing animals. A barn would be too generous a term for what they’ve managed. It’s a kind of pen, empty as of now, but the hope is to find a cow or chickens or something on the island to fill it. If they’re gonna be living here long term, they’ll need a more dependable food supply.

They’re securing the door to the pen (with a fully functioning latch, courtesy of Ed) dreaming about the types of recipes they might cook once they have regular access to a protein source other than fish.

“Could make meat pies,” Ed suggests. “I always loved those as a kid. And we can vary it to fit whatever we end up finding.”

“Love that idea! God, I’d kill for a simple roast chicken.” Stede frowns. “Or, I assume it’s simple. I’ve never made one before. Not much of a chef really.”

“That’s okay, babe. I’ll cook for us. I’ll make you a roast chicken—can’t be much harder than roasting a snake.”

Ed grabs their rusty axe, swinging it down to divide another bit of wood into pieces that can serve as fence posts. Stede tracks the movement, flinching a bit when the blade hits its mark. “I suppose we ought to build a butchering station out here too,” he says in a quiet voice.

“Sure,” Ed nods. “We can do that.”

Stede swallows, eyes still transfixed on the axe. “If you’re going to be making food for us, I guess I should handle preparing the meat for you.” He looks like might be sick.

Ed shrugs. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No no. It’s only fair. We’ll divvy up the work between us, and since you have a knack for cooking, I’ll have to handle this. Make myself useful.”

The words come out of Stede’s mouth but they don’t sound like his. Ed drops what he’s doing to really look at him.

“Stede,” he says slowly. “You do plenty around here. You’re hardly dead weight. I’m fine handling the butchering. Because, to be honest, mate, it seems like just the thought of it is making you queasy. So, don’t worry about it, I’ve got it.”

Stede is staring at him again, wearing that same look from the other night—wide-eyed like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. “You would do that for me?” he whispers.

Ed smiles. “Of course. I’d do a hell of a lot more than that for you. Listen, you protect me from spiders, I can kill a few chickens to put food on the table.”

Stede looks like he might cry, stepping forward to envelop Ed in a tight hug.

“Thank you.”

Ed puts his arms around him, feeling like there’s a puzzle before him he hasn’t solved yet.

…

It’s another month before it happens again. The whole place is coming along. There are no holes in the roof anymore for one thing. For another, they’ve got a respectable herd of goats and a moderate flock of chickens. They’ve patched up the floors, dug a well, set up fishing traps, planted a garden. It’s been a productive few weeks.

It’s also been a fuck ton of work.

“We need a holiday,” Stede says rubbing Ed’s knee after a particularly grueling day.

Ed laughs. “Aren’t we where people are supposed to come for their holidays? You know, being an inn and all?”

“Eventually. But also that doesn’t prevent us from taking a break of our own,” Stede says.

His fingers dig into a particularly tense spot and Ed groans. “Ah, shit! Yeah, you’re right. Could do with a vacation.”

Stede smiles up at him. “The crew said they’d check back in on us after 3 months. Only a few weeks left till then. Perhaps we can ask them to drop us somewhere for a week or two and bring us back again after.”

Ed’s sure the crew will be less than enthusiastic about being their ferry service but, for now, he keeps the thought to himself.

“Sounds nice. Alright then, where should we go? What kind of a holiday would you like?”

Seeming surprised by the question, Stede gives a dismissive shrug. “Oh, I’m not picky.”

“Well, that’s a lie,” Ed quips with a snort.

Stede gives his thigh a playful smack. “What would you like to do?” he asks.

Ed pauses, giving Stede a quizzical look. “I asked you first.”

“I’m sure you’d find my idea of a vacation incredibly tedious. And really, I’m happy to go along for the ride, so long as we’re together. So, you pick.”

He gives Ed a polite smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes and Ed decides that’s it. That’s the final straw. Pushing himself upright from his reclined position on their bed, he levels Stede with a bemused gaze.

“Okay, what’s the deal, man?”

Stede looks confusedly up at him, hands still massaging Ed’s knee.

“Huh? What’s what deal?”

“Why do you keep assuming I don’t care about what you care about? First it was the birds, and then the slaughtering chickens thing, now this. You keep acting like you expect me to be annoyed. So, what’s the deal? Why is the me in your head such a dick to you?”

He’s rendered Stede speechless, which is kinda a feat. He just sits there, open-mouthed, staring at Ed for a moment. Finally, crimson-faced, he clears his throat and says, not meeting Ed’s eye, “I’m sorry. I—I don’t think you’re a dick. It’s just. No one has ever cared about what I care about before. I would talk about something I found fascinating and everyone’s eyes would glaze over, or they’d find a way to escape my company.”

Ed doesn’t understand. “But why? That’s pretty rude! Maybe if they actually listened they’d see why you found the thing so fascinating!”

Grimacing, Stede doesn’t say anything in response. Another detail of his confession makes its way to the forefront of Ed’s mind.

“It can’t have been that way with everyone, right? I mean, your family? Mary—”

“Ha! Mary. Bless her,” Stede chuckles joylessly, “she had no patience for my special interests. I’d imagine not having to listen to me ramble on was one of the things she enjoyed most about me being gone! The kids too, I’m afraid.”

Ed sees the mental picture he tries so hard not to imagine shift before his eyes. The insipid fawning family alters into a cold and austere household. A past life that is not so much boring as it is lonely. The very idea makes his blood boil, but he wrestles to tamp down his indignation. The last thing this moment needs is for Stede to perceive Ed as angry.

Taking a deep breath, Stede continues on. “To tell the truth, I’ve always felt like I was getting things wrong. I talk too much, or about the wrong things. The things I ought to have the stomach for make me squeamish. My idea of fun, of adventure, doesn’t seem to be anyone else’s.”

He turns at last to meet Ed’s eyes. “I know you love me. And I know that we have a lot in common, that we are frequently on the same page even when that page is completely wild. It’s one of the things that made you such a breath of fresh air when we met. But…after spending so long being an annoyance to everyone I met, sometimes it’s hard not to assume I’m irritating you too.”

Ed takes a deep breath, running a hand over his beard as he thinks through what he wants to say. “When you sail as long as I have, everything starts to feel very grey. The whole world kinda loses color, all just hazy sky and murky water. Gets to be that nothing can surprise you, not the crew, or the routine of the day, or even the fucking weather. And then here you come,”

he smiles, raising a hand to hold Stede’s face.

“Here you come and suddenly there’s color again. Like literally, because you dressed like a goddamn rainbow, but also there were surprises again. Every day was different. Things that seemed set in stone were now fluid and malleable. Even now, here, in the rhythms we’ve created for ourselves, babe, I am never bored.”

He wipes a tear off of Stede’s cheek with his thumb. Stede turns his face just enough to kiss Ed’s palm.

“You drive me crazy, in multiple senses,” Ed laughs. “But you’re not an irritant, not an annoyance, or ordeal to be endured. I wanna hear all your silly thoughts and ideas. I wanna know what you like so I can give you more of it and I wanna know what you dislike so I can keep it the hell away.”

He could go on. God knows that when he gets to talking, he can carry on for hours. But then Stede’s kissing him and it seems like perhaps he’s said enough. Well, almost…

“I also wanna know,” he breathes, lips scant inches from Stede’s, “what kind of holiday you would like to go on so we can plan the fun and relaxing trip we both need.”

Stede laughs. “Oh, alright! I was thinking, it might be nice to go somewhere with a variety of shopping opportunities. We could pick out some creature comforts we’ve been craving, maybe get a jumpstart on inn decorations. Perhaps we could even track down a bookstore!”

“A retail vacation, love that,” Ed says.

“We could even use it as a marketing opportunity for this place! You know, get word of mouth going.”

Fuck, Ed loves him. They who came before might not have appreciated Stede for the insane wonder that he is, but he always will. As Stede goes on with talk of informational brochures, eyes alight, one thought echos in Ed’s mind: their fucking loss.

#ofmd #ofmd fluffvember #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #stuff i write

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brainworms-all-night-long · 1 year

Text

So some time ago I made a "Nine makes a fake paradox prism shard" post more or less as crack idea and reference to Tails being able to create a fake chaos emerald

I gave more brainjuice into it and a crack idea turned into a god damn fanfiction in my head and I need to dump it all in here before I forget. This whole thing is probably gonna be incoherent and stupid when put under the smaller semblance of logical thought but could still be a silly AU idea!!!

So, if I recall correctly, Shadow has a chaos emerald on him right? Concider Sonic has an outlandish plan for Nine to make 6 more one-off chaos emeralds (because Tails managed to make one when he was under a time crunch nontheless) so he could go super and overthrow the Chaos Council once and for all.

Nine obviously argues that that's the worst idea Sonic has had yet and that if such power ended up in the council's hands there would literaly be no way to do anything anywhere anymore. Sonic emphasizes that they're supoused to be for one use only and loose all their power once his super deeds are done, with the emeralds turning into nothing but useles pieces of rocc. Than Shadow chimes in saying the same as Nine, while adding that the fox also has no chance of even attempting to make a sustainable fake emerald to synergize into a superform. Which is what slightly ticks Nine off and says that yes if his..other version can, so can he, do not ever underestimate him.

Something something research montage along with the rebelion preparing for the last battle until everything is set and done.

Since the fake emeralds trully have no way of reaching the potential of the real deal, Sonic's superform is much weaker, yet against all odds, the chaos Council is overthrown, not expecting sunch a strong blow from the resistance with both a literal demigod and a unltimate lifeform beating the shit outa them. The rebellion sings their preaises to Sonic and Shadow (some even aknowledge Nine woa) than immidietaly takes comand over the city, disabeling Rusty and freeing the city as much as is possible in that given moment.

Note that once Sonic's superform wears out, the fake emeralds break apart and get reduced to useless pieces of glass scattered all over the ground, while the real one conveniently lands right next to Nine's shoes.

And while the rebellion is too busy celebrating their victory Nine stares at the emerald, grabs it and recalls all he's learned about it from his research. It can allow you to teleport, create portals, travel trough time, serve as a nearly unlimited energy source, enhance one's physical capabilities, turn thoughts into reality....

A sentance he though about for a while. And all that he could do with such power.

He takes the emerald in his hands and attempts a teleport with it, just like he saw the black and red hedgehog— Shadow— do on a couple of ocasions. He was not needed here anymore, his job was done. Not even noticing the confused and untrusting faces of the hedgehogs that turned to check back on him, all his attention was focused on the warm, slowly pulsating green gem in his hands.

He dissappears in a blink, receiving a whiplash he both was and wasn't expecting, as he reapears back near the shatterdrive left outside the Chaos Council's building, nearly stumbling into it in his disorientation.

After this fight New Yoke no longer had it's cruel dictators, hopelessness, power source and a genious little fox inventor who's help would've been more than appreciated by the resistance as of now. Yet it gained freedom, a new chance, beacons of hope in the two particular hedgehogs, now stranded with no way of traveling trough or fixing the shatterverse as they overlook glimpse of a portal closing on the crimson sky. An uneasy hint of betrayal pooling in their gut.

Which there shouldn't be. Nine held up his end of the bargain; he created the emeralds and assisted the resistance until victory. He never once said he'd stay in the city after all was over.

If Sonic liked and wanted to save New Yoke oh so much, he could stay there. Really. with now both the Shard and the Chaos emerald in his possession, Nine could finally create his own perfect world within the Grimm. And he definitely didn't want or need anyone else in it.

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blackbat05 · 2 years

Text

Clean Success

Shang-Chi x Reader (Cop AU)

A/N: Initially had a buddy cop idea but plot wise led me here? Hope you enjoy! Feedback and reblogs always appreciated!❤️ Did you also see the DC references?😉

Warnings: None. Pining idiot perhaps?😬

Summary: A mission leads to certain confessions.

“Remind me why we are eating Japanese Barbecue again?”

You take the tong from Shang-Chi’s hand, flipping the piece of sirloin. “That’s Yakiniku to you. And we’re here because of your intel so would you stop being so fidgety and eat!” You grit through your clenched teeth.

Shang-Chi stabs the cooked meat, bringing it to his mouth like a child who had just got told off by his mother not to play with his food.

Walking into the restaurant had assaulted his ears, from the sizzling of meat on the hot plate to the clinking of drinks in the form of beer glasses. A gust of steam blows in his direction, making him push his chair back immediately.

“That was low.”

You give him a withering stare, putting the meat on his rice once again. “Quit being such a baby. It’s all part of the experience.”

“What is? The part of being suffocated by smoke?”

“I thought you liked barbecue.” You asked, genuinely puzzled at his grumpy demeanour.

“Yeah, but have you seen how cramped this place is?” And the fact that my plans on taking you to have the exact same barbecue is ruined. Shang-Chi conveniently leaves the latter out.

The tables were haphazardly arranged that the chairs could be touched at an arm’s length. Still, it was a typical barbecue restaurant setting. You wanted to nudge him a little further, only to be interrupted by a new presence.

“Wait! The target’s arrived, at your six.” You take a sip of iced tea, eyes following the movement of the supposed target in question. Shang-Chi pretends to stretch, turning his back to see the mysterious man clad in a burgundy suit. How was he not sweating in this man- made heat?

“Damn it,” you hissed. “Lost visual. We need to find out what’s in that case. The moment he’s gone, we can kiss that case goodbye.”

Shang-Chi sees a waiter hurriedly throwing on an apron, promptly getting to work. He sees the staff room and gets an idea…

***

“This is your idea. Really?”

“Hey! You want to get that case or not?” Shang-Chi pushes the cart of meat that was meant for the private room where mystery man was inside.

Masquerading as waiters, all that had to be done was to get in and grab the case without them noticing. Simple right?

As the two of you neared the room, you managed to peek through the tainted glass. Although you couldn’t get clear visual, that armour gave you a good idea of who was the buyer.

“God damn it Shang-Chi does your informant not tell you anything at all?”

Puzzled, Shang-Chi beckons you to move. Another man with silver hair sits opposite the target, carefully inspecting the case while his guard stands behind, as if daring burgundy man to make a move.

“Oh shit.”

Oh shit was the right word. In the room sat crime boss Carmine Falcone and Slade Wilson - aka Deathstroke, assassin for hire.

“Forget the target! We need to bring them in!” Shang-Chi is brought back to the present, seeing you remove the pistol from your holster. Oh this was going to be very bad…

“No! I know what you’re thinking but no!” Shang-Chi is firm on this. “Fury said minimal damage and the case is of priority. Falcone and Wilson can wait another day.” He stealthily snaps several pictures of the meeting.

“Who did you- oh never mind. Just follow my lead.” You make a beeline for the staircase to exit the restaurant.

“What lead?” Shang-Chi was left utterly bemused as to what kind of signal you would give.

What he did not expect, was a gunshot through the windows, throwing the private room into chaos.

“God damn it!” He grits through his teeth. You could have at least given him a warning. Now the men in the room were simultaneously running for cover towards the sliding doors where Shang-Chi was standing like a deer in the headlights.

The situation left him no choice but to go on the offensive. You always left him with the dirty work.

While everyone in the room was trying to find the source of the gunshot, Shang-Chi maintained his guise as waiter, dodging past the barrage of security and Slade himself to grab the case that was left unattended in a corner. No time to waste.

Shang-Chi had barely gotten a foot out when-

“Wait! Where’s the case!” Falcone bellowed, looking around the room before setting his sights on Shang-Chi’s retreating back.

Just perfect.

“GET HIM!”

Shang-Chi didn’t need to be told twice, speeding down the stairs and out of the restaurant, he removes the apron, throwing it behind him.

Legs pumping, he looks back to find that the assassin was gaining quickly on him. His brain was on overdrive, considering all possible escape routes.

A pair of hands reach out to grab his sleeve, pulling him into an alleyway. Shang-Chi is finally reunited with you.

“I said to grab the case not bring a bloodthirsty assassin with you.” You and your smartass remarks.

Shang-Chi comes up with a retort but finds it stuck in his throat, seeing how close he is to you in this tight space. “Not my fault that you left without instructions!”

“Oh, so you finally admit I’m the brains between the two of us?”

Somehow, Shang-Chi is sure you’re doing this on purpose to get under his skin. And he likes it. But he can’t let you win this quickly. He still has his own pride after all.

“No… what I’m saying is that you need to work on your communication!” He stumbles and fails to hide it miserably. You smirk.

“Don’t you?” You move closer to him.

Shang-Chi blinks, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Funny but a little bird told me about a certain someone wanting to have Barbecue this weekend with me but didn’t have the… guts.”

Damn it Katy. He tries to ignore the close proximity of your lips as you teased him.

“Perhaps that was why he was so grumpy when we had a mission here.” You pretend to tap your chin thoughtfully. “Maybe I’ll bring agent Spector here next time-”

That’s it. Shang-Chi locks his lips with you, pressing his body into your own. He’s not going to stop anytime.

In fact, he’s going to make it the most mind blowing kiss you ever had. So good that you won’t be able to remember another man’s name.

Parting slowly, you lean your forehead on his.

“Wow…”

“Don’t blame you, my kiss is literally breathtaking.” Shang-Chi is back to his usual self as he banters with you once more.

Your eyes dart nervously around your surroundings before bashfully slapping him on the shoulder. “You had to ruin the moment didn’t you?”

“You liked it.” He grins, raising his hands in defeat. “But you got me. I was planning to take you out for dinner… if you’re still up for it?”

How could you say no to those doe-eyes?

“Of course, I would love to.” You nod, forcing back a laugh at your smiley partner.

“Although I hate to break up the moment but we should really get this case back to Fury before Wilson or anyone else finds us stuck in between this sorry excuse of an alley.”

“Oh- oh yeah!” Shang-Chi snaps out of his bliss, remembering the mission.

Taking the case in one hand, he offers his free hand to you which you gladly take, running to the rendezvous point.

Falcone and Wilson may have escaped, but today’s mission was a clean success.

#xu shangqi #shangqi x reader #shang chi x reader #simu liu #shang chi #shang chi x reader fluff #shangqi x reader fluff #xu shang chi #xu shangqi fluff #shang chi fluff #cop au

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your-turn-to-role · 2 years

Note

Okay so, for everything that went down last episode technically the only pieces of lore from past episodes that are relevant to what happened is that 1)while a Lot of other stuff ended up happening while here, the Bell's Hells are in Basurus to capture & bring back Armand Treshi cuz he did crimes and is on the run, 2)they know Treshi is hiding out in a mercenary group, called the paragon's call, & have managed to get accepted to the group/set up in their headquarters, 3) that the leader of the paragon's call Otohan Thull featured in one of Imogen's moon dreams & talked to her in it. 4) ruidus (the red moon) Isn't A Moon & has a city on it, is surrounded by a sort-of divine gate type lattice, & is maybe connected to two forgotten gods of Exandria (and all of that is probably why there are people/a whole ass cult attached to it)

The 1st half was very chaotic as it opened to the paragon's call being attacked by an unknown group of people (we still don't know exactly who they are), and our crew in the chaos managed to grab several interesting items, Treshi, and attempt to get tf out of dodge (more happened than that technically but it's not what the yelling was about)

The 2nd half is where shit gets real, as they left the paragon's call headquarters they were stopped by Otohan & she of course demanded to know who sent them/what they're trying to do. There's a little back-and-forth (where we learn she can reach into their heads & grab info) that quickly turns into combat. Now, Otohan turns out to be an Echo Knight (with the magic coming from a weird techno backpack she has) & that's real bad cuz she gets 1st in the initiative and Hits Hard.

She knocks Ashton out on her turn and we quickly discover that she has legendary actions & resistances. Most of the rest of the fight is the Bell's Hells trying to run away but being stymied by how hard she hits & the fact that they're all not at 100% spell-wise (& don't quite want to abandon each other). Several people go down & are brought back up, and go down again. Otohan is also somewhat fixated on Imogen, as she wants her to "give in" to Ruidis' power/influence (and is using her hurting Imogen's friends as a way to force the issue). Near the end of the ep, the status check on everyone is just Bad. Ashton is up but has booked it a ways away, FCG is up but hiding (both have Real Low hp), Orym and Fearne are Dead (Otohan killed them because they kept popping back up & to affect Imogen) Chetney is down with 2 failed death saves, Laudna is as well but her going down triggered something greater (Otohan before attacking her asked Imogen "is this one your favorite?" prompting Imogen to immediately beg Otohan to spare her, saying she'll give in). When Laudna went down Imogen had to roll a wis saving throw & rolled a nat 1, giving into whatever power is within her.

Matt described Imogen's hair fully levitating, the area around them going still and ruddy red, her skin turning crimson, and the fractal marks on her hands spreading to whole parts of her body and shedding light. She screams in grief and rage and the space around her distorts, dragging the surrounding buildings apart, and with one final wave everything goes white. And that's where we left off! No idea what's gonna happen next.

(Fun facts, Orym's last thoughts were a sense of failure but also knowing he'll see his husband and father figure again, and Fearne's was "boy. That was one heck of a run" or smthing similar)

Hope this helps, I didnt include every bit of everything so if there is anything that isn't clear I can try & elaborate!

since others apparently also want to read, posting the explanations i got in asks that aren't on the post itself

(and thank you for writing!)

#cr spoilers #cr3 #c3e33 #ask

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lovely-english-rose · 3 years

Video

what a week huh?

#god i hope i managed to grab a piece of all the chaos #election #election 2020 #supernatural #spn #destiel #politics #us election #us election 2020 #us politics #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha #my hero academia #dabi #touya todoroki #sherlock #my video

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letterstotheflre · 3 years

Text

my drug is my baby

summary: sirius is glad he was patient enough with you and takes part of what he has been craving most

warnings: daddy kink, a smidge of religious references, dacryphilia, overstimulation, fingering and oral sex (fem receiver), innocence/corruption kink

word count: 3.2k

a/n: i kinda hate this now but i think it’s because i read it too many times, idk || i think it's a universal experience to not being able to cum from your own fingers... right?? and we all know that sirius has a crying kink... also i think it’s so hot when they make you thank them for letting you cum, sue me!!

Sirius Black liked to believe he was a patient man when he needed to be.

He was known for being reckless, always jumping into the next adventure without much thought, ready to follow James wherever he went. Most of the time he spoke without thinking, especially if he knew his comments would make his parents red with rage. Sometimes he didn’t even mean what he said, he just spewed whatever progressive or controversial opinion he had in hopes of making his mother’s heart stop beating.

He revelled in making rash decisions, somehow always ending up being benefited by them. He never gave much thought to anything: always doing his homework last minute yet somehow still getting top marks, taking some jokes too far, never taking into consideration other people’s safety unless they were close friends.

Some may call him selfish, but he liked not having to put too much thought into every single action. He spent most of his childhood walking on eggshells, afraid of saying the wrong thing and being punished or worse, Regulus taking the beating for him. But now that he finally escaped the Black family, he enjoyed the freedom that came with leaving Grimmauld Place.

He enjoyed breaking rules and creating chaos. It made him feel mighty, knowing he had the power to make all of those choices, still coming out on top, and see how they affected certain people. Most applauded him, revered him for being so spontaneous and adventurous; others couldn’t stand him, complaining about his mean jabs and sometimes harmful pranks.

Yet he knew how to wait for the things he deemed important or worthy. He knew that it was best to wait for Euphemia’s cherry pie to cool down before eating it, to wait for three days after the full moon to make a werewolf joke to Remus, to wait a few hours after James lost a Quidditch match to suggest a quick trip to The Three Broomsticks. And he knew it was best to wait for you.

Good things come to those who wait, that was his mantra. Of course, most of his restraint when it came to you was because he cared deeply about you and your comfort, but his conscience also drove him to keep his hands to himself. Every time his hands were about to go under your skirt, every time he heard your breathy moans when he kissed your neck, every time you looked at him with pouty lips begging for a kiss and his fingers craved to squeeze your neck, he took a step back. He felt so guilty for tainting something that in his mind was so pure, so he just held you close and peppered your face with kisses until you giggled.

But the thought of you being so untouched and how bashful you looked when he teased you or someone made a sexual comment made him want to ruin your innocence. Something inside him craved to see you tainted, to have you writhing under him as he rolled his hips against yours while you clutched his shoulders. He wanted to take that holiness you had and turn it into something so sinful that there was no way for you to ask for redemption.

And when you opened the door and took the first step, who was he to deny you?

He dragged everything out. Since the day when he taught you how to touch yourself, he wanted to make you wait for every sexual act that followed. He wanted to see how long it would take for you to beg him for some relief.

So today during a lecture when you looked at him with glazed over eyes and begged him to help you relieve the strange ache you felt in your stomach since you woke, he decided to be benevolent and give you some relief. He swiftly moved his hand under your skirt (thanking God that most of your closet consisted of that particular piece of clothing and dresses) and pushed aside your underwear before his fingers made way between your dripping folds. He didn’t enter you, just played with your clit until you had to bite the back of your hand to muffle your moans.

But when you whispered a small “thank you, daddy” and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, the only thing he wanted to do was take you back to his room and press you to the bed until your legs shook and tears ran down your cheeks. His eyes quickly scanned the classroom to make sure no one saw or heard anything, shoulders tense because of your words. All he could see were students with their own glassy eyes as they listened to whatever the professor was talking about. Fucking tease, Sirius thought.

And now, as he watched you on your knees and clutching his leg, lips pouty and cheek nuzzling his jean covered thigh, he was thankful for being patient enough.

“Please, Sirius, they’re back,” you said. He knew exactly what you were talking about, but played dumb as one hand petted your hair. “What’s back, baby?”

“The tingles,” you explained.

“And you need me to fix it, hm?” A small taunt was evident in his tone. “Your hands aren’t enough anymore, right bunny?”

Your cheeks warmed up at the implication, nevertheless, you shook your head. You still managed to make yourself cum, but the way Sirius could play with your clit like an experienced musician and how his big hands moved your hips along his jean covered leg would never compare to your dainty digits. The thought of his big fingers inside of you was enough to increase the tingles, and your hands pressed down on your stomach trying to soothe the pain.

“Please, Sirius, it hurts so bad,” you whimpered.

“Use your words, angel. Be good,” he said. You looked up at him with watery eyes, your mind already slipping and not letting you form too many coherent thoughts. “Please, daddy,” you sniffled.

He kept petting your head. “What do you want, angel?” He asked, looking almost bored with the situation as he listened to your pleads. “Anything,” you whined.

He shook his head, mocking disappointment. “You know you have to ask for what you want, puppy.” Even though he wasn’t angry, honestly a little amused at your desperation, his voice was stern, trying to engrave his rules in your fuzzy brain.

Your hands squeezed his leg, “I need you… down there.”

“You need to be clearer.''

You closed your eyes. You hated being so crass, but Sirius certainly had no qualms about it. “I need you… in my pussy,” you got out. But it wasn’t enough, not for Sirius who longed to ruin every aspect of your innocence. “What do you want, baby? D’ya want my fingers or my tongue?”

“Both,” you whined. Bingo, he thought with a dark smirk that would’ve sent shivers down your spine if you weren’t absolutely drenching and desperate for his touch. “Up you get, puppy,” he said, “lay on the bed f’me.”

You got on the bed right next to him, your head laying on one of your fluffy pillows. Your dress rode up a bit with your movements, but it didn’t really matter, and you pressed your legs together trying to relieve some of the tension while you waited for Sirius to do something. He simply watched you, taking in the image of you wriggling in place and toying with the rings he bought you for your birthday.

You felt a soft touch on your calves, and it gave you a fluttering feeling in your stomach. Sirius’s hands were moving slowly up your legs, nudging them apart without needing much force since you complied immediately. You were about to burst, ready to scream at him to just get on with it, but decided to keep quiet.

One of his hands made its way to the edge of your dress, swiftly going under it and his fingers slightly grazing your clothed pussy. Your hips bucked at the soft touch, but then just as quickly as it came it was gone. “No, come back!” you implored, reaching for Sirius’s wrist but being too slow.

Sirius arched one eyebrow, “What was that?”

“I’m sorry!” you cried out, “M’sorry, I just need you so bad. It hurts.” But Sirius remained where he was, arms now crossed over his chest as he looked at you. His eyes were full of disappointment and you wanted to cry, “What’s gotten into you today? You were so demanding in class before, so bratty, I don’t think you deserve it at all.” He was stretching the truth, you were by far the least bratty person he had ever been with, but he couldn’t help himself when he saw how much his words affected you.

A few tears fell at his words, “No, no, m’not bratty. I’m a good girl, daddy. I promise I’ll be so so good, your best girl! I won’t ask for anything more, m’sorry.'' You were saying anything you could to convince him that you were still his good girl, his angel.

Your lips were quivering and your chest was heaving with sobs you tried to keep inside; babbling apologies and trying to convince him that you would never act like this again, and he finally took pity on you. His hands gripped your ankles and opened your legs so he could lay comfortably between them. He could see a dark patch on your lavender underwear, and he huffed out a laugh with a slightly amused shake of his head. “I forgive you, bunny, but you’ll have to take everything that I give you. D’you think you can do that f’me?”

You nodded eagerly, choking a small ‘thank you’ as you tried to control your breath. He grabbed the ends of your dress and bunched it up over your waist, not bothering to take it off. He licked a strip over your underwear and the combination of his warm tongue with the friction of the cotton cloth was enough to make you mewl.

Sirius could not deny that he had been craving to taste you once more after he licked your fingers clean that day, and now only getting a smidge of your taste from what seeped through your underwear drove him insane. He needed to taste you completely, so he quickly pulled them off and pocketed them in the back of his jeans.

He used his fingers to spread your folds wide open, staring hungrily at all the slick that had gathered. “Oh puppy, look at the mess you’ve already made,” he crooned. “Y’re dripping, d’ya really need me this bad?”

“Yes, so so bad. Please, daddy.” He was so close, his warm breath hitting your wet folds and making you tremble in anticipation.

You watched, using your elbows to raise yourself a little, as he slowly started to take his rings off. “Hold ‘em for me, bunny, don’t want them to get dirty,” he said as he slid his chunky rings into your fingers. The metal dangled a little because of the size difference, so you closed your hands to keep them from falling.

Finally, his tongue made contact with your clit and you sighed in relief. It was followed by a moan when he started to suck on it, making sure to swirl his tongue all around before slurping. He looked like a starved man that finally came into contact with some sweet fruit, moving his head around your pussy to have you gushing on him. The ache in your tummy was slowly decreasing, now replaced with a nice fluttering feeling.

Your whines and moans echoed through his ears, resembling the most beautiful angel choir he had ever heard. He pulled away for a moment, “I’ve been waiting to taste you for days, puppy. S’better than I remembered.”

The more he pushed his tongue inside you, the more your legs shook. You involuntarily closed them, your pillowy thighs acting as earmuffs around Sirius’s head. He let them rest there for a few seconds before pushing them open once more, adding more fervour to his movements, eager to drink your sweet ambrosia.

Your closed fists went to his head, and you opened them a little to grip his hair, trying to ground yourself. “Gonna cum, daddy, can I?” You breathed out. Sirius just hummed, sending vibrations that were enough to make you let go. You tried to close your legs once more, but his shoulders prevented you from doing so. You felt like you were floating, your brain shutting off for a few seconds before returning to earth.

But Sirius didn’t stop moving his tongue, one of his fingers circling your hole before entering you slowly. Just one of his fingers felt like two of yours, even though you knew it wasn’t an accurate comparison. The stretch this time burned more than when you touched yourself, and you whined while shaking your head. “Too much, s’too much.”

Sirius paused for a moment so he could press your legs to your chest with one hand while the other kept moving in and out of you. The sudden switch in position made you gasp, but not as much as when Sirius thrust his fingers hard. “Are you dumb? I told you you had to take everything I gave you. D’you want to make me mad again?”

More tears fell when he curled his fingers, expertly finding that spongy spot inside you that pumped white heat through your veins. The way they twisted resembled a musician fiddling with a harp, your needy whines accompanying them like the main act. “No no, I can take it” you gasped, drowning in bliss as his fingers kept hitting the perfect spots.

You were already so close, Sirius giving you no respite as he quickly pushed his fingers. Your hand gripped his arm, fingertips digging the ink-covered skin. “C-close,” you whined, eyes rolling back and mouth open as you felt the tension ready to break.

“Going to make more of a mess, angel?” he grumbled, and you tried to nod as much as you could in your constricted position. Sirius chuckled, “Dirty little thing. Go on, I’ve got you.”

You whimpered brokenly as he pulled another orgasm from you. It felt like his fingertips were scrapping your insides to drag it out, and your feet dangled in the air as you swung them while trying to grab his wrist to stop him from moving.

Sirius couldn’t tear his eyes from you, with your pretty tears dripping down your cheeks and your chest heaving with small sobs from how good you felt. For him, all for him and only ever for him, because no one had ever touched you like he has and no one else ever would. “You look so pretty like this,” he cooed. “God I love your tears, baby, look how hard you make me.”

Your eyes moved down his body—when had he taken off his shirt? His tattoos splayed over his toned muscles made you clench around his fingers. You adored the small drawings that covered most of his body, they looked so beautiful on him and you just wanted to cry even more at how pretty your boyfriend was. When your eyes moved lower, following his previous instruction, you could see there was already a bulge in his pants that you knew was his cock, and your mouth watered at the thought of it just resting against his stomach like it did the first time you sucked him.

“I wanna feel you,” you cried while stretching your hands to touch him. He let you, your soft palms going over his chest and grabbing his shoulders so you could pull him down. “Kissie,” you breathed, letting his lips hover over yours for a second before kissing you hard and messily. His tongue played with yours and it only added more fuel to the fire inside you.

A moan broke you apart when his fingers resumed their pace, “P-please, no more” you babbled, the stimulation too much to bear.

“How are you gonna take my cock if you can’t take my fingers, hm?” He asked and you whined, his fingers burying themselves up to his knuckles and making your eyes roll back once more. Your mouth was dry from being constantly open, whimpers and moans constantly escaping from the open cavity. “Come on, one more, I know you have it in you. My good girl aren’t you?”

The squelching sounds were so dirty and they rang through your ears, yet even through your fuzzy mind you could discern the important words, “Y-your good girl,” you managed to get out with a smile, glad to be praised by him.

His other hand pressed down on your legs even more, and now you could see the way the digits moved in and out of you, a slight sheen coating the skin every time they came out. “God, you were right, bunny, you are tight,” he grunted, “I don’t think I’ll ever fit, m’gonna break you.”

At that, your eyes widened. “No no, you’ll fit, daddy!” But he just chuckled at your desperation, “M’gonna break you in half, angel. Do you want that? Do you want me to split you open?”

A small chant of ’yes’ and ‘please’ echoed through the room. You could feel another wave coming, ready to wash over you as your toes curled in anticipation. It was like you were dangling on the edge, your hands holding on for dear life as you tried to hold on, and your moans grew louder and louder with every thrust Sirius gave.

Your clenching walls around his digits were warning enough for him, and he kept his eyes on your form as you struggled to keep it at bay, waiting for his permission. He watched as your ring clad fingers scrambled to the sheets, gripping them tightly as your head moved from side to side. “That’s it, bunny, let go f’me” and with one harsh thrust, you slackened the hold you had on your release and finally let go.

If you felt like you were still on your body you would’ve screamed. A white heat engulfed you as your vision grew hazy, your hips raising of their own accord and aiding Sirius in dragging your orgasm out. You looked so beautiful like this, a sweaty sheen on your skin and now tangled up hair sticking to your forehead. Sirius leant down, tongue cleaning the fallen tears before they dried, and you couldn’t help the moan that escaped you.

He grabbed your face, squishing your spit covered cheeks. “What do you say, angel?”

With a shuddering breath, you looked into his stormy eyes as he cleaned your release from his fingers with his tongue. “Thank you, daddy.”

You tried to lower your legs, but Sirius kept them in place. You stared at him, confused, yet he was staring at your puffy cunt, all shiny and stretched out for him. A smirk covered his lips as he finally looked at you, “I think y’re finally ready for m’cock, angel.”

TAGLIST: @ildm4ev @capsmischief @dracosafety @dracoxgeorge @roonilwazlibswhore @lovelylupinx @sarcasmismyon1ydefence @marxy-06 @remusjlupinisdead @mattefic @artisancowbells @zzzfour @emmaev @gxtitobxby @sam-hollandsgirl —if you want to be tagged tap here

#sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #sirius black smut #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x you #sirius black one shot #marauders smut #marauders fanfiction #harry porter fanfiction #harry potter imagine

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koqabear · 3 years

Text

hit me with your killshot, baby (C.YJ)

Summary:

It was a small, quiet town you had decided to move into. One that you could help with any healing or magical needs. What you didn’t expect, however, was to face a demon too powerful for your own good. The worst part? Seems like he’s gotten attached.

Yeonjun x reader/ demon!yeonjun x witch!reader

Genre: fantasy, enemies to ?? thriller(?), angst if you squint me thinks

Word count: 3.0K

Warnings: general physical fighting/violence, mentions of scars, burns, bones breaking, knives, blood, fire, descriptions of pain (let me know if I should add anything!)

a/n: This might get another part if it gets a good response <3 Writing fantasy is rlly fun for me as well, I’m so glad that this is the story that got me out of my writers block lmao

comments and reblogs are always welcome and much appreciated, hope you guys enjoy! <3

Disclaimer!! Absolutely nothing about this story is accurate or real, anything and everything that mc the witch does is made up!

It was about three in the morning when you got the call.

“Hello?” You said, eyes squinted as you had just been woken up from your sleep. The line remained silent for a moment, leaving you to wonder if this was a scam caller. You spoke again, only to hear hasty footsteps becoming louder, presumably running towards the phone.

“Hello?!” The voice called out, the loud exclamation causing you to jolt awake. “Oh my god, oh my god!” Their exasperated voice rang through your line, and you stood to get properly dressed, already anticipating their request.

“Where do you live?” You asked sharply, grabbing the keys to your car and waiting for their answer. They stuttered out their address, the sounds of the rain coming into your ear. They were now outside.

“Please come quick, this spirit has been bothering me for weeks now, I could have sworn they were harmless-“ they cried into the phone, only to get cut off by your stern command.

“Leave your home. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

They agreed, their voice quiet and shaky, and you hung up, beginning to drive to your new task.

It was no secret your town had a problem with the supernatural. That was the whole reason you lived here.

‘The town witch’ was what they called you. You remember moving to this small town the moment you turned eighteen, the rumors of the paranormal town beckoning you to help. With potions and incantations by your side, you were the best damn thing this place had ever gotten. But that was six years ago, and you were young and naive. The scars and burns that riddled your body only served to prove your progress, marking your place in this town permanently.

You sighed, your grip on your steering wheel weak. You were, after all, the only help these people had. Late night calls like this were beginning to become much too common recently, leading you to wonder if something, or someone, new was beginning to pester this poor town.

You arrived at the house, the thunderstorm only helping to provide a stereotypical atmosphere for you to work in. You got out your car, pulling your coat tightly against your body, the wind around you strong enough to hinder your footsteps.

The two story home before you rattled in protest, the front door swinging open the moment you got close enough. You felt your heart begin to race, beginning to question if this was truly worth it. It seems that whatever had been pestering the homeowner was no small ghost. Walking inside, you were met with the dark and empty home, the hardwood floor beneath you creaking in protest as you carefully walked around, the house seemingly calming the moment you entered.

You breathed in slowly, attempting to steady your mind as you surveyed the house, recalling what the homeowner told you before hanging up. This had been going on for a while, but it seems that it only recently became too much for them. Whatever was in this home really liked the attention.

Before you were able to take another step forward, you were thrown off your feet, slamming into the wall to your left, the many picture frames and decorations falling before you with a loud crash. The door slammed shut, and you covered your head, bracing yourself as you felt the glass shards begin to be directed towards you.

It’s here, and it’s angry.

Just as the chaos around you finally dulled down, you were met with the sight of the trophy shelf in front of you beginning to shake, your eyes widening as you began to run. You muttered a quick incantation to help shield you, the dull sounds of impact that began to pound against your shield only serving to make you run faster.

The hallway in front of you suddenly seemed never-ending, it’s violet wallpaper becoming harder to see the more you ran. Was the house layout always like this? The hallway suddenly ended, leading you to an open room, quickly recognizing it as the living room. The lights suddenly flickered on, disturbing your concentration as you noticed a shadow walk past one of the doorways.

Seemingly knowing you perfectly, the spirit took this small wavering to throw a book in your direction, narrowly missing your face as you ducked to the side, only to get knocked to your knees as you felt a kick to your back, your disturbed concentration causing your spell to be broken.

You turned around in a haste, summoning your shield once more as you unsheathed the knife you had in your coat pockets.

“Show yourself!” You barked out, standing up as you surveyed the room. “I know you’re here.”

Silence.

The howling wind outside stopped, the flickering lights suddenly still at the sound of your voice. You gripped the handle of the knife harder, trying to not let the exhaustion seep into you. The lights began to slowly dim, a lit ember flickering in front of you, only to be followed by many more, swirling into a raging fire directly in front of you. You jumped back at the heat, the familiar sight making you frown in anticipation.

“You look tired,” the voice said, as smooth and elegant as you first remembered it, “Maybe I could fix that.”

Standing in front of you was no other than Yeonjun. Clad in black, his dark eyes stared into yours as he towered over you, his platform boots shining underneath the dull lights, his hair slicked back and pushed away from his face save for a few strands that hung to frame his face.

“Yeonjun.” You said, a feeling of anger stirring inside you the longer you stared at him

“It’s so nice to hear my name come from you again,” he sighed, taking a step toward you, only for you to step back in retaliation.

Yeonjun was none other than the first demon you tried to expel when you first came here. You had fought with every single potion and spell you spent years perfecting, only to leave hospitalized and unsure that he would return. However, as the years passed and no sign of him appeared, you had assumed that you had succeeded in your battle against him, any signs of hauntings or poltergeists disappearing after that day.

“You,” you snapped, everything finally piecing everything together. “You’re behind everything that’s been happening recently, aren’t you?” You took another step back as he began to laugh, throwing his head back as if you had just told him the funniest thing in the world. Slowly, he calmed himself down, his eyes playful as he took his sweet time responding to you.

“Maybe, why?” He said, beginning to walk towards you slowly. You held your ground, concentrating on keeping your shield steady, they grip on your knife tightening. He stopped centimeters away from it, the aura of the shield humming as his clothes grazed the perimeter, shocks emitting on impact.

“I missed you, you know,” He muttered, head leaning towards you teasingly as he stood just far enough to not be blasted away from your shield. “It wasn’t fun hopping from town to town, trying to mess with other witches that resided there. They were just too…”

“Weak.”

You were barely given a moment before the sight of Yeonjun’s bright eyes filled your vision, the feeling of a scorching heat overtaking your senses.

Yeonjun had trapped you in a ring of fire.

A pretty small one, too.

Slightly panicked, you looked around for any place you could escape, the memories of the last time you got so close to Yeonjun warning you to get as far from him as you could, only to find that it was just you and him, trapped in a space that wouldn’t even allow you to shift backwards.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his voice taunting as he waited for your next move, “Claustrophobic?”

The weapon in your hand began to heat up, your mind working its hardest to form a plan that would work and let you come out alive. You already knew what this fire around you would do; It wasn’t a simple flame, and the scar on your chest that throbbed painfully in this demonic presence was enough proof of that.

The moment you had healed from your first encounter with Yeonjun, you had put all of the knowledge you had acquired from experience and older, more experienced witches into putting a weapon that would help you with violent demonic problems like him. It had taken you weeks of pure isolation and meditation to engrave the correct energy into the weapon, afraid to make any mistake that could lead to something drastic. By the time you were finished putting the last few touches on the weapon, (a protective incation; the words engraving themselves in fine print letter by letter as you poured the last of your energy into it,) you could barely stand, landing yourself at the house of a medic that specialized with witches.

“You’re lucky that you managed to come out of this with just drained energy,” He had told you one day, standing next to your cot and handing you a homemade medicine; its taste was horrendous, but it did the job.

“I’ve dealt with witches, succeeding or not, that had come out in a much worse condition. You’re very powerful, that much I can tell.” He confessed, his face sobering as he remembered why it was that you were there, “Whatever it is that you’re dealing with, I wish you luck.”

And now here you stand, the results of all your hard work and patience vibrating the more you concentrate on defeating the demon in front of you.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to try and hurt me with that,” Yeonjun laughed, watching the way your grip tightened the moment he landed his eyes on it, your knuckles turning white with the force, “You know your little knife can’t hurt me, right?”

While it was true that regular knives were nothing more but toys to him, you knew that what you were holding was not a regular knife.

But he didn’t.

You remained silent as you stared at him, quirking a brow to silently challenge him. He scoffed, rolling his eyes at your demeanor.

“Giving me the silent treatment now?” He said, pausing for a moment before looking back at you, “Fine. You think you can hurt me with that little kitchen knife?” With a single movement of his hands, the fire dwindled, going down until it was no more,

“Go ahead. Give it your best shot.”

You suppressed a smile.

Yeonjun was a lot of things. Strong, powerful, smart, hell, he was a bit attractive too.

But above all, he was cocky.

Slowly, and as subtly as you could, you adjusted your stance, your eyes never leaving his, ready to let your shield down to attack him.

“No games?”

His lips quirked up, his hands coming up to his sides to show you his full vulnerability.

“Fair and square. Here, I’ll even let you make the first move.” His pitch black eyes twinkled with his signature playfulness, his thoughts displaying to you loud and clear;

I thought you were smarter than this.

You fought the urge to scoff, and instead surveyed him for a moment, stepping back to give yourself a bit more room. He watched intently, his body language open and relaxed, clearly not threatened by you.

You lunged forward.

Before Yeonjun could move away, you swung your knife towards him, your stomach sinking as you missed your target, his neck, and sliced at his face instead. His head turned to the side, a hiss emitting from him as he turned back to you, the slash on his cheek burning into his skin, going deeper into his face as he began to bleed.

Except that wasn’t blood that came out of his face.

A thin liquid, pure black and mixed with the poison of your blade, trickled down his face. Slowly, he brought up a hand to his cheek, touching tentatively at his wound, observing the black substance that poured out of him, before turning back to you.

“Come on, you little vixen,” he groaned, the nickname that he called you from your first meeting rolling off his tongue smoothly, “Not the face!”

Cocky bastard.

But now that your first move was over, Yeonjun took a minute to crack his neck, the black liquid trailing down to his neck as he slowly rolled his head back, pausing for a second before straightening up, smiling at you sweetly.

“My turn.”

Right as you were going to activate your shield once more, Yeonjun ran to you, landing a solid punch to your stomach, sending you flying to the wall behind you, the wind being knocked out of you on impact as you crumbled to the floor. Looking up, you saw him lunge at you once more, mumbling your incantation for your shield, successfully knocking him back at the last second. Tumbling backward, Yeonjun layed on the floor as you slowly got back up, using the wall behind you as support, the wild and unhinged sound of Yeonjun’s laugh echoing off the walls.

“Oh, my little vixen,” he began, sitting up as he watched you regain your composure. “I missed this. I must admit, you have gotten stronger.” Standing back up slowly, you felt the room slowly heat up. You shifted, knowing what it was that he was about to do next.

“It’s exciting.”

Running towards him, you did your best to avoid the trail of fire that was now after you, ready to swing your knife at him as you got closer. Just as you were close enough to him, you swung towards his neck once more, the predictable movement allowing Yeonjun to step aside, only to get a kick to his chest, successfully knocking him down and allowing you to dive down, the fire that was about to pierce the center of your back flying instead to the wall in front of you, the loud boom barely covering Yeonjun’s scream as you dug your knife into his shoulder.

“Fuck!”

You towered over him, straddling his waist and putting as much weight as you could to keep him down. His hands immediately reached up to clasp over yours, attempting to pull the weapon out, only to have you retaliate by digging it into his skin more, his cursing filling up your ears as he struggled against you.

Your jaw clenched and you felt yourself begin to sweat, the same ring of fire from before beginning to enclose around you slowly with no signs of stopping. Your hands began to burn underneath Yeonjun’s touch, obviously his doing as he seemed to concentrate on attempting to scare you off with the same fire that landed you on the brink of death from your first encounter.

But you refused.

You refused to allow the demon to live any longer, to continue to terrorize innocent and defenseless people in your town, or in this world at all. And now that you had him under your grip, your hands struggling to successfully behead him, you weren’t going to let a little bit of pain scare you away.

Your hands began to numb under the heat of his skin, popping noises emitting from under his iron grip. He was attempting to break your hands, to render them useless, but with the adrenaline coursing through your veins, you pushed on, biting back your own groans of pain and trying to concentrate on your current task, and nothing else.

“Come on my vixen, give it up,” he said, his voice laced with pain and false confidence that he attempted to use in order to make you believe that he remained unaffected. But as your knife inched towards his neck, piercing through his skin and emitting a loud sizzling sound, you knew that it was all a bluff by the way he winced, a low grunt of pain escaping him.

“I really don’t want to hurt you, you know,” he confessed, the ring of fire snapping angrily at your legs, the heat making you want to faint from overexertion. But you continued to push on, much to Yeonjun’s annoyance. “Fine, you asked for it.”

He screwed his eyes shut, the ring of fire slightly calming down, along with his iron grip on your hands. Just as you were about to take this chance and behead him, you felt something coming.

You turned around.

A ball of pitch black fire, resembling a pure void, flew towards you.

It all happened so fast. Throwing you off of him, Yeonjun staggered away from you, watching silently as the void of black washed over you, your screams of agony causing him to look away, the slightest bit of pity washing over him.

This was it, wasn’t it?

You couldn’t move as this void of fire washed over you, a feeling as though every bone in your body was being broken and you were being turned inside out coarsed through your system, your screams ripping through your throat, the wish for death appearing in your heart.

But right as you felt as though you were going to black out, it stopped.

And Yeonjun stood over you.

He watched as you lay there, completely paralyzed with pain. It took a bit before you began to breathe again, your chest barely rising, the air flowing into you causing you pain. Slowly, you opened your eyes, Yeonjun’s face inches from yours, the dark liquid from his wounds dripping onto you.

“I almost feel sorry,” he whispered, his lips grazing yours. You tried to hold on, to finish your job, but the very effort of having to breathe exhausted you beyond belief. Slowly, he pressed his lips to yours, the kiss more of a half hearted apology as he lingered there for a second, his lips still against yours. His mind reeled at the feeling, and he pulled away, a soft smile on his face as he slowly brought his hand down, hesitating before caressing your exhausted face slowly, spreading his own blood on your face.

He grinned.

“I look forward to our next battle.”

And he was gone.

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you collapsed.

#txt fanfic #txt imagines #txt ff #txt fanfiction #tomorrow x together #yeonjun fanfic #yeonjun imagines #txt reader #txt x reader #txt x you #txt x y/n #yeonjun ff #yeonjun x you #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun x y/n #fanfic #reader insert #txt oneshots #yeonjun oneshot

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hyuneytoast · 3 years

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Closer than danger || L.MH

✦Genre - Zombie Apocalypse AU, Lee Minho x Reader (ft. Seungmin), Angst, hint of fluff

✦Warnings - Blood, minor injuries, violence, swearing, weapons

✦Word count - 2.9k

✦Disclaimer! All writings are pure fiction and for entertainment purposes only. They are not meant to portray any members or situations in real life.

“Ok, recap,” Minho gravels out of the cold air, grabbing attention from Seungmin and you.

Knives are firmly in all three of your grips as eyes and ears are on high alert, feet steadily walking across the cracked, empty roads. Another familiar sight of an abandoned town that makes your heart flip with uneasiness. Buildings on each side of the road are dark inside, windows shattered, walls decorated with splatters of blood and desperate handprints. A light grey haze is settled in the far ends of the road along with wrecked vehicles. The town cries itself in tears of a cold bitter air and a helpless invasion of destruction. Damn the dead that roams, taking over each life in this cursed world.

“I’ll be at the corner pharmacy while you two are at the convenient store. We'll meet up at the fountain in the center. Guns are to be used if pocket knives are unmatched only, just as usual. Got it?”

You firmly nod while Seungmin mumbles a confirmation, before departing from the blond male. You stop when a hand grabs yours from behind.

“Be safe, ok, love?” Minho squeezes your hand, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Of course, and you too. Please,” You stare at his eyes that are evident in pure worry, like always when you two split up, before sliding out of his hold and returning alongside Seungmin who doesn’t stop to wait for you.

Your heart shatters the more seconds you see his saddened look. Leaving Minho during a supply run is a situation that you can’t help but internally tremble at, no matter how many times it has already happened. It’s an apocalypse for god’s sake, anything can happen whether you expect it or not. You glimpse over your shoulder to see Minho continue his way to the pharmacy, the last building on the street.

You whip your head when you feel a weight on your shoulder from Seungmin’s hand as he speaks nonchalantly, “Hey, Minho will be fine as always. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we’ll all be out. Now come on.”

Small cracks are heard when you pass through the entrance from the pieces of broken glass. The cloud-filtered sunlight provides a faint glow in the store, but leaving the back walls still in shadows. No groans, no uninvited footsteps, no presence of a zombie so far. So the two of you take that as a cue to continue. It’s at times like these where you feel your mind go absolute static, lungs feeling like they Shan’t to breathe properly as much as they ache to. The sound of your pounding heart echoes through your ears and your nose reeks at the smell of various things rotting. What makes you jumpy is the fact that anything can pop out of thin air. The shelves on the aisles aren’t full, few things left for grabs. Either previous survivors stopped by or the rest is on the floor, definitely inedible. Cracked cans, crushed bottles, and random flaps of cardboard you assume were once boxes of some crackers.

“Y/N, over here!” You hear a sharp whisper from Seungmin on the aisle across, which you cautiously follow. You immediately join when you see him eagerly snatching off bottles of water from the shelf, placing it in the backpack.

After clearing out the bits on the shelf, you two take a scan around for anything more. A few expired protein bars here and there along with limbs behind the cashier counter which you nearly throw up at the sick sight.

Your body is still tense, anxiety through the roof. You snap your head in the direction behind you when a moderately loud ping! and curse is heard. Seungmin’s bag ran into the corner of a shelf of what seems to be once an aisle of wine. Bodies freezing out of pure shock, the glass rolling a mere centimeter before coming in contact with the empty air that drags it down to the tiles. The shattering sound echoes from the building causing you two to visibly gulp, Seungmin gritting his teeth and eyes squeezing shut. You dash towards the male, latching on his arm and pulling him behind the counter; Trying your best to ignore the half person company lying on the floor near you.

They’ve already come, and it’s unsure of how much due to your hidings below the counter, but the several sluggish moans and swift footsteps barge in. Their snarls and short screams confirm they’re on high alert of what’s to be going on within the store.

Collecting the minimalist of your thoughts and breaths, you raise your head just enough to peek over, noticing the zombies are distributed in the aisles, their backs turned from your direction and door. You tug at Seungmin, notifying him to follow, before getting on your feet; knees bent to keep low, but feet making long strides towards the exit. You bite your bottom lip rather firmly, eventually tasting the metallic blood.

Crack!

You look down at the damned loud glass shard you stepped upon, now split into two.

“Fucking hell,” You mutter as high-pitched, raging screams penetrates from behind, nearly making you want to cover your ears. Instead, your hands grab out your pocket knife and turn around, but you knew neither you and Seungmin weren’t going to make it out like this. Not with a pocket knife, and certainly not with the mere dozen zombies dashing your way.

Bang!

Seungmin starts shooting, having you whip out your gun too. Your sweaty hands try to remain a tight grip after each shot, but aiming is made difficult with each fast target while you’re also moving back to the exit yourself. After each round, only three were down. You can almost hear the distant upcoming screams from outside the building too. With a glimpse behind, you notice more joining, having Seungmin and you have no choice but to redirect yourselves toward the corner of the store. One zombie comes a couple feet away from Seungmin, but you’re swift to react, aiming for the head that sends the wretched grey creature flying back. And you hear it. That click that is never good news.

“Fuck, I’m out!” Seungmin spams the trigger, but nothing.

Seungmin is an unpredictable man, you’ve noticed over the months with him. Everything happens within his head and less than half is interpreted. But this… You wouldn’t have figured. Seungmin looks at you with desperate eyes, but the gaze is torn when he grabs your arm and you’re thrown down into the corner. You’re unable to process as everything is happening way too fast, the sights before you only a blur. A hoard of literal death has their attention on your vulnerability, Seungmin vanishes from sight out the door, and your mind seems like it’s spinning as you’re left on the floor to fend for yourself. Your breathing grows heavy and panicked, hands trembling on the trigger as you aim for one of the zombies’ heads. That was your last bullet… A string of curse words is all you manage to get out between short, constant breaths and hot tears spilling. A hand brings out the knife in your pocket, slicing through the air as you can only hope it’d be somewhat useful against the limbs reaching towards you.

Bang!

Followed by another, and then another. The unexpected constant shooting has you jump, hurdling yourself within the corner even more. You watch each zombie as their attention is set towards the exit instead of you, before they are sent limp to the floor with straining screams. You look up, expecting Seungmin to return, but you’re met with the blond male you’d thought you’d never see again, Minho. Silence settling upon is interrupted by both your heavy breathings, adding to the fearful tension. Minho checks his surroundings before lunging himself towards you, a big thud from the harsh impact as his knees hit the floor.

“M-Minho, you-” You can only manage whimpering before the male’s arms are thrown around you, holding you like a shelter.

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re okay, right? God, please tell me they didn’t touch you, please” He pleads while catching his breath, and as you shake your head, you hear him let out a shaky huff of relief. “Holy shit, thank goodness, fucking thank god,” He repeats like a mantra, gently rocking you back in forth, comforting both you and him. You don’t know the details of what the hell just happened, but you’re shook. Your face is wet from tears as you’re still shaking in Minho's embrace, adrenaline still rushing through your blood. Him, on the other hand, has his mind running hysterically about the chaos he walked upon and how things might’ve ended if he didn’t arrive the time he did.

There then is a scream, quite far away and faint, but it’s more than a good warning telling you to flee. “We have to go quickly, baby,” He urges, voice still coated in fear; that fear of how you’re on the edge of staying beside him. Minho hoists you up to your feet, giving you a squeeze on your side. “You sure you’re not hurt? I found extra medical supplies at the pharmacy.”

“Nothing major, promise.” You give an assuring smile, but the edges of your lips are still crumpled down.

“Ok if- Shit, where’s Seungmin?” You see how the male looks everywhere, a face of horror, if more possible, as his hand is securely around yours.

“Minho…” How would you say this? ‘Cause you certainly can’t fully process the betrayal still till this moment yourself, but that certainly won’t help the man beside you who is only assuming the worst. “He ran…” You speak warily before pressing your lips into a line. You almost flinch at the immediate change of look on Minho’s face. His eyes grow dark and eyebrows furrow as he looks at you. It was all the more intimidating, something you’ve never seen on him, not this bad at least.

“What the hell do you mean? Ran?!”

Another scream from afar, you two really need to leave. “Exactly what I mean. H-he pushed me and then took off! I figured he went to bring you to help or something, especially because we were out of ammo and-” Your voice rushing after each word, breaths picking up again due to confusion and uneasiness.

“Hey, hey, calm down. Let’s save the rest for later, ok? We really have to go, Y/N.” Calmness yet efficiency is the best choice of reaction if you two want to live, but you don’t miss the rage Minho has ablaze in him. Face still wears the growing feelings of hatred and disbelief, his teeth grinding against each other.

Minho takes your gun before reloading it with an extra pack of ammo from inside his bag. He hands it back to you in one hand while securely intertwining with the other. The two of you cautiously head out into the open streets, diving into the small spaces saved between each building for cover. A few zombies whose silhouettes you make out in the grey, but no sign of Seungmin.

Minho doesn’t let go of your hand the entire way, waiting until the apartment, that the initial three of you scouted a while back, has its roof over you. The apartment is quite bare under thin dust, but what’s to be expected from one in an apocalypse. Not as empty as thought though as eyes are set on the familiar figure, or rather a familiar someone. Seungmin stares back with an unreadable look from the wooden table, hand movements paused from sorting out the packed goods from the hectic supply run.

Before anyone can make a comment or take another uneasy breath, Minho strides over to the guilty male and grabs him by the collar, harshly pinning him against the wall.

“Seungmin Kim, you fucking bastard!!” It’s a visible sight of the redness on Minho’s skin, veins popping out his neck as he yells in a deep voice. Your man is pissed as hell. His piercing look doesn’t leave Seungmin’s, who is remaining motionless, but with such a gaze set on him Minho doesn’t miss the evident fear and guilt. “You fucking laid your hands on Y/N for your own safety, for your own damn sake!” He growls, pulling Seungmin away from the wall before slamming him against it again, having him wince along with the burn of Minho’s fingers digging into his shoulders “They almost died because you!”

You let in a sharp gasp as you watch the scene unfold only more, Minho raising his fist and striking it against the other’s face. The unrelenting impact echoes in the apartment, Seungmin letting his head hang low as a red mark is formed from the hit.

“It’s a damn apocalypse, Lee. You can’t possibly think that if one goes down, we all fucking do!” Seungmin spits between gritted teeth.

The blond male scoffs, “Oh yeah? Well, look what you did-” A punch “Look where it got you now.” Another strike.

“Dammit!” Seungmin snaps, tearing off Minho’s grasp and having his fist fire back.

You can’t take it anymore, anxious by the sight. This certainly isn’t going to go anywhere. “Stop!” You call out, rushing towards the brawling men. Blood drips down from Seungmin’s nose and the big cut on Minho’s lip. Both have faces dusted in bruises along with their frustration, knuckles purple. “Minho, stop! Please!” You pull his arm as it’s raised in mid-air, pulling him away from Seungmin whose fist comes near the startled you.

Minho feels his heart drop as he catches the sight of you, brows knitted in worry and tears pricking at the edge of your eyes. He’s seen too much today, but he can’t get past the fact that Seungmin, whom he trusted enough to have as an ally, had intentions of saving himself over you. Damn it, he just can’t! The love of his life, nearly gone just like that; All because of the culprit who stands in front of him at this very moment. Minho tries to get one more hit, nearly lunging at Seungmin, but he pulls out a pocket knife and points it at the two of you in defense. Minho quickly reacts by pulling you behind him, shielding you with his arm. His other hand reaches to pull out his loaded gun towards Seungmin, his hand shaking, you notice. Seungmin’s eyes keep switching between Minho and you, a determined gaze and threatening hands.

“Don’t you. Fucking. Dare. Move an inch with your bullshit and a bullet goes through that damn head of yours.”

“Unbelievable, you’re a complete maniac, Minho!” The blade in his hands still doesn't retreat.

“Minho…” You plead in a whisper, placing your hands on his arm and having him step back.

He lets out a frustrated sigh. “Just get the hell out, and don’t you ever touch what’s mine again.”

Everyone’s still for a moment before Seungmin takes the knife and stabs the table as he gives in. “At least I can get further than the two of you and your soft hearts,” He mutters bitterly, gathering his supplies in his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He approaches the apartment’s door, Minho lowering the gun the further he walks.

“Keep on running away, you asshole, it’s what you do best,” Minho lightly cackles, knowing just how to get even more on the other male’s nerves. It has him clench his fists, bruised knuckles turning white, before walking out to slam the door behind which has you both flinch. Minho locks the door, peering out from behind the curtain making sure Seungmin is long gone in the distance before anything else.

“I swear to god, if he-”

“Shhh, no more,” You demand, pushing him towards the edge of the couch to sit on, holding an aid kit for his face speckled in wounds. He winces at the cold contact of a cloth you dab on his cheek. All the pain is quick to subside though when he peers at your face that’s only a small distance away as you hover above. If only he could get lost in admiring every feature of yours like this everyday. Your eyes are deep of care and concern, focusing on cleaning him up.

"Reminds me of our late high school years, don't you think, angel?" He murmurs. "Always getting into fights, but then you'd come along and fix me up."

"Even in an apocalypse, some things always stay the same," You chuckle, a soft smile that reminisces those untouched moments.

What did he ever do to deserve you in a fucked up world like this, Minho wonders to himself as he wraps his arms loosely around your waist. He also wonders if he went overboard back there, recalling your fretted state. “I’m sorry, Y/N…I lost my mind, but I still shouldn’t have reacted like that. Did I... scare you?”

Your fingers gently glide over his skin, applying antibiotic ointment. “Mm… yeah, but more because I didn’t want you getting any more hurt. It’s okay though, I understand. I’m more than thankful for your protection.”

“Thank you.”

You avert your eyes towards his for a moment. “No, thank you, Min. Thank you for being there for me.”

And with that, you plant your lips on his, a feeling that makes Minho helplessly smile, and one that makes all burdening feelings dissipate. Or, at least for now.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: SKZ Materialist*.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 3 years

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COSMIC - S1:E1; Chapter One, The Vanishing of Will Byers - [Pt. 1]

A Will Byers x Male!Reader Series

𝘖𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥'𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘏𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥.

𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟔𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟑

𝐇𝐀𝐖𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐒, 𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐀

𝐇𝐀𝐖𝐊��𝐍𝐒 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐔.𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐘

The night is quiet, as it always has been in this small corner of Indiana, and yet this night is unlike any other. The halls were especially bare, occupied only by the melody of the generator humming as it struggled to pump light throughout the twisted maze of halls. That was, until...

BAM

The steel door rips open, colliding fast and hard with the walls withab fantastic thud. Swallowing all remaining silence along with it, was the cry of alarms that flood the hallway as he runs for his life. The man finds himself at the elevator, furiously slamming his hand against the elevator button hoping just maybe it might make the elevator come faster. As he does so, the man continues to look over his shoulder in a panic.

He knows its after him.

BOOM

He knows its close.

The man is thrilled to hear the soft ding of the elevator signaling it's arrival. Before the doors are even opened all the way the man quickly ducks through and proceeds to frantically hit the UP button inside the elevator.

The doors begin to close.

For a second he believes he just might make it. But that doesn't completely cast away the fear as he can't seem to take his eyes off of the eerie hallway, expecting it's arrival. The man attempts to calm his breathing. His hopes of escaping are growing stronger as things quiet down.

That's when he hears it.

That... Thing.

It takes every remaining ounce of courage for the man to slowly look up, but on some level, he already knows he is done for.

A low growl is heard above him followed by an unusual yet terrifying squeak.

The man's screams were cut off with the shut of the doors as he is yanked up towards the ceiling of the elevator. The man is no more.

|| 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ||

It's quiet. The faint sound of sprinklers outside can be heard as we wait for Mike to continue. We are all on the edge of our seats. It's already hard enough they still can't find proper seating for me since I officially joined the party, so, for now, I'm wedged between my best friend Will and my brother Dustin.

"Something is coming. Something hungry for blood," Mike says, his voice barely above a whisper. "A shadow grows on the wall behind you, swallowing you in darkness."

Subconsciously we all slowly lean in waiting for whatever happens next.

"It is almost here."

"What is it?" Will asks suddenly, no longer capable of containing his curiosity.

This time it's Dustin who cuts in, "What if it's the Demogorgon?"

I take a deep breath in suspense. Out of the corner of my eye, Will practically throws himself back in his seat.

"Oh, Jesus, we're so screwed if it's the Demogorgon." Dustin rambles on.

Lucas speaks up, "It's not the Demogorgon." He sounds very sure of himself which gives me more confidence.

We all jump a little in our seats when Mike slams one of the game pieces down in front of us suddenly as he shouts "An army of troglodytes charge into the chamber!"

I sigh in great relief as Lucas gives a very smug and quite frankly, sassy look to Dustin as he props his elbow on the back of his chair which earns a soft chuckle from me.

"Troglodytes?" Dustin asks in disbelief.

"Told ya," I roll my eyes at Lucas despite the smile that grows on my face.

Everyone shares a good laugh, all of us relieved when my eyes meet Will's and we share a smile and a shake of the head as if silently saying 'I can't believe we were so worried for nothing'.

Simultaneously all of our smiles melt away when Mike starts looking around as he says "Wait a minute. Did you hear that?"

"That...That sound," he says softly.

"Boom... Boom," his voice is getting slightly louder with each 'boom'. We all stare at Mike expectantly, hanging on to his every word.

"BOOM!" Mike is shouting at this point as he slams his hands against the wooden surface making the table as well as all of us jump.

I always get too into these games, I realize. My heart is racing as adrenaline courses through my veins. I look over and it seems when I jumped I grabbed on to the nearest thing next to me which happened to be Will's arm. Sheepishly, I retract my hand and look back at Mike in anticipation.

"That didn't come from the troglodytes. No, that... That came from something else." Mike continues.

We all look around at each other as we wait for Mike.

In an instant, Mike slams down the next figure on the board and exclaims, "The Demogorgon!"

'Yep. We're screwed.'

The silence is replaced with all of our defeated groans. Dustin sighs and says, "We're in deep shit."

Mike suddenly says, "Will, your action!"

"I don't know!" Will sounded desperate.

We're all on edge, but the boys are completely panicking.

"Fireball him!" Lucas shouts.

"I'd have to roll a 13 or higher!"

"Too risky." Dustin cuts in. "Cast a protection spell!"

Lucas turns to Will and says "Don't be a pussy," I roll my eyes. "Fireball him!"

At this point, Lucas and Dustin are just yelling at each other.

"Cast protection."

Our attention is quickly brought back to Mike when he shouts, "The Demogorgon is tired of your silly human bickering! It stomps towards you."

"BOOM!"

"FIREBALL HIM!"

"Another stomp. BOOM."

"Cast. Protection."

"He roars in anger!"

At this point, everyone is yelling over one another; it's utter chaos, and finally I snap.

"Oh, come on, I'M tired of your silly human bickering, just let the boy roll!" It's hard to be heard over all the yelling but, by some miracle,, they manage to hear me and it's quiet for a split second as Will gets a chance to speak.

"And, FIREBALL!" He throws the dice on the table out of excitement and they go flying onto the floor.

"Oh shit!"

We all jump to our feet, scrambling to find the dice in anticipation.

"Where'd it go?" Lucas asks. "Where is it?"

Will almost sounded defensive, "I don't know!"

"Is it a 13?"

"How are we supposed to know if we haven't found the dice yet, Dustin?" I retort.

"Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God!" Dustin chants as he paces back and forth. I roll my eyes as I continue to search on my hands and knees.

"Mike," It was Mrs. Wheeler.

"Mom we're in the middle of a campaign!" Mike exclaims.

"You mean the end? Fifteen after."

Mike sighs, exasperated and runs up the stairs.

I hear Lucas accuse Will. "Oh, my God! Freaking Idiot!"

"Lucas," I ease. "come on, it's not his fault. We were all caught up in the game. Let's just focus on- OH! Found 'em!"

I jump to my feet, pointing down at the D-20 for my friends to see and not wanting to tamper with the roll. The boys come running over and practically trampled me in the process.

"Shit, it's a seven." We all groan in frustration, especially Will.

"Does a seven count?" Will asked hopefully.

"Did Mike see it?" Lucas counters.

"Well, no."

"Then it doesn't count."

I sigh, beginning to pack up my bags and tidy up my mess knowing it was time to leave. The others do the same.

"Why do we have to leave?" Will asks sadly as we head up the stairs. "It was just getting good,"

"I know," I swing my arm off his shoulder dramatically with a sigh as we head up the basement stairs and for the garage door. "I know. But hey, just think how awesome the next one will be, eh?" I tease trying to get my best friend to smile.

|| 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ||

Y/n has always been so good at cheering people up, I have no idea how he does it.

"Hey, guys. I'm sorry we had to end it so soon." Y/n and I turn around looking at Mike.

"No sweat, Mikey." Y/n shrugs, with a smile.

I love that smile. Suddenly his arm leaves my shoulder, and I frown a little.

I sigh inwardly, I've had such a bad crush on Y/n since he and Dustin moved here in the 4th grade. He has no idea... I hope. I always admired him from afar, that is until he finally convinced Dustin to let him into the party. We were all glad to have him, Dustin can be a little overprotective is all. I'm not sure about Dustin, but as for Mike and Lucas, they know I like him. Those guys can read me like a book, and once they caught on there was no convincing them otherwise.

I'm really lucky to have them as friends. They've never made me feel bad for who I am.

"Hey, Mike? Where is Dustin?" Y/n asks.

That's a good point, I realize. He was right behind us but he hasn't come outside yet.

"I think he went upstairs to give the leftovers to Nancy."

"Oh okay. I'll just wait here then. Uh oh, your plant is dying" Y/n said suddenly, kneeling down by the withering plant by the patio.

"Yeah, that's my mom's tomato plant. That thing is hopeless. She basically gave up on it."

"Well, I might be able to help," he said thoughtfully, beginning to scan the garage. "Where do you keep your gardening- Oh, never mind!"

He quickly runs over to the shelves, retrieving some old packets and ran back over to the plant, kneeling beside it.

You can always tell when he is concentrating; he always does this cute thing where he furrows his brow and chews his lip. My stomach does a little flip when i realize I was staring again and I quickly refocus my attention on my vest zipper. I still manage to see Y/n fiddling with the the packet tonget it open, finally sprinkling the contents into the dirt before mixing it in with his finger. All the while, he mutters words of encouragement towards it. I remember him telling me one day about a study conducted on plants and how it was proved that they respond well to positive feedback, and the memory makes me smile. He was so fascinated by it; it was hard not to be as excited about it as he was when he told us about it.

Y/n stands up, brushing himself off and smiles at Mike and then me.

I kinda froze, not in panic but in awe. He just radiates warmth, and positivity effortlessly.

"What?" He chuckles as he smiles at me.

I shake my head in embarrassment and look away, zipping up my vest and getting on my bike.

Lucas just rolls his eyes at my behavior. He's always telling me to just go for it but it's not that easy. I think he's tired of my bashfulness but still understands why I'm scared.

We all look to the door when we hear it slam. It's Dustin.

"There's something wrong with your sister." He grumbles.

"What are you talking about?"

"She's got a stick up her butt."

"Yeah," Lucas joins in. "It's because she's been dating that douche bag, Steve Harrington."

"Yeah, she's turning into a real jerk."

"She's always been a real jerk!" Mike interrupts.

"Nuh-uh. She used to be cool, like the time she dressed up as an elf for our elder tree campaign." With that, Dustin headed off on his bike, followed by Y/n but not before sending me a smile and thanking Mike.

"It was a seven," I tell him, thinking back on the campaign.

"Huh?"

"The roll, it was a seven. The Demogorgon, it got me."

Mike seems a bit shocked at my truthfulness, but ultimately shrugs it off, nodding. I nod back.

"See you later!" I say as I start peddling away.

I catch up just in time to see Lucas bid his goodbyes.

"Good night, ladies!" He chimes.

"Kiss your mom 'night for me," Dustin calls before looking over at me.

"Race you back to my place? Winner gets a comic?"

Before I can respond Y/n speaks up, "and am I included this time, like at all?"

"Course not," he says nonchalantly. I shake my head, feeling kinda bad for him, but I know it's just sibling banter.

"Well then," he scoffs. "Don't be surprised if your bike tires mysteriously deflate one day, Dustin. There's all kinds of weirdos out here,"

I laugh, and Dustin just ignores him.

"Any comic?" I ask.

"Yeah!" As we are about to start we both look back when we hear Y/n frantically yelling, "Shit! DUSTIN HELP!"

I look back to see him winking at me with a smile on his face. Automatically realizing what he is up to, I booked it.

Fortunately for me, Dustin wasn't so quick. I could hear his frantic cries, "Jesus, Y/n what's wrong-? HEY, WHAT THE HELL?!"

There it is. Although, I was already far ahead.

"DAMMIT Y/N, IF I LOSE YOU OWE ME A COMIC BOOK!"

I can hear Y/n's laughter from here and it makes me smile. As the laughter grows more and more distant, I hear "GO WILL, GO!"

Somehow my smile gets bigger, and my legs go faster.

"Hey! Hey! Get back here! I'm gonna kill you! BOTH of you!"

"I'll take your X-Men 134!" I shout as I pass his house and take the shortcut to my own.

As I slow down my mind starts to wonder; It wanders to the campaign today. It wanders to how Y/n helped me win the race and my new comic book just moments ago. It wanders to Y/n grabbing my arm during the campaign and how I don't think I've ever blushed that hard... My mind wanders to Y/n.

Sometimes I really hate how much I like him. How I can't get him out of my head. He just has always been such a good friend to me and I just don't get how someone can be so nice, and thoughtful and-

My thoughts are cut short when I notice my bike light flickering. I look down at it in confusion. Just then it comes back on. I look back at the road and I see a disturbingly tall, ominous figure staring me down. My heart practically stops in the figure's wake.

My body reacted before my mind could; I yanked my bike right and as I cruise down the ditch, my bike topples over and I'm sent to the muddy ground. It takes me a second to gather my senses as I warily pick myself up and try and get a glimpse of what I just saw. My heart starts racing faster as I hear an alarming and indistinct growling. I'm whimpering at this point but I don't care. I ditch my bike without a second thought and book it as fast as I can in the direction of my house.

I'm sniveling and panting as I make it through the fog that covers the road in front of my house. I make it on to the porch, throw open the door, and slam it shut just as fast. My fingers fumble to secure every single lock on the door and for the first time in my life I wonder why we don't have more. All the while, Chester is barking like crazy.

"Mom?" I'm running through the house looking in every room for any sign of my mom or Jonathan.

"Jonathan? Mom?"

'Crap they must be working. Crap! No No No!'

I run back into the living room and throw the blinds over my head, wincing as it hit the back of my head. But I waste no time in cupping my hands up against the glass to get a better look at the yard to see if I can spot the figure.

My stomach drops what feels like ten stories.

I can see it in the distance right between the sheets that were hung out to dry.

It's just standing there. Menacingly. (a/n: If you understood that reference, and actually thought it was funny let's be friends please 😂)

It starts stomping towards the house.

I gasp and start running for the phone.

I hastily pick the phone up from the mount and my fingers are shaking as I try and dial 911 as fast as possible.

I can hear it ringing. I can hear the click as if someone picked up. I waste no time, "Hello? HELLO?!"

All I can hear over the phone now is static, and then a disturbing, yet familiar screech-like growl. Chester's barking is getting louder and more frequent indicating that It's right outside. I slowly peer around the corner to look at the glass window on the door and I can barely make out the menacing shadowy figuring looming outside the door. I can hear it growling from outside.

Chester's barks quickly turn into whimpers as he backs away towards me.

Then the unthinkable happens.

The chain lock on the inside of the door starts unlocking itself.

'Shit!'

At this point, I realize I'm never going to be able to outrun it so I'm going to have to at least try to defend myself. I remember the gun we keep in the shed out back and make a run for it, not even bothering to hang up the phone. I nearly trip on my own feet as I run for the shed. I make it inside and slam the shed door behind me in the process. I quickly but carefully take the gun off the wall and set it on the shelf as I scramble for the ammo. My fingers are still trembling as I fumble to put the bullets in the magazine.

Once I finally get the magazine in, I pick up the gun and aim it at the shed door waiting. It seems as though I can't even keep the gun steady since my entire body is completely tremoring, even my unsteady breaths.

It has to be close by now.

As if on cue I hear the deep growling that I've already heard twice tonight and for a couple of moments I think it's outside. But then I realize why it sounds so close.

It's in the shed with me.

It's behind me.

The fear is nearing paralyzing, but I still manage to command my body to turn around to get a look at this relentless monster. When I see it I just stand there in utter disbelief, the gun slowly and subconsciously lowering to my side in shock. I'm completely frozen in place as I stare at the beast in front of me. The hanging light bulb above me glows intensively brighter with every passing second. The last thing I see before I'm cloaked in pure white light and an unbearable chill is the monster's long arm reaching out for me.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

❥ Let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist! ❥

#you'll float queue #cosmic #cosmic 1 #m!cosmic #will byers x reader #will byers x male!reader #reader insert #stranger things #x male!reader #y/n henderson #will byers #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #mike wheeler #the vanishing of will byers

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thesmokingguns · 3 years

Text

Lets Get Ready to Rumble

Word Count: 835

Summary: Silly little fic about Rachel’s GF visiting on tour and the chaos that comes with the pair of them together.

A/N: I’ve never written anyone from Skid Row before but I thought it would be fun to give it a try. I saw a video of a hotel room wrestling match and just wanted to write something super playful and fun. I didn’t include my usual taglist because IDK who is a Skid Row fan and who would want to read this but I hope you like it!

“Rach!” you half snorted as he threw you over his shoulder making you laugh in surprise. He was spinning around before jumping and pretending to throw you on the bed. You bounced and were ready to recover and pounce on him but he was holding you down with one of your legs up.

“AND BOLAN HAS HER PINNED. IN ONE...TWO..” You thrust your hips up making his eyes narrow. You managed to get out of his arms and the pair of you were both in your own corner of the beds sizing each other up.

Your laughter was making his pseudo serious face crack and as he dove for you, you dumped belly flopping on his back and hearing a groan as you grabbed his legs twisting you both until you fell onto a pile on the floor with a ‘oomph’. Instead of making sure you were all right he was standing up, your legs over his shoulder as you screamed out being lifted in the air before being slammed down to the bed in a power bomb that left you shaking with adrenaline.

Rachel jumped on top of you once more, grabbing your leg as he went to pin you but you kicked yourself up making him swear as you dove to the other bed in the room, chortling with laughter as the bed shook and moved like a surfboard.

“What are you two idiots..OH MY GOD.” You were jumping off the bed like a flying squirrel as Rachel tried to ninja hand you away. Snake was backing against the wall as Rachel managed to catch you falling back against the bed as you tried to pin him.

“FUCKING REF SNAKE!” You screamed as you grabbed your boyfriend, who wasn’t about to go down that easy. Rachel donkey kicked you off making you hit the lamp and it smashed into a million pieces.

“WATCH OUT FOR THE GLASS!” Rachel yelled, grabbing you again and pulling you to the bed. You fell back against him, adjusting so you were behind him and trying to put a sleeper lock on him. Your legs were wrapped around him as he tried falling back on the mattress to get you off. He managed to get his arm under your armpit, switching tactics to tickling you into submission. You once more kicked him off, sending him towards Snake who made a voice as he jumped out of the way.

Rachel grabbed a chair ready to start using props in this match but Snake intervened grabbing it out of his hands.

“She’s your girlfriend. You can't hit her with a chair in a hotel wrestling match.” he reminded him of the obvious. But you weren’t against playing dirty and jumped when he was distracted taking him and Snake down all in one move. “You guys are fucking idiots.” But the pair of you didn't care and were soon back to dragging each other on the bed ready to finish your wrestling match.

“Do you give up yet?” you asked as Rachel looked on at you, a smile spreading across his face like this was a challenge. You ducked when he charged at you, his elbow going thru the thin wall of the hotel.Your mouth fell open as you watched sheetrock litter the sheets.

“Oh no.” the noise came from the manager who walked in to see you two standing on the bed. The hotel room is an absolute mess and a massive hole where Rachel had just moved his elbow from.

“I’ll pay for it.” Rachel said as you looked to see if he was bleeding. His elbow was bending so you figured that at least he wasn’t injured. That would just mean you two were in even more trouble.

“Why can’t you two be like normal rockstar couples? Y/N flies in, you have sex for a few days and she goes home. Instead she flys in and the pair of you have a wrestling match in the bed like a pair of teenage boys.” You were smiling as Rachel grabbed your head pretending to give you a noggie as your hair flew everywhere.

“We’ll fuck later. We were wrestling to decide if we wanted Thai food or pizza.” The two other men in the room, like you guys, were crazy, “It’s a draw so we’re going to order both.” Rachel added as you tried not to snort as the manager threw his hands up and left the room shaking his head like he was losing his mind.

When you were alone in the room you both laid in the bed, taking deep gulps of air as you laughed at the chaos around you. Rachel’s arm pulled you closer to him and he laid a kiss on your forehead.

“Thanks for coming out for a visit, babe. Sorry you lost the wrestling match.” you were jumping to your feet on the uneven mattress. There was about to be a lot more damage to the room.

#Rachel Bolan #Rachel Bolan Imagine #Skid Row Imagine #Skid Row #Rachel Bolan Fan fic #Rachel bolan ific #Rachel bolan fanfiction #skid row fan fcic

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animefreak1145 · 3 years

Text

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

Previous Next

Chapter 3| How Little We Know of What There is To Know

Chapter Summary:

Pretending and being numb is the key.

Yet Adler always manages to bring some emotion out of you.

Cold War Reset AU| Undertale Reset AU

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

A/N: Where pineapple is the nectar of the gods and scars are lightning.

“Bell”

Second Life

23:09 | February 25, 1981

CIA SAFEHOUSE E9, “DIE LANDEBAHN”

You rubbed your dry eyes as you stared at your notes all over the desk you’ve chosen as your little corner, the large bulky computer taking up space but you’ve made do by moving the brick that is the keyboard as much as you could off to the side. Your papers held inks of different colors—although they were only red, blue, and black and yellow highlights—and you had a stack of folders behind the computer that were from the CIA and MI6 archives. You had Kraus’ ledger off to your side, headphones on top of it for you to hear the audio of U.S. cities and numbers. Your fourth mug of coffee of the day was already gone and you would grab another just to enjoy the warm liquid to go down your throat instead of the caffeine itself, you were always one of late night’s either way.

The safehouse was quiet outside the hum of the generator and the lights above. Most of the crew gone. Outside of your absent tapping of a pen against your messy notes and the white of a nearby fan for extra circulation, the main open area of the safehouse was a desert.

If you focused deeply, you can hear mumbles and murmurs that you can’t make out coming from the office. Adler has been in there for awhile talking over the phone. To who, you don’t know but you have your suspicions. You just hope the subject is not about you being suspicious—the talk on the roof was a slight on your part earlier.

You truly don’t know what came over you. But you need to watch your mouth and expressions. Adler is perceptive, deadly and ever watchful of a person’s micro expressions and body language.

You can’t mess up.

A shot rings. And a heart splinters.

“It was never personal.”

You really can’t.

Which is why, you have been focused solely on decoding the entire day. Your eyes scanning and assessing the acquired Intel from the Volkov mission for Operation Chaos and Operation Red Circus. You have the knowledge on how to solve them but you are lacking needed Intel to help finish Operation Red Circus.

Operation Chaos was tricky. With two pieces of evidence outside of the newspaper, it being the audio log and the paper that had the coded message. Earlier in the morning, you wrote down all the possible numbers the missing parts of the code be—trying to find the pattern in the set of red and blue numbers. You were writing down the possibilities, your paper looking chaotic with arrows and numbers and cities that could coincide with said numbers.

After the quick checkup of your head with Adler, all firm and gentle touches with you keeping your eyes to the side or down as he fulfilled why he got the alias Doc—treatments of gun wounds and cuts to bayonets, complete trust he’ll take care of you as he would lecture or tighten a bandage a tad too tight in reprimand due to a reckless action—and kept quiet as he did so outside of a soft yes or no when he asked about the pain, you moved to go to work. Ignoring the feel of his gaze on you as you did so. Park coming to your desk after you moved your stuff from the center table to your chosen corner to begin, papers already everywhere and scattered as you tried to organize it in a manner you could only understand, a mug close to her mouth and a cocked brow at the mess.

“There’s a way to keep it a bit more clean and less like a junk pile,” the British woman said, amused as you made a distracted sound, squinting at the coded language in your hand as papers rustled. “And when I gave you my advice, I didn’t think you would take it so seriously. There’s a better desk you could’ve chosen as your own, Bell.”

You blinked, giving Park a confused look.

“Advice?”

Park making an obvious glance to the center table in front of the evidence board, you automatically following it. Only to turn back to your paper once you noticed Adler’s form by the table, cigarette in his hand as he stared down at his own files.

"From one woman to another, give him a wide berth."

“. . . I just needed some space to focus. I’m sure Adler wouldn’t like all my papers everywhere around him either way.” You could still feel the ghost of his touch on your head and your hand. You wanted to erase it. “But I don’t mind staying close just in case. Easier to hand things to you or him whenever I’m done.”

“Someone sounds confident,” Park commented with a sip of her coffee, making your own lips twitch for a moment as you replied that you are the best as you moved some papers around. Than, in a quiet murmur with a quick dart back to Adler’s direction, “Distractions are best to be avoided. . .”

“What was that?” You asked, placing everything in a pile as well trying to keep some of them up by leaning the papers on the computer screen and failing as they slid down. You heard Park release an exasperated humored huff through her nose just as you heard her step away only for you to have a black leather gloved hand in your face with sticky notes. “What is. . .”

“Oh come now. I am sure it’d be easier if you used these. Make sense of this chaos. I guess there is some fact of what people say about geniuses and their rooms,” she motioned the sticky note pad again as you stared at it. The papers were yellow but new. Unused, outside of a crinkle at an edge.

“Where am I?”

“Who am I?”

“What is happening?”

“Why can’t you remember?”

“D o y o u h e a r i t ? ”

“Who is Perseus?”

“Tell me who I am!”

Blood forms the words, as if with a finger.

“They want to kill you.”

“Make it stop.”

“MK”

Words pressed on the page, over and over and over with harsh penmanship and you don’t understand what’s happening. What is this room? And that man. . . Why does it hurt? Is this helping Russell?

Pain

Pain Pain боль

боль

Pain Pain

боль

Pain Pain Pain

боль боль

It hurts.

GlockeGlockeGlockeG̷̟̩͙̏͌ḽ̸̊̿o̵̦̓͝c̵̭̯̊́ḱ̷̛̼͌͊e—

You turned away back to your papers, jaw tight.

“I’m good. Sticky notes can be a pain. Thank you, Park.” Park lowered her hand, giving you a questioning stare in the back of your head. You sighed, turning your head over your lowered shoulders. “I’m going to try to finish this today but I think I’m missing a few pieces of Intel. You can give me other things to decode for MI6 in the meanwhile.”

Park frowned delicately, lowering her mug.

“That sounds like a hefty workload. And I believe it would be best if we put all our focus into Perseus for now.”

No. You have to be useful.

“It’ll be fine,” you say, searching for a paper and giving it to her while Park grabbed it. “I solved that part of the code already. The other intel we got from Kraus, I’m going to need more information in order to figure out who exactly can be Strong Man, Bearded Lady, and the Juggler. I can’t go forward with that so might as well help with other codes you guys may have trouble with. What did you imply?” You ask with faux curiosity, your lips twitching up before falling as you wrote something down. “That I’m a genius?”

“Smartarse.” Park retorted, although she seemed to still hesitate but eventually she gave you three files where they seemed to be having trouble. You getting to work immediately to help as Park walked away and you hearing later on Park and Adler head to the office.

You did your best to not think too much of it. You have to keep at your work and make sure you’re capable and on task. You rather not get jabbed.

“We got a job to do.”

And although it might be inevitable, you would rather not have those words said to you as well. Even if it didn’t seem to have the same affect as before, the feeling and how your thoughts seemed to blur came back. Being aware you moved like a puppet and were one all along is not what you would like to focus on.

After you finished two of MI6’s files—had to do with KGB and how interesting they would use some quotes of Oscar Wilde’s 1984 hidden in the code as if the man was in support of communism with the work—with a hum mixed with impressed and curiosity from Park as she looked at the solved papers, your nose twitched at the scent of smoke and leather as you worked on the last MI6 folder.

“Stealing away my protege, Park?” Your hand around the pen paused before continuing, a plume of grey gathering above you. “And here I thought we have an equal partnership when it comes to this whole Perseus business. At least tell me you’re not wasting her time?”

“I wouldn’t call it stealing if she’s willing,” Park easily replied before handing him the two files to look over that you did, Adler scanning through it as she continued. “And it still has to do with our red friends. You sure are quick with the ball, Bell.”

“It’s nothing,” you say quietly, “Can’t exactly go forward so might as well help you with other codes that others can’t solve. Just send anymore my way. You too, sir.”

Adler made a distant hum, closing the files and handing it back to Park. You felt his stare at the back of your neck as you stared at the paper in front of you that might as well be nonsense since you sensed him.

Look at him, pup.

“If you wanted a more exciting challenge Bell, you could’ve asked. Always the type to leave no stone unturned and show off.”

“‘More exciting challenge’?” Park repeated, “Think MI6 codes are all flowers and rainbows compared to those in the CIA, Adler? I believe I recall that it was only Bell that could be able to solve the dossier instead of anyone else within your organization.”

Yeah, cause you brainwashed me, you thought bitterly but the two kept going as you could only sit in between. Nice to have to be a witness between these two again.

“Bell is the best CIA decoder we have,” you tightened your jaw in surprise instead of to tense when his hand landed on your shoulder, a gentle squeeze—in comfort, in belief, in trust, in camaraderie, in everything but what you wanted and what you needed, in order to control— as you lowered the paper in your hand. “As well as having a wide range of other skills. You think I would just call in any brain dead desk sitter for this operation?”

You could see in your mind’s eye how dizzy you would get before due to all this praise. Now, you just do your best to press your lips as your chest tightened.

You felt Park shift behind you, her looking at you in appraisal.

“You are one of a kind, Bell. Shame you were born in the wrong country. Having to have Adler here as your superior.”

You huffed through your nose in dry amusement at that. Irony not lost on you.

What a curse indeed.

You turned in your chair finally, lips quirked that didn’t quite meet your eyes as you pointed your thumb towards Adler.

“You should’ve seen him in ‘Nam if you think he’s bad now. Always with the lectures.”

You felt Adler release you, watching as he took an inhale as he did a small shrug in disinterest.

“You can be stubborn, Bell. If I couldn’t beat it out of you, I’ll talk it out of you.” You looked up and you could sense his eyes looking down at you behind those shades. “Although I feel like sometimes I’m wasting my breath. Your recklessness borders on insanity.”

“I think I can see why they put the both of you together than,” Park said, brow arched towards Adler and a certain look in her eyes towards him you couldn’t quite read. It looked like a warning. But what could that look be for? “Insanity breeds insanity as they say.”

They left you after that, you waving off Adler asking if you need a break. He took that as the okay to bring you CIA files for you to decode. Seems he has no trouble using you dry if you’re going to insist on it. Despite that, you took them and you were able to solve three.

Park came back towards your desk and saying you could have a break, again, you waved her off. As well as her concern you wouldn’t want to read into—is it real for you and your body, or is some sort of guilt that perhaps they gave you a strong dose for the memory exercise and you’re running on steam, is it fake or real, don’t break the puppet- so you didn’t. You telling Lazar the food you wish and him dropping it by your desk with his own comment that your brain might fall out and you saying you’ll be fine, even threw in a small joke that with his food your brain will be well nourished. Outside of your favorite brand of pumpkin seeds of course. Sims only made a stray comment about the stacks on your desk, getting tall as the day went on and turned to night. You don’t recall if you said something back. You probably did, Sims was always distant—you have trauma that’s not even real and have the gall to have some nightmares about it when he actually went through that horrible war and sees a therapist for it, you don’t know the war—so you would take what you would get.

Everyone eventually shuffled out, Park—her brows looking creased and a purse to her lips—back to the side of your desk before she left and saying you should rest and leave the rest tomorrow.

“I’ll finish the rest today,” you replied, resolute and determined as you wrote the next possible code from this possible radio station an ally of Perseus may be using. “No rest for the wicked. As they say,” you threw out additionally, an echo of her words earlier which made Park raise her brows. “It’s fine. Once I start something, I have to see it through. It helps I can be patient when it counts—at least with this.”

“You seem to take it literally. You’ve been at it since early this morning. You only moved I believe when Lazar brought your food and to use the washroom.” Once you shrugged and said that seems normal to do and you’re fine with that, you heard Park’s tone grow stronger in reprimand. “Yes, you’re fine. Tell me, is Adler stopping you from taking breaks?”

You stopped, looking at Park and her irritated expression.

“No. . . No, it’s just me.” So none of you stick me with that dreadful drug and dig around my brain. So I can show all of you I don’t need it—that you don’t need to do that. That I’m useful and more than an asset. Unneeded assets get thrown away. “I just—just don’t want to disappoint.”

"Disappoint? You've exceeded expectations at every turn, Bell. Disappoint who?"

You didn’t answer, only turned back around and continued with your pen. You heard Park mutter a curse before walking out, giving you a pat to your back and tell you you’re driving back with Adler than since he’s determined to work as well before leaving. Your eyes round down to your desk.

You’ll be alone together with him again.

You took a shaky breath, focusing on the paper in front of you.

You’ll be fine. Just keep what you’ve been doing. Pretend everything is okay.

Pretend his concern—the touch on your shoulders burned as he shook you, as if to erase your dark thoughts out of you, lifting you up with his hand easily with words of a concerned reliable friend commanding officer—is real. And his kindness—why did they save you, you’re useless, what use is an untrained dog—is real too.

Just don’t question it. You’ll go mad.

Mind your tongue as well—control yourself. You used to tease before with faux confidence when the both of you bantered, but you have to watch your spiteful and petty comments. You really don’t want him to give you a dose.

But if you feel like the path is leading you there, you have a way to get at least a semblance of control back.

Puppets don’t control the puppeteer.

“Bell.” You turned in attention, Adler by the center table as he motioned his head towards the garage door, cigarette in hand. “Time to go.”

You nodded once, getting up after fixing up your desk a bit. Grabbing your beanie turned ski mask and placing it back on your head instead of your face and walked over obediently as the both of you walked out through the side door.

Good dogs come when they listen.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ◁ ◁ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

“Come on, you know I hate fruit cake! Just give me your pears, Singer!”

“Sorry, Bell,” Singer grinned, taking a big purposeful spoonful of pears from the can, teeth flashing. “Guess you have to deal with all of that yourself. Too bad you don’t have a connection to those who pass the MCI’s, huh?”

You quietly glared at him with no heat, the act almost making Singer choke on his precious pears that he could’ve given you. The choking action making him spit out some and towards you, you making a noise of disgust as you punched the laughing man harshly to his shoulder as vengeance. It made him wince as the others around the campsite laughed at the two of you—the sun still above and the Vietnam jungle loud with birds and the trees moving against the wind. Although not really a campsite you would say since there no fire. Can’t have any eyes on them to go towards smoke.

‘They know these jungles better than us’ as Adler says.

Speaking of Adler, you turned towards him where he leaned against a thick great Banyan tree local to this country—the trunk thick just like the branches that spiral even to the floor. They were all actually hidden in the alcove of this tree, the space enough for them until they kept going to their destination. A beautiful yet haunting tree with its dark and smooth bark all around. You overheard once by Lee and other South Vietnam soldiers in base that these trees can have spirits inside. Dangerous they said for some of them. You don’t think these ‘spirits’ ever met Adler.

You could see Adler’s lips were up in amusement due to your predicament despite his war paint, raising his brow over his black shades when he noticed your gaze.

Before you even fully lifted your hand with the can of horrendous fruit cake, he shook his head at you, lips going even more into a smile.

“Don’t even try, kid. I fucking hate fruit cake myself,” he adjusted himself against the tree and the gun in his lap. The food of his MCI basically gone outside the crackers and canned pineapple. “Disgusting things. I don’t know who’s bright idea was it to have hard pieces of fruit and dry raisins in cake.”

That’s what you’re saying!

“Please, Adler. I gave you my cigs already, at least give me some of your pineapple?”

Sims laughed beside you, nudging your shoulder with his and shaking his head in disbelief.

“You think Doc is gonna give you some of his golden nectar away? Might as well have asked him to give his cigs along with his lighter.”

“Not happening, Bell.” Adler answered casually, finishing up his crackers and swiping his hands against his pants before moving to the can. “Besides, not like you smoke anyways. The cigs would just sit there pretty in the box if you don’t hand it to me. Unless you want to try to smoke again. It went well last time.”

“Didn’t she choke?” Singer teased around a mocking grin. It made his youthful face boyish and eyes bright. “Almost hacked out a lung didn’t you?”

Larson, who was quiet between Singer and Adler, spoke up. Already finished with his food since he’s been mostly keeping to himself. This is the first official mission he’s had since he got the news. Poor guy.

“I remember that,” Larson said softly, looking towards you and you just took all their teases. You blame Adler. “It was after the drinking game between Butcher and Hamilton. You wanted to see the big deal about why everyone liked the nicotine.”

“Only for Doc to come to the rescue after Bell took one of his cigs,” Sims ended with a shit eating grin. You’ll kill him. “Surprised you’re still here and alive. Not from just avoiding choking on nothing either, but that you took a cig from him.”

“You guys bet that I couldn’t. . .” You muttered with narrowed eyes towards Sims who shushed you.

“What was that?” Adler asked, cocking his head only for Sims and Singer to shake their heads animatedly. Adler hummed doubtfully but dropped it.

“Never mind that! Just—“ You groaned, putting your head on your hands as you still held the can of fruit cake. “You think I can eat this shitty cake? The ‘raisins’,” you said the word doubtfully, “could be actual pieces of shit for all I know. It could explain the taste. And how hard it can be.”

Singer and Sims snorted next to you, on both sides while Larson actually cracked a grin as you raised your head and told them strongly to think about it! Adler shook his head, watching the jungle periodically in the open spaces of the alcove which all of you did to be cautious but the fruit cake debacle must be solved.

You turned your eyes towards Sims, spotting his fruit cocktail. Only for his hand to block it.

“Nope.”

“Come on!” Sims shook his head, opening the can and eating the fruit cocktail and you scowled. “All of you are shitheads. Now I’m gonna have to eat this.”

“Damn straight you do,” Adler reaffirmed, stern yet you could spot he found your curse to all of them, him included, funny based on his arched brows. “No wasting MCI’s. You know the drill, Bell.”

You grunted unhappily at Adler, but you knew he was right. Which is why you wanted to trade in the first place. Food shouldn’t be wasted, no matter how heinous.

You took a spoonful after managing to cut into the hard cake, Sims laughing in your face and you could spot Larson keeping his smile at your disgruntled expression only for it to deepen when you took a bite.

You tried to distract yourself through bites by asking Adler how far away they were from their destination. Adler answering after they reach the next nearest foxhole which is two hours away, it will be another six till they reach where they need to be.

“Hue is a mess right now. With us additional reinforcements, we’re going to aim for stealth and go around and take out as much as we can.” Adler explained as they all attentively listened. They can’t mess up. “We’ve been able to give them a lot of damage last I heard, with one final push of us taking out some of them when they’re scrambling—we’ll consider the Battle of Hue a win. Of course, if there’s more than we can handle, we’ll stick to recon and head back around to tell command at the Hue MACV compound we have there.”

“And the civvies?” Larson asked.

“Don’t shoot ‘em.” Was all Adler said before they all moved to clean up and move on after you and Sims finished up.

You having to force to swallow and chew the cake and packing up the trash. They can’t leave anything else it can be used to track or find them.

Larson, Sims, and Singer were outside the alcove—waiting for you to finish as you smacked your lips as if that could take away the taste in your mouth as you grumbled. You moved to go out where Adler was as he stood by the opening to head out. You spotted something on the ground where he previously sat.

“You left something, sir,” you say, growing near to pick up the can. Huh, it’s not empty.

Adler turned his head over his shoulder, expression questioning.

“Whatcha mean, kid? That’s yours isn’t it?” You frowned, looking down at the can only for your eyes to widen. There was some pieces of pineapple left, a little less than half of the can gone but it’s something. He turned his head back as he muttered. “Don’t expect this to happen again. Not here to spoil you, Bell.”

“Don’t expect you to, sir.”

“Just pick up the trash and move it, kid.”

You grinned, knocking back the can and easily and quickly eating it. The juices spilling down your chin and neck but you didn’t care as you licked your lips. The taste of disgusting shit cake gone.

You packed the can quickly, swiping your chin with the back of your hand as the both of you walked to where the others were.

“Thanks,” you said to him softly.

“For telling you to pick up your trash?” Adler answered easily and you smiled knowingly but let it go.

Such a hard ass.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

The car ride was silent, passing street lights and empty cafe’s whizzing by and enlightening the car for a mere moment before it would be enveloped in darkness once more until the next light comes. You were staring out the window as they passed the streets of Berlin, the sounds of the wiper periodically occurring due to the light rain occurring. Not many people out at this time of night, nearing midnight unless you were a working girl or at the local bar. Some wisps of smoke remained in the car despite Adler on his side having his window slightly open. Your eyes watching as it moved lazily and glancing towards the quiet, relaxed man next to you before you would turn to look back out. Curious to see more of the city besides in the backstreets and being stealthy.

You didn’t see much last night after Volkov, you falling asleep in the car as Park drove you. You were too out of it when they arrived at the hotel, just absentmindedly listening and nodding along to Park’s directions and promptly knocking out once you reached your room on the bed. Only to awake once more at the alarm you or someone else must’ve set early in the morning.

You were focusing on that instead of the last time you were in the car with Adler.

“You’ll like where we’re going. Trust me.”

You took a sneaky glance towards the man once more, just as the man exhaled out a cloud of smoke that you watched. Enraptured in how it moved to and fro lithely, easily as your nose took in the smell before you glanced back at Adler, the side facing you being his ‘good’ side.

You wonder once more of his scar that accentuated this man’s beauty—all harsh lines that created a map that even now you wish to trace. For someone like this to earn the title America’s Monster, all styled wheat hair, suede shades, and an easy, wry tone—it should at least match the title.

Than again, you thought with faltering wax wings and of another—the fall of a devil with none. It was never about his looks was it?

“It’s a small price to pay.”

What does that make you?

“Alright, kid,” he says, taking out of your stupor as you stared fully at the man now. Smoke releasing out his mouth as he spoke, making you lower your gaze to it. “I’ll bite. What do you want to ask me? Must be a juicy question since you keep burning holes to the side of my face.”

Embarrassment colored your face, caught, as you quickly adjusted your gaze to straight ahead and instead watching raindrops going down the windshield.

“It’s nothing.”

“Mmm. For some reason, I can’t believe that. What did I say before?”

You said a lot of things before, you thought with a sad frown. But you knew what he was referring to. Always wants to be the one you tell all your worries and concerns to. Before, you thought it was genuine. Now, you just see it as how it was—a cloak to observe and make sure if your true real memories came or if they needed to give you a dose.

“Your scar,” you began as he tilted his head towards you, hair moving as he did so as he kept his one hand casually to the wheel while the other was leaning against his door. You didn’t get distracted by it. “How’d you get it? There’s a story there.”

“Scar?” He asked in false confusion, still stoic outside of a cocked brow and making your lips twitch up despite yourself. Before motioning with his cigarette hand towards his face. “You mean this? Is it noticeable?” At your unamused huff though your nose, he continued. “Back in ‘73, I was nearly killed by a tiger while on a mission in Malaysia. But human ingenuity still runs the animal kingdom.” He turned his head towards you when they reached a light, his brows rising above his glasses. “You ever been attacked by a tiger, Bell?”

You stared at him in disbelief before releasing a surprised snort. The nerve of this man.

“You’re lying. That’s not from a tiger, it would be worse than that. You and your need to tell stories. . .” You mumbled the last part, you don’t think he heard that.

“Didn’t know you were an expert on tigers, Bell. Got a degree in zoology under your belt that I don’t know about? What makes you think I’m lying?”

“Because—“ That’s not what you said last time. You stopped, a realization going through you. Because of course he’ll lie to you about this too. Worse kind of crowd, your ass. “If you got that from a tiger than I must be a distant cousin of Joseph Stalin.”

“That unbelievable, huh?” He said more than asked, amused at your sarcasm as you looked at him with crossed arms as the car moved once more. “Fine. I’ll give. I jumped on a roof in Calcutta back in ‘75 while chasing a Soviet agent. The jump was successful . . . the landing not so much. Advice: always know where the utility poles are.” At your deadpanned look when he glanced at you, his lips quirked into a humored smirk. “That one didn’t hit the mark for you either? Was it the jump?”

You shook your head, a small groan leaving your lips as you leaned your head against the dashboard.

“Anybody who’s anybody can jump from roof to roof,” you replied, staring at your leather boots—forehead pressed against the dashboard and maintains it there even as they turned or there was a bump. “You know that. Just like you know a utility pole would’ve either choked you or electrocuted you. At least with electrocution it’d be more scars throughout instead of that part of your face.”

“Watch the cockiness, kid.” He reprimanded but than, “You’re right though. Roof jumps the standard when it comes to our work. But you’re really confident that I don’t have any other scars throughout the rest of me. Know something I don’t?” Your eyes darted towards him, wide and as they passed a street light, you noticed he was peering down at you in turn. Your skin burned as you looked away and mumbled no while staring at your very interesting shoes. The man hummed. “How about this. You know what they say about kids falling in with a bad crowd? Let’s just say I fell in with the worst part of a bad crowd. The girl wasn’t worth it, believe me.”

At your silence, he glanced at you.

“What? That’s the one you believe?” You gave a small shrug. When he first told you that, you didn’t ask any more questions. It sounded personal the way he said it. Truthful. Adler always lies. “What makes this one believable? The lack of a specific date or are you a sucker for romance, Bell?”

You threw him a meaningful look up at him. Not feeling the need to say anything. At his arched brow though, you opened your mouth.

“Your ex-wife.” His brow flattened at that. Something shifting in the air. “Was she worth it?”

A beat. A passing of street lights. The pitter patter of rain against the car.

“A romantic than. . .Never saw you as the type.” At your probing stare and his silence, you turned away. Seeing he won’t answer—too private. You’re a fool to even think he will say the truth at all. “Once.” You blinked, turning your eyes back up and lifting your head in attention as America’s Monster—a secret, a peek through the shades, a hint of something real besides the cold, black abyss, what are you Russell Adler—spoke ever so softly. A sardonic turn of chapped lips. “You can say we had a difference of opinion. Not much to it.”

There was more but you will take what you can get.

You thought of the memories you had, of friends you once believed were your own. Of little moments in beaches and camps and villages when all was calm and not chaotic with smell of burnt bodies or blood or how it feels to stab a bayonet through someone’s chest in defense. You could see them as clearly as any other memory you had. And feel it.

You thought of the poor soldier leaving a war only to get into another one in his home country.

“Larson. . .” you murmured, Adler hearing as he released a dry chuckle.

“Sort of like Larson. The poor bastard.” You watched him take a deep inhale, the cigarette almost a near stub. And you realize when that happens, he’s stressed. As stressed as a man like him could be. You’ve seen him in many moments in Vietnam. Not always the best. You wonder if that was another reason for your death. Adler exhaled a puff before having to throw the cigarette out the window with a flick, putting the window all the way up. “I don’t see why you’re so interested either way. Scars aren’t that impressive. Unless you always had a habit about asking for one’s ugly mug.”

You darted up at his eyes, shaded as they were, trying to sense if he was being serious.

Because he couldn’t be.

Not this man, with strikes of lightning upon his face as if Zeus did it himself. All power. Grace. Strength. Different from your barely functioning wax wings as you struggle to fly. Only able to watch and hope a falling demon crashes to its death—all harsh and slow.

What are you, Russell Adler?

Perhaps he is Zeus himself.

Perhaps how Adler got his scar was harsh retribution to control lightning, his scars even mimic those powerful strikes across his face. All strength. And all beauty. Those who survived struck by lightning always have the most beautiful marks upon their skin indicating their survival—you are selfishly bias though. Even now, you admit with self-loathing. The rougher marks on his face is all grace and you could wonder how he truly got it instead of fantasizing him as a God Of Lightning who mistook his own power upon his face.

It would only make sense. Both beautiful men, although you’ve never met the Greek God.

They both also have a habit of hurting women.

He’s all of that, while you could only hope with your squeaky levers and ropes and feathered wax can go up to said Mount Olympus where he was. A naïveté where you think you’re close with tired and sore arms only to be burnt away. A free fall down to the abyss.

Good pups stay in their place.

“You’re joking.” You accuse seriously as you stared up at him, your head against the dashboard but tilted slightly in his direction.

Adler tilted his head down slightly to stare down at you, a brow arched at your look.

“About?”

You didn’t say anything.

Just meaningfully looked up at him through your lashes, staring at his jaw that was strong as if Michaelengelo carefully carved it himself with minute details with his trusted mallet and chisel until dawn with a candle on his head due to determined ingenuity. Observing how the collar of his shirt did not do a good job in hiding his neck, his favorite jacket failing in that too so you could take it in. Not one strand was mussed or out of place on his head, all volume and thickness as your gloved hand twitched by your knee.

You than met the shades, in turn meeting his eyes as your heart seemed to pound as he stared down at you back. A look passing through his eyes too quick for you to catch, besides what you saw in your peripherals. The hand on the wheel tightening an iota as the air shifted to something heavier, blood pumping as your mind thought of reasons as to why which you pushed away. Impossible.

You licked your dry lips nervously, Adler’s expression seeming to tense when his eyes followed the action. You turned away, looking back down except to play with the ends of your gloves, neck hot and spreading.

You still felt his stare before he focused back onto the road.

They didn’t speak the rest of the ride.

Foolish dog should mind their eyes.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You couldn’t sleep much when you reached your room, another floor to Adler’s and near Park’s, and not just due to how you were more one with the night.

You opened Pandora’s Box—something forbidden coming out into the world as you thought back to the meaningful stare between you and Adler in the car. That even the thought makes your heart pound once more. Your brain further muddling and melting away the more you spend time alone with that man. Whether in being caught in his pace or just the mere thought of what he’s done.

Although, you suppose you already opened a Pandora’s Box. Possibly even darker than the one you discovered.

If the monster in man’s skin was Zeus—he created the box in the first place. Except he wished to hide it from you and keep you willfully ignorant instead of tease you to release envy and greed and disease out in the world. You managed to open it—and it was none of those things, it was cruel and inhumane to you all the same.

Take this needle and follow the story, do the trick.

If only that box stayed close.

Zeus always did like to confuse.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ◁ ◁ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You let out a heavy sigh, hand mussing your hair harshly as you chewed your lips, staring at the paper on the center table of the safehouse.

“Having trouble?”

You slightly jumped as Adler, who was quiet in the seat across and to the side of you, spoke. Looking mildly curious at all the papers on your side of the table before taking a small puff. You sighed, looking back down at the paper in slight frustration.

“Just a little. Whoever made this code created a difficult to encrypt language. I have some of the numbers though already, it’s just the rest. I’ve never seen such an elaborate one before. . .” You said in thought as you tapped your pen against the paper. “I have to say, it’s impressive.”

Adler hummed idly, taking note of your words.

“Perhaps you need a sort of incentive.”

You moved your eyes up in confusion, wondering what that could mean. Only to stop once you noticed what was in his opposite hand not holding his precious cigarette.

It was a picture—a polaroid specifically. But not just any one. You stared at your oldest friend in the picture, taken on the rooftops in East Berlin, his face tilted down and a level of focus and calm as he stared down below in his crouched position. The lights behind him giving him an ethereal glow, a mix of white, red, and blue as those shades on his face gave a little glint due to it.

You reached a hand to see it better only for Adler to click his tongue, taking the picture back closer to him with a shake of his head.

“Sorry, kid. Can’t exactly be incentive if I gave it to you easily like that. You seem eager though.” Adler arched a brow at you. “Any reason as to why?”

Your cheeks prickle as you cursed in your mind. Why didn’t you get the film from the red room or Park yourself? You thought of a T.V. turning on it’s own, flashbacks to what happened in Vietnam on the screen, the memory sobering you up. You still. . .haven’t told Adler about that. He’ll call you soft and put you solely in the safehouse with no more field missions. You hate his disappointment. Still though, you recall you were determined to get it. A quick in and out but than. . . something? Something. . . happened?

At your brows furrowing deeply, Adler’s own brows furrowed and you answered his silent question as you touched your head.

“Sorry. . . That coma I woke up from still has done a number on me.”

“You did get shot twice, Bell. You have issues with always trying to push me out the way, even back in ‘Nam.” You smiled at his tease. You did have a protective streak. But only for certain people—even if you knew Adler could handle himself, you would do what you must for him if he told you an order. Or even go against it if it involved him doing something stupid like a sacrificial mission. You’d follow him anywhere. “Don’t think too much on it. I’m sure the rest of your memories will come back soon enough. Just remember in the end that mission was a success.”

“Whatever it takes, sir.” You said, a phrase that he spoke often back in the war. Which you would repeat. You would always do what you must.

Adler’s expression shadowed as he nodded once.

“Whatever it takes,” he glanced at the polaroid in his hand, it facing him as he seemed to stare in thought before turning his gaze towards you. Your expression curious as you wondered what he was thinking before he turned the picture back towards you, brow up inquisitively. “Well, Bell? Don’t think you’re going to dodge the question as to why you want this? I went through a bit of trouble to let Park let me have it. She’s stubborn when she wants to be.”

You slightly scowled at him, feeling the blush once more.

You hated when he did that blasted rhyme!

You also had a sense there was more to him asking Park but you were too busy trying to defend yourself. Not think about their daily quiet pissing match.

“I like taking pictures. It’s an art form. Every artist would like to have their own paintings,” you said, tone even and you wanted to pat yourself in the back for that.

Adler rose both his brows now.

“Really?” The way he said it made it seem he doubted you. “Not a photographer. Was never really interested in art either so maybe that’s why I can’t relate. Still. It’s a good picture, my good side and all. Can see why you would want it.”

You restrained yourself from saying what you wanted like last time. That basically you would want that picture even if it was on his scarred side.

“It had good lighting.” You added as Adler stared at his picture, cigarette being held in his lips. He turned back towards you, glasses slightly falling from his nose and you could see a hint of his eyes. A tease. You stared. His lips curved around the cigarrette, amused and indulging. You panicked. “I-It does!”

“I didn’t say anything. But say, the sooner you finish that code, the sooner you can have this—“ he paused, waving the hand with the polaroid”—piece of art of yours. Never thought I would say that but I guess there’s a first for everything.” He pocketed the picture back in his jacket, blowing his smoke away from you before he stood up and headed towards Sims only to add over his shoulder, “I’ll leave you to it. I know you got this.”

You stared as he walked over, the belief he had in you with those words moving around in your brain. You moved back to work, pointedly ignoring Lazar’s whistle—him able to hear some of what occurred no doubt. You threw him an impolite gesture that only made the man laugh as you focused on the code. It took you three tiring and near sleepless nights, but you finished. Adler handing you the photo in between his fingers as you took it gently, trying not to crinkle the photo further as Adler watched you behind his shades as you held the photo, taking a thoughtful inhale of his cigarette before looking away. Looking around their surroundings outside the safehouse. Their break time spot.

“You sure got talent, kid.”

“You should know by now to not doubt me, Russ,” you replied, your eyes still on the photo between your gloved hands. “Only the best of the best with you. Just took me longer than I thought.”

“Watch that confidence doesn’t blind you one day, Bell.”

“You first.”

He chuckled at that, breathless and surprised making you stare up with wide eyes. The sound rare. Adler tapped the end of his cigarette, ash going on the ground as he stared towards the doors of the safehouse, an echo of a smile on his face. Barely there. Others wouldn’t see it, but you’ve known Adler for years.

“You got guts. And spunk. Met my match with you it seems, kid. You know me too well. . .” Adler took a puff, deep as he trailed off, shades dark.

“That’s not a bad thing,” you say, lowering the photo in your hand. “Sims does too. Can’t exactly get rid of us that easy.”

“Sims has been through many missions with me, but not as much as you.” Adler explained calmly. “Some of those, I’m taking to my grave. If I breathe a word about it, I’ll have a bunch of people up my ass.”

You sense as if this was like a conversation from years ago, on a beach. Quiet and away from everyone in the camp, just the two of you talking about realities and soldiers. You think about that memory a lot.

You recall some of the memories he’s referring to.

You half shrugged, pocketing the photo in your bomber jacket as you leaned against the wall of the safehouse.

“What can you do? It was necessary. Besides, I can’t exactly tell anyone else either, Adler. Brutality is sometimes necessary. That’s all I know.” You paused, tilting your head and throwing a teasing smirk his way to get him out this weird mood. “Don’t tell me America’s Monster actually cares what other people say?”

Adler deeply exhaled in exasperation, smoke coming out his nose.

“Don’t tease me, Bell. You know I can’t give a shit.”

“Than what’s the problem? You do what needs to be done. Make the tough calls. You know. . . you know I understand right?” You asked carefully. “I’m with you when it comes to doing what we must. To protect what we need to.”

Adler was silent. He never answered.

You didn’t push him. Didn’t feel the need.

You understood him the best.

Only monsters can see one another, after all.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▌▌✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

Monsters, you’ve come to know, are also a certain kind of creature that takes what they need.

To want. Selfish and uncaring and you should be concerned at how easily you take in those traits.

Too busy to worry about regular people—the mundane. There are bigger things to be focused on than other’s opinions on what actions are necessary.

You and Adler can give not one fuck about others. They know what they are and will accept the titles from others with a nod.

What you’re coming to find however, that even with monsters, there’s different breeds.

You basically reiterated to him that what he did with you was necessary. Needed. Sound brutality at its finest. You feel like you can’t even argue.

What is better—loyalty to a country or to people?

You’re trapped.

I have a problem. This story is going to be long when it was supposed to be short. Oh well.

Also, hot take maybe, I love both Soft!Adler and Dark!Adler so let’s just have both sides of him shall we? Wait…is Adler truly soft here? Who knows.

DM me if you wish to be tagged please. ^////^

Tags:

@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 @danjer

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alwaysmarveling · 3 years

Text

The Incident, The Aftermath

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Warnings: Amputation, an explosion, hints at PTSD (it’s a wee bit sad but I promise it gets happier)

Word Count: ~3k

A/N: So I finally got the guts to post something... If you like it, thank Camz :) If you don’t, sorry mi dude, I’m working on it (but constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!).

You’d slipped into the tank top and shorts easily enough, and here you were standing in front of your dresser. One look at the unruly mop atop your head caused you to let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You carefully ran the brush through your hair, allowing the knots to loosen up one by one.

You’d been leaving your hair down every day since The Incident, but that was two weeks ago. Assuming everything healed properly, Tony and Bruce were going to fit you for a prosthetic in a week, but until then you had to work with what you had… which was one less arm than you were used to having your entire life.

The universe wasn’t being very thoughtful of your adjustment—it was supposed to get up to ninety-five degrees today—so maybe today would be the day to try putting it up. You had seen some people do it on YouTube, and it didn’t seem that difficult. Plus, if you had enough dexterity to wield a knife with one hand and still leave your opponent in pieces, you should be able to put up your hair with one hand easy peasy.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, unsure of what to really do with it. You didn’t see a braid working. You could pin some of it to the side so that it wouldn’t fall in your face, but with the heat, you wanted it completely up. A messy bun could work, though; it was simple, got the hair off of your neck, and it was meant to be a bit untidy. Perfect. With the style in mind, you pushed an elastic around your wrist and set off to work.

Twisting your hair was easy enough. Looping it around to actually form a bun was slightly more difficult, but you managed. When it came time to actually loop the elastic around the bun, though, things got more complicated.

You copied the video, pressing your head against the wall to hold your hair in place while you secured the elastic. However, looping the elastic around the bun without significantly shifting your hair was proving to be extremely difficult. Nevertheless, you managed to do it. The mirror then filled with your reflection as you examined your handiwork.

Handiwork was one word for it. Simply put, it looked like a toddler had done your hair. You weren’t sure how exactly you had messed up since you couldn’t really see behind your head, but you could see the result, and it wasn’t pretty. You let out a puff of air, pulling the elastic out and reaching for your brush. One glance at the clock told you you had enough time for two or three more attempts before you had to call it a day.

Five tries later, you were no better off than you were before. Sure, the bun was supposed to be messy, but there was a certain art to a messy bun. This just looked like a giant cat spit a hairball on top of your head. On top of that, you were now running late to meet Wanda for grocery shopping.

“Miss Y/N,” FRIDAY started.

“Tell her I’ll be down in five,” you sighed, your eyes brimming with tears. You supposed one more day of leaving your hair down wouldn’t kill you even if it was going to be hot, but you just wanted to be able to take care of yourself. You hated seeing the looks of sympathy your teammates gave you every time you had to ask for help for the simplest things, whether it be grabbing a plate at the bottom of the stack or setting up equipment for training.

Sure, things were getting a little easier, like dressing yourself without help. You could deal with the phantom pain. It was excruciating, but pain was one part of the job that you were used to. You had also managed to hide your frustration from the team pretty well since The Incident, but you weren’t sure if that made it any better; half of them seemed like they were walking on eggshells when they were around you.

When it came to the nightmares, though, that was much harder to hide, especially considering you shared a bed with one of the lightest sleepers in the world. You hated waking her up every night, your body soaked in sweat and chest heaving as you forced yourself to remember that it was all over, forced your mind to believe that you were safe even when your body didn’t.

Before you could really understand what was happening, your emotions from the last few weeks bubbled over. Anger, frustration, anguish, and countless others flew to the surface, demanding to be released. Your fingers dug into your hair, yanking on the elastic—along with several strands of hair—until they flew out, hitting the floor somewhere you didn’t care to find. The hairbrush was next, being snatched from the top of the dresser and chucked at the door as hard as you could manage.

“What the- Y/N? Are you okay, babe?”

The thwack of the brush hitting the door caused you to flinch even though you were the one who caused it. Not processing your girlfriend’s muffled words at first, your eyes widened as you stepped back, and for a split second you were transported back to The Incident.

---

You grabbed the last civilian who had fallen behind the others, practically tossing them out of the building before it could explode.

“Y/N! Get out of-” Before Steve could finish his sentence, the building burst into flame, and the blast sent you flying in the air.

When you came to, the only thing you could focus on was the excruciating pain radiating from your elbow. You couldn’t make out exactly what had happened to it, but, wow, to say it hurt was an understatement.

It was several minutes later before the ringing cleared from your ears and you finally realized someone was talking to you.

“Y/N! Y/N, love, please, where are you?” The familiar voice drove you to use the little energy you had left, lifting your head off of the pavement to scan your surroundings. The dust and debris from the explosion made it difficult to see, but you could just make out her shape a few feet away from you.

“Turn… around, you doofus… I’m… behind you,” you wheezed out before letting your head hit the ground.

“Y/N! Oh my god, I thought we-” The second the former assassin saw you, her mouth dropped.

“What is it, Natty?” you asked weakly.

“Nothing, sweetheart. Just give me a second, okay? I’m going to get the rest of the team so we can get you out of here.”

“Liar,” you wheezed, half-teasing, half-panicked, but your girlfriend had already turned around. Squinting your eyes, you could just make out the small movements of her lips that told you she was talking, but the chaos and your pain and exhaustion—and probably blood loss, but you didn’t know that at the time—was making it impossible to hear what she was saying.

“Okay, they’re coming,” she reassured you, kneeling down next to you.

“What happened?” you tried again.

“You’re a hero, babe,” the redhead murmured, smoothing back your hair and brushing dirt from your face.

“Yeah?” Your voice was growing weaker, and you were becoming loopier than someone who had just come out of wisdom teeth surgery. Natasha knew it was only moments until you passed out.

“Yeah, you did it, sweet girl. You saved them all.”

“I did? I seriously hope Helen is a superhero too because someone’s going to need to save my arm. God, it hurts.” Natasha only let out a huff at your poor attempt at a joke, but you appreciated it nonetheless.

“Just hold on a little longer for me, okay? Can you do that?” Something wet hit your cheek, making you realize that your girlfriend was crying.

“Of course,” you scoffed. “Don’t…” You left her hanging.

---

After what felt like years, you finally regained your breath and returned to the present. “I’m fine,” you yelled out, your voice wavering. You knew Natasha wouldn’t believe you. Not only was she your girlfriend, but she was literally one of the best spies in the world. Sure enough, she tried to open the door, her efforts in vain since you’d locked it when you were changing.

“Hon, can you please open the door?”

“I’m fine, Nat,” you breathed out, your tone slightly more stable.

“Just let me in,” she pleaded. “Please?” Her soft voice made you sigh in resignation as you wiped your eyes. You tugged your fingers through your hair, trying to tame the bird’s nest on your head at least a little before showing yourself to her.

“Hi,” you practically whispered, not making eye contact with her once you had opened the door.

“Hey,” she responded softly, taking your hand in one of hers and using her other hand to lift up your chin. Rather than saying anything else immediately, she pressed a soft kiss to the top of your forehead as her second hand slid down to completely wrap your one hand in both of hers. The two of you stood in the doorway for a while, eyes closed and hand in hand. You weren’t a super soldier, but you were sure you could hear both of your heartbeats, yours slowing down to beat in tandem with hers.

“You okay?” she finally asked. You nodded slightly, your breathing now back to normal and the tears no longer streaming down your face.

Natasha always had a way of calming you down. You didn’t get frustrated or angry often, but when you did… the rest of the Avengers always joked that you were seconds away from becoming the next Hulk.

The former assassin slowly reached up to untangle your locks, noticing how you flinched when she first reached your hairline.

“I’ve been thinking,” she started with the faintest hint of uncertainty, “It’s been a while since I did your hair, and I saw this new hairstyle online that I thought would look really good on you…”

“Thank you,” you sighed quietly as you leaned into her touch.

“My pleasure,” your girlfriend smirked, pushing you inside your shared bedroom and closing the door behind her. She guided you to sit on the floor as she sat on the edge of the bed behind you. Brush in hand, Nat started sectioning off your hair. A small smile graced her face when you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to fully enjoy the contact.

Now halfway down your head, she spoke up again. “You know I’ll always be here for you, right?

“Nat…” you warned, although you had nothing to say afterwards, and the redhead took advantage of that.

“I can only imagine how upset you feel about losing your arm-”

“Nat,” you interrupted, your voice slightly harder this time. Natasha sighed as she continued to braid your hair.

“I’m just trying to say that I’m here for you. I was here for you before, and I’m here for you now. The number of limbs that you have doesn’t affect that. It also doesn’t affect your worth. You’re not useless, Y/N. You never were, and you certainly aren’t now.” Despite your best efforts, tears began to trail down your face. Natasha pursed her lips at the sight but continued, knowing that if she stopped now she wouldn’t have another chance to say what she needed to. “You are-” Nat’s fingers froze when you mumbled out something unintelligible, the hand over your mouth preventing you from enunciating. “What was that?” You sighed before speaking again.

“It’s not the arm. It’s not just the arm,” you corrected.

“Then what is it?” She resumed braiding your hair, her voice matching the tenderness in her hands.

“It’s- it’s the- god, this is embarrassing.”

“You have absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about, love. I’ll never judge you for anything you’re feeling,” the redhead promised, pausing once again to brush her lips above your brow bone.

“It’s the fear, Nat. I can’t go one second without thinking about the explosion. About… losing it. I’m scared 24/7, Nat, and even if I could forget about it for even a moment, I have a constant reminder.” Natasha didn’t have to see your face to know that your eyes had flickered to the remainder of your arm that hung by your side. “And, god,” you laughed bitterly, “god, does it make me feel weak. What kind of Avenger constantly lives in fear and panic? How am I ever supposed to help anyone like this?”

“Y/N.” She stopped braiding your hair for the third time, pulling on it slightly so that you were forced to meet her eyes above you. “You are the strongest person I know. I know you’re scared, but guess what? You went through something super traumatic. It’s okay to be scared. Honestly, I might be more concerned if you came out of that and you weren’t scared at all. All of us get scared, and that’s perfectly valid because being scared does not make you weak. Being scared means you value your life, and that’s a good thing.” She paused her speech to relax her grip on your hair, but your head remained tilted, captivated by the passion and emotion that filled your girlfriend’s face and voice.

“And the Avenger that lives in fear and panic is the same one that was ready to give up her life to save people. You helped people in the past not because you had two arms or because you weren’t scared of stuff. You helped them for the sole reason that you made a commitment to helping others, to making the world a better place, and that is the sole reason why you will still be able to help others.” Natasha’s whole body was trembling. The hands that held your hair were white at the fingertips as she clenched them.

“I admire you more than anyone else in the world. You’re a hero, Y/N. Not ‘were,’ but ‘are.’ You’re the hero of every single person whose life you saved, and you’re my hero.”

“I didn’t-” Despite your interruption, the spy didn’t stop talking.

“You saved my life, Y/N, the second you walked into it. You give me a reason to live, to wake up every morning. And you’re my hero even more so now than before because you get up every day with a smile on your face, no matter what’s thrown at you.”

“Not much of a smile now,” you sniffed. Despite the tears that blurred your vision, you couldn’t stop the corner of your lips from curling up slightly. Nat laughed at the juxtaposition, finishing up the intricate braids woven in your hair before turning you around to face her.

“But look how quickly that changed,” she teased, pecking your lips after she wiped the tears from your face.

“Thank you,” you repeated for the second time in less than fifteen minutes.

“It was my pleasure. Plus, I was right, this hairstyle does look really good on you.” You bit your lip in embarrassment as you turned your gaze to the floor. “I’ll always do your hair for you, milaya.”

“I was actually thinking of shaving it off,” you smirked. As you examined your reflection in the mirror, you couldn’t help but agree with Natasha. You looked good, missing arm and all. A little teary-eyed and runny-nosed, but amazing nonetheless.

“Don’t you dare,” your girlfriend scoffed. “I know I said I wasn’t leaving, but I might at that,” she winked.

“Hey!” You tackled her to the ground. Reaching for her abdomen, her eyes widened as your grin grew larger.

“Y/N, don’t you dare-” You talked over her, not paying attention to her threat.

“I can still tickle you with one arm.” The spy didn’t get the chance to respond before you pounced, smiling at the sound of her laughter.

“Stop, Y/N, please!” she managed to get out.

“Are you going to leave me then? Huh?”

“No, no! I won’t! I’ll never leave you! Please, just stop!” You let up on the tickling, gently brushing away the hair that was thrown over her face seconds ago. “Great,” Nat groaned, “now I need to redo my hair.”

“Sorry,” you giggled sheepishly. Seeing the pout on her face, you bent down and met her lips with yours.

“I meant it, though.”

“That you need to fix your hair?” Natasha laughed at the way your head had adorably cocked to one side.

“No, silly, that you’re my hero. That you’re the strongest, most admirable person I know. That I’ll always be there for you, and that I’ll always do your hair for you, even when you don’t need me to do it for you any longer.”

“I love you.” You kissed her again. “And I will always love you.” Noticing a slight shift in her face, you paused, studying her expression. “Don’t you dare start singing that song.”

“Miss Y/N, Miss Maximoff is wondering if you are alright.”

“Shoot, I need to go grocery shopping with Wanda!” You scrambled to get off of the floor, smoothing out your clothes before looking for your shoes. “Uh, FRIDAY, tell her I’m so sorry and I’m coming down right now.”

“One more for the road?” Nat pouted just before you reached the door.

“Of course. Thank you again, for everything.” Your lips melted together for a second before you pulled away.

---

“Wanda, I’m here, I’m so, so sorry!” You half-ran, half-slid down the hallway to meet your best friend at the door.

“Hey,” Wanda turned to greet you. “What took you-” She paused upon making eye contact with you. “I like your hair,” she grinned.

“Thanks,” you smiled back, “Nat did it for me.”

#I wrote something #oh gOD I actually wrote something #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #black widow x reader #black widow x you #black widow #avengers x reader #marvel #mcu #alwaysmarveling

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