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harkonnin · 3 months

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* The heart is not meant to rule *

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader

Slow burn, knife kink, blood kink, strangers to lovers, softer!Feyd-Rautha, CONSENT, 18+, arranged marriage, assassination, poison, murder, etc

Chapter 1 - Introduction Chapter 2 - Beginnings are such delicate times Chapter 3 - Eclipse Chapter 4 - A Time of Quiet Between the Storms

“It is not yet time,” a voice calls out to you. You open your eyes and find yourself on top of pure white sand, a darkness enveloping you. You hear voices surround you but can’t figure out what they’re saying, everything moves in slow motion. You look down at your feet, bare in the sand. You feel yourself slowly fall to the ground; a knee hits the sand. Blood is streaming down your hands. You see the body of a Harkonnen girl, bald, battered and covered with the same blood you have on your hands. A servant? You’re wearing all black, and you’re breathing heavily. Darkness starts to creep into your vision once more. You try to stand but some force is holding you down. The sand under you starts to shift, revealing a shiny object underneath it, a mirror. You bend over and try to investigate it, not quite showing you yet what you would expect. You look around you, but the darkness is deafening. You hear voices become louder and louder, you feel the need to escape, the anxiety overtakes you. You look down, in fear, and the mirror shows you a vision. You see Feyd-Rautha, covered with blood, smiling wickedly. You flinch hard, in fear most of all. This is a nightmare. The mirror turns into blood, and it overflows the area where you are. You cannot get up, you have no strength, the blood already at your chin. You’re drowning. And just as you take your last breath, tears all over your face-

You pull yourself upright, screaming. You’re panting, gasping for air. Your mother takes your hands and tries to comfort you, not knowing what you just saw. You realise that you are in a different room than before, this feels a whole lot more real, there are other people here as well.

“It’s okay darling, you’ll be fine”, your mother tries to calm you down by holding your face in her hands and soothing you. There are tears streaming down your face, and your mother pulls you into a hug. “You did well, shhhhh you did well honey”, she whispers.

You were never properly trained to be a Bene Gesserit, as Paul had more control over the voice and the telepathic aspects, you were more trained to excel in the physicality of it all. Fending off poison was one of them, and even though you didn’t have a lot of experience, you were a natural at it. The Harkonnen poison used on you came from an inkvine plant, usually only used for the making of tattoos that would never stop hurting. A poison meant to kill, most definitely.

You tried to speak for the first time, your throat feeling dry and as if you had been screaming for days. Your mother stopped you and started to explain what happened, as you sat up in the bed.

“You were poisoned. Inkvine, but your training helped you.” She sighed, “Lord na-baron went looking for the servant who most definitely poisoned you, we still haven’t heard back from Paul or your father”.

You were confused about all the information thrown at you but nodded to her anyway. You wonder if the things you saw in your nightmare were more visions than dreams. The dead servant girl, the blood on your arms, Feyd… it all seemed to be perfectly convenient. You start to wonder who poisoned you, what were their intentions. You only had contact with that one servant girl who brought you the drink, but it could’ve been anyone, even Feyd. He did seem displeased upon hearing the news about your marriage. Even if he still had the final say, he probably felt he had no choice in the matter, duty would call eventually.

You stay in bed for a few more hours until your body stops hurting. Your throat feels normal again, not burning anymore, and you manage to thank the few staff that was aiding you. They look at you weirdly, kindness not something they ever experienced probably. You make your way to the guest quarters and lock yourself in your room. Having had enough of today, you crawl into the soft bed provided and fall asleep. The vision or dream of Feyd creeping back into your head.

Feyd is beyond angry, he’s pacing back and forth, emotion overtaking him. His hands and arms bloodied. The servant girl laying on the white sand, murdered, rightfully so he thinks. He hears a person behind him and turns around. One of his concubines makes her way over to him, ever so seductive and slow.

“Pity, she feared me so well” she says as she looks down at the lifeless body of the innocent girl. Feyd narrows his eyes at her. Fully grasping what had just happened. He stands still, let’s her come to him. “Oh my dear lord na-baron, you did not think we would just allow some outsider to take away our precious Feyd, did you? No no no, that is unacceptable.” She purrs as she softly touches his shoulder and torso. “You will always be a Harkonnen, you are ours.” Knowing Feyd responded to being dominated like this, she went a step further. “We had to take care of that farmer girl before she could take over your mind… and body.” Her hand was trailing his chest and stopped right above the seam of his pants.

Feyd looks up at her face, mere inches away. The grip on his blade tightening however, she seemed to have miscalculated the na-baron’s intentions. He clasps his hand on the back of her neck and in one swift motion pushes his blade in between her ribs. Piercing one of her lungs. She gasps out and he pulls the blade back, ever so slowly. She falls to the ground, holding her side but blood is gushing out.

“My lord na-baron!” she manages to gasp. “Why?!”

Feyd smiles at her, softly, but his eyes don’t convey the same happiness.

“Thank you for being honest,” his voice all gravel, he bends down and takes her chin in his hand. “I was never yours.”

He whispers softly on her lips before stabbing her in the heart.

He cleans his blade on her dress, showing her the lack of respect, he had for her. He makes his way back inside and makes his way over to the other concubine’s rooms. That night he becomes a different man, deciding a path for himself that doesn’t involve distraction anymore. The jealousy of people that were unimportant to him couldn’t stand in the way of the power he was about to inherit. Having liabilities that poison and murder people from other houses could trigger a war in the future, if this moment already hadn’t done that.

He manages to clean himself up and makes his way to the Baron. After the whole ordeal people already left early on to go back to their rooms in the guest wing, Feyd hadn’t heard anything yet about your status, he assumed you were dead however, inkvine poison is terribly hard to get rid of, even for the ones who get the antidote. He didn’t know how he felt about this information however, you seemed different than the women he grew up with, mind you, not much reference to be had there. He killed his mother at a very young age, for reasons still unknown. And he didn’t have the best relationship with the other women, most being servants or concubines. Let’s just say he had no idea that an equal could ever exist because he never felt that would happen.

He enters one of the oil baths where the Baron would most definitely be. The room steamed up and smelling like a tar pit, he finds the Baron submerged in the oil. When he comes up for air, he smiles at the young na-Baron.

“Have you found the servant girl Feyd?” “I have, but I also found the real culprits. It has been taken care of.” The Baron raises his eyebrows, “concubines?” Feyd almost seems alarmed. “Yes. Jealousy.” The Baron laughs, “well I always told you they were a dangerous trio?”

Feyd doesn’t laugh however, he’s troubled. The Baron seems to brush this attack off so easily, wasn’t he worried for the repercussions?

“Before you continue to be all angsty and brooding, your betrothed survived the poison. It seems like some poison can’t get rid of the toughest flowers.”

The young na-Baron’s stomach stopped turning, he hadn’t noticed how tense his muscles were since seeing you nearly choke to death. Seeing the blood spill from your mouth, albeit fascinating to watch. He almost let out a sigh of contentment.

“So, it won’t be an all-out war with House Atreides then”. “It was never going to be, had she died, we would have just killed the others and told the Emperor that they got murdered by someone else. They came here without any security; they took the risk themselves.”

Feyd did agree that coming here with a limited amount of people was dangerous as is, which made him think upon this agreement even more.

“Is it really in OUR best interest that we marry into House Atreides? For both our sakes it feels like a very dangerous move, they have so little they can offer and meanwhile we can choose whatever we want.”

The Baron wasn’t smiling anymore, obviously displeased with hearing these words.

“Feyd-Rautha, it’s funny how you think you have any say in this matter, when I told you about the choice to make it was more about time and place. House Atreides has been a worthy ally to the emperor, if we ever want to make the Harkonnens an even bigger house we have to rely on allies that can make that happen. If you ever want to sit on the throne you will have to make decisions, you won’t fully agree with.” Feyd stares at the Baron. “What if the next assassin attacks the wrong person, what if there is no legacy anymore for House Harkonnen?” He was obviously trying to grasp straws at this point, unsure of what he really wanted to say. His feelings were all over the place and he hadn’t managed to let them settle since seeing you so upset at the dinner table. He took it as a direct rejection, how your face distorted into disgust. If he had half the heart, he would say it hurt him deeply, but emotions were never his strong suit. The Baron had no interest in keeping this useless conversation going however, he saw Feyd as a pawn who just had to do his job and stay quiet. “I will hear no more, go and look for your bride to be, make sure she understands it was not you who poisoned her”. Feyd opened his mouth to talk but the Baron let out an annoyed grunt and sank back into the oil once more.

Equally as annoyed, Feyd left the bathing rooms and made his way towards the medical hall. Even if he doesn’t agree, his sense of duty and honour is strong, so he does try to gather his strength to talk to you. He is informed by the medical staff that you already left for your room however, telling him you healed quite fast, and you looked strong.

He’s amazed you managed to fight off the poison, as someone who has not lived on Giedi Prime. For now, he decides to accept what fate has thrown at him, but only because the medical staff said you were nice to them. Never has he ever met a nice woman that wasn’t a servant or didn’t try to use him. It feels very foreign to him, but he is intrigued. Maybe that spark of interest is what he needed right now.

The next morning you wake after having slept quite well, your hair a complete mess. You wake from a knock at the door.

“Honey, can I come in?” your father. “Yes, come in.” You’re still in bed and pull the covers back over your body, the warmth and softness feeling like a stark contrast to the rest of the room and whatever was outside of these halls. “How are you doing?” he comes to sit on the bed next to you, holding your hands and touching your face. “I was so scared I almost lost you.” He pulls you into a big hug, always daddy’s little girl in his eyes. Your eyes well up a little bit at the thought of your father losing you, it would break his heart. For it was obvious he hated the fact that he had to marry you off to some Harkonnen playboy. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” you wipe away your tears. He catches one on your cheek. “it was never my intention to keep this from you, but we had to be quiet about it. Only the Baron, me and your mother knew. Your mother didn’t want the Bene Gesserit to mingle like they already tried with Paul. Even though paths had been laid out, we wanted it to go more organically.” You laugh, “there’s nothing organic about what was announced last night, you leave me no choice. Mind you, Feyd didn’t look so happy either.” Your father sighs, he knows there was no simple way of making this work, so he reverts to what he knows, duty and honour. “As Lady of the House Atreides there are certain tasks you must fulfil, even if you end up not choosing them yourself. We gave Feyd the choice because we do not think he will say yes. He’s always been the bigger liability, only making choices that could aid him and him alone. When he finds out there’s also something in it for us, then he will back off, I’m almost certain.”

You understand that you can’t just saunter off onto a ship and leave whenever you want to, being part of a dynasty means exactly that, no freedom, a gilded cage, and everything your heart may desire, except for that.

“… if you’re up for it today, the Harkonnen want to show you their culture, the things they do on this planet, the things they make, if we could at least give them that kind of interest, then they might leave us alone for the time being.”

You look at his face, it looks like he hasn’t slept all night, always so worried for his family. You sigh in defeat, agreeing on the activities of the day, preparing yourself for another assassination attempt perhaps? Who knows, maybe it’ll be a nice distraction from your -duty- waiting for you.

#feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd x you #dune part two #dune part 2 #dune 2 #dune #dune movie #dune 2024 #austin butler

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deceitfulmelvinator · 3 months

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Beach Story Thing

Um, hey! In my English class, my teacher showed us picture of a beach. She told us to write a story about it. Here it is.

“Okay, summer is here. No studies, no stress, nothing,” my friend grinned, stretching out on his beach mat.

“Mmh,” I grunted, fiddling around with a pink seashell that I had found buried in the sand. “Says you. I’ve been signed up for about one-hundred classes for the summer, so that my brain doesn’t turn into mush, or whatever.”

“Oh, that’s so sad, I don’t care.” He tossed a handful of sand at me, as my back was turned.

He smirked.

I scowled.

“Honestly, Dylan, how immature can you get?!” I scolded him.

Sometimes, I wondered why we were still friends.

“Ah, don’t take it to heart. Here-” Dylan tossed me a bag of chips.

Oh, yeah, that was why we were still friends.

Anyway, we were both sitting on the beach in our respective swim trunks, when we heard a low whistling, coming from the sparkling, turquoise water.

“What do you suppose that could be, Trev?” my companion cocked his head, still wearing that smirk- though, for a second, it faltered.

“If you’re implying it’s the Volga Boatman, I don’t want to hear any of it,” I grumbled, though I shifted a little closer to Dylan.

The Volga Boatman was a Russian serial killer who had just escaped from prison. He always whistled a certain tune before getting his victims, The Song of the Volga Boatmen. The two of us, Dylan and I, would always snigger and make fun of his mugshots - bald head, yellowed teeth, a tattooed neck – but the only thing in my mind was the corpus of imaged of his victims:

Slit wrists.

Bashed-in skulls.

Blood.

Pools and pools of blood.

The whistling grew louder. A figure, the silhouette of a man in a rowing boat, grew closer. Dylan reached to grip my hand, so tight it was like a vice.

A bald head.

A yellowed grin.

A heavily tattooed neck.

We weren’t laughing this time, no- we were paralyzed. The Volga Boatman stepped out of his little boat, holding a blade that glinted in the sunlight.

“Oh, how convenient…” he rasped out a chuckle. “…two little boys. Weak. Pathetic. Da, you’ll be an easy kill.” Dylan grabbed a glass bottle of soda, hurling it the large man. It shattered over his chest, leaving cuts on his collarbone. His eyes narrowed. “Insolent brat. I’ll kill you!” he lunged at Dylan slashing at his neck. Blood flowed out of the wound. Seeing red, I grabbed another bottle, getting up and smashing over the killer’s head. I watched as he toppled to the ground, catching my breath. I quickly remembered something far more important- Dylan. He wasn’t dead yet, no, but he was losing blood at a concerning pace. I quickly folded the corner of the beach mat over his wound, cursing under my breath.

“Stay with me man, c’mon…” I watched the blood soak through the meagre layer of fabric as Dylan’s eyes struggled to stay open. I grabbed my phone, dialing for help with violently shaky fingers. The line connected, and I gasped out the story to the lady receiving the call.

“Trev- Trevor…” Dylan murmured.

“What?” I softly said.

��I-I l-” he trailed off, his eyes slowly shutting and his breath growing more and more labored until it halted. Halted.

“You what, Dyl? Finish your sentence, it’s rude to just leave a man hanging like that. Finish your sentence, Dyl… please, say something…” I shook him. He couldn’t have been dead. He couldn’t have. Dylan, my best friend, the guy who gave me his food and beat my bullies and always made time for me- he had to have been alive.

I hunched over, the grief hitting me harder than any punch or kick. I buried my face in his chest, keening until it felt like my lungs were going to give way.

“Wake up, please…” I clutched onto the iota of hope I had left. His mouth was agape, drool spilling out. He looked like he was sleeping, like at the slumber party we had for my birthday. He kept muttering nonsense in his sleep, and I was kept awake the whole night.

All I wanted then was for him to shut up.

All I wanted now was for him to say something.

He was dead. I faced it. It should have been me. He was nobler, smarter, kinder-

I let out a long, blood-curdling yell. One that transformed into a sob. My pearly tears and his crimson blood stained the sand in a sorrowful mosaic.

Two people died that day, is what all the news coverage stated.

But, I wonder- without my best friend by my side, am I even alive, either?

#writing #creative writing #writeblr #stuff that i wrote

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vincess-princess · 4 months

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as we were falling

ch. 11

a/n: i sure am spoiling yall with three updates in a month, even considering these chapters are small. whatever, enjoy :) word count: 1440 warnings: none

They sure were an extraordinary couple, those two. Even among robotic arms and legs they stood out. The man, his age hard to pinpoint, was tall, long-haired, narrow-hipped, and had a half-cybernetic face, the seam between flesh and metal rough and uneven; in the age of nearly limitless cosmetic surgery this sure was a deliberate decision. His cybernetic eye flashed red behind toned protective screen in his eye socket. The seam went farther down the neck and underneath a red mesh shirt, its outline visible underneath the fabric until it disappeared behind the belt. A metal joint of his knee peeked out ofthe hole in his pants.

The woman, around 35, had half of her hair shaven and the other weaved into a complex braid. Tattoos spun on the bald half of her head and down onto the cheek. She was wearing a leather jacket and pants, tall cowboy boots and hoop earrings. And Tommy couldn’t see a single artificial detail in her, hard as he tried. Here all natural was unnatural. Maybe under her clothes…

“I don’t like the way they look at us,” Nikki whispered.

“Me neither. They look weird. Well,” Tommy quickly corrected himself, “weirder than others.”

“That guy’s eye is freaking me out.”

“Me too.” To be fair, the guy’s other eye was almost as creepy. Not in the appearance, no; but in the way it looked at you… as if it wanted to eat you.

Just then the guy said something to the woman, and they very purposefully headed right to their stand.

“Shit, they’re coming!”

A heavy feeling arose in Tommy’s chest. These people did him no bad thing, but he already disliked them. He surely hoped it was just prejudice against the outward differentness of these two – differentness from everything he’d already seen.

Yet as they were nearing them, he became less and less sure of that.

At close distance the cybernetic eye looked less creepy; but the seam between flesh and metal looked even more gruesome. And the woman did have one robotic piece on her, as it turned out: a small, almost unnoticeable cochlear implant. At least, that was probably the purpose of a tiny earbud with a wire going underneath her ear. It could hardly be jewelry – jewelry was supposed to be seen.

The guy looked at Nikki, then Tommy, and they knew looking in the eyes of clients was considered bad behavior, yet they both did it – because it was an assessment, no, a challenge even, and looking down was admitting defeat, and they didn’t have those stripes on their wrists for nothing, did they?

The guy tilted his head slightly and then smiled. The seam went straight across his lips, so it was more scary than encouraging.

“These two,” he told the woman and pointed at Nikki and Tommy, “I like these two.”

The woman looked them over appraisingly.

“You always pick the skinny and the long-haired, don’t you?”

“I have my preferences,” the man shrugged. “What’s your opinion?”

“Not bad,” the woman said curtly after a short pause. “I’ve gotta take a closer look but I like what I’m seeing.”

Nikki and Tommy exchanged exasperated glances. Being talked about as if they weren’t there was rather irritating.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at us!” the man suddenly said harshly. “You should be thankful we deemed you worthy our attention, you defiant scum. You surely know you’ve got almost zero chances to get a good master with these stripes, don’t you?”

“We’re counting on our natural charm,” Nikki grinned unpleasantly. “Sir.”

Tommy couldn’t hold back a chuckle.

The woman leaned to the man and said something into his ear. Tommy was pretty convinced it was something along the lines of “You still sure about this?”.

“Yes,” the guy told her out loud. “These two need some taming, but I think their cases are salvageable.”

“No way in hell they are salvaging me,” Nikki hissed quietly. Tommy couldn’t decide if he should take his side and annoy the prospective clients into leaving or try to talk Nikki into being a bit more polite with these two – they could be their last chance at a decent life.

He didn’t get to do either.

“Hey! You!” the guy pointed at Nikki. “What’s your name?”

“Can’t you read?” Nikki bristled, nodding at his number on the display.

“I don’t need the number they gave you at the facility. I want your name.”

“Oh.” Even Nikki seemed to be taken aback. Slave owners preferred to give their slaves new names – to help the transition to the household, they said. Tommy was pretty sure they did it to erase the very remains of the slave’s identity – to clean the slate for a fresh start. Nobody needed the baggage a slave could bring to a new home.

This guy didn’t seem to mind, though.

“Well?” he raised an eyebrow. The seam curved in a very grotesque manner. This guy’s presence at the auction indicated he was wealthy enough for a plastic surgery. He really should have had it.

“I don’t-“ Nikki began, but the guard, observing the interaction with great interest, began rising from his chair, his taser threateningly raised. Nikki seemed to have had enough of that today, because he sighed and said: “Fine, fine. I’m Nikki. You?”

“Ecto. And this is Onyx,” the guy pointed at the woman. She nodded at them. “And you?” They looked at Tommy.

Nikki looked at the couple with the same distrustful confusion that Tommy was feeling, so he decided to say what they both had in mind. “Um. Tommy. Why?”

“I don’t like labeling slaves with numbers. Hard on the memory. Besides, names give me an idea of a person before I get to know them. And I’m usually right.”

“Oh yeah?” Nikki crossed his arms on his chest. “And what is my name telling ya?”

“That you’re a huge pain in the ass.” Ecto grinned in response. “And lack manners.”

Nikki sighed and rolled his eyes. “I think we won’t get anything constructive outta them.”

“That’s damn right, you prick. Now back off, I wanna see your display.” Ecto waved his hand, and Nikki unwillingly stepped out of the way.

“That’s an interesting set of skills,” Onyx said. “Shooting, foraging… bass guitar? Tattooing? Where’d you live to learn all that?”

“In a hellhole,” Nikki grumbled.

“Anyway, that doesn’t matter much. You a virgin?”

“What? No!”

“Thought so. Now,” Onyx stepped forward and hooked her finger on Nikki’s overalls strap, “undress. Gotta see your little friend.”

“What the fu- No! Fuck off!” Nikki jumped back from the woman, his face a grimace of disgust. Onyx and Ecto only exchanged tired glances. Then Onyx turned to the guard.

“Could you please bring him to reason?”

“Gladly.” The guard grinned, baring his taser.

“Grill me all you want, I won’t undress for these perverts.”

“Oh, that’s alright. They’ll get to see whatever they need when you are unconscious.” The guard stepped forward, the taser crackling in his hand. Nikki pressed his lips together – they wouldn’t get a cry of pain out of him no matter how hard they tried, Tommy realized.

Then Ecto’s gaze shifted to Tommy.

“Wait.” He motioned at the guard. “We won’t get anywhere this way. I’ve got a better idea.”

Then he pointed at Tommy and said, “Tase him instead.”

The guard faltered, but only for a moment. Then he pushed Nikki out of the way and stepped towards Tommy.

“No!” Tommy heard as the taser drew so close to his arm he could feel the charge with the hairs on his skin. Damn it, Nikki. Tommy sure hoped he would last longer. “Fine, you bastards. Come get a look.”

Tommy didn’t see anything new there, but Ecto and Onyx examined the sight most attentively. Then Ecto nodded approvingly and smacked Nikki’s ass.

“Not bad, not bad. We can work with that. Now you,” he turned to Tommy. The guard, anticipating another series of refusals and curses, clicked his taser next to Nikki’s hip, so Tommy decided not to tempt fate. It sure was unfortunate that these two found out their weak spots.

“Wow,” Ecto and Onyx said simultaneously when he pulled down the overalls. Even the guard reddened and drew his eyes away with an envious expression. Tommy could hardly hold back a laugh. Nikki openly grinned.

“We’re taking him,” Ecto said quickly as Tommy pulled his pants up. “His friend…” he exchanged glances with Onyx, making Tommy’s stomach drop. Were they going to separate him and Nikki?

But Onyx nodded – the barest of nods, but it was enough.

“…his friend too,” Ecto finished.

#motley crue #motley crue fanfiction #as we were falling #nikki sixx #tommy lee #motley crue fanfic #we're getting closer to introducing vince and mick!!!!#can you guess where this is goingggggg #my writing

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kstewdeux · 2 years

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@sometimes-icanstillhear-sitboy

InuPrompt 2022: Headcanon (11.13.22)

Summary: Gramps has a doctor friend helping keep Kagome’s absences under wraps.

Inhaling deeply, Gramps watched as the elevator doors slip open while a growing sense of dread filled his gut. While he usually had the energy for these visits, it was getting harder and harder to avoid the truth. Especially from a man he had known since childhood. They’d bonded over their mutual beliefs so long ago. No one believed in legends anymore. The existence of the supernatural chalked up to make believe. It had been a common ground. A boy who had been taught about the history of the world and a boy who just desperately wanted to believe in such things. They’d both pursued different career paths. Gramps carried on the tradition of his house while the latter became a doctor but they still met on a nearly weekly basis.

Stepping onto the elevator, Gramps slowly turned and faced the door. The topic of the interview and mask incident would undoubtedly come up. A little girl thanking a dog earred man. The obviously false explanation that a sewage leak was to blame. In a way, Gramps was grateful the truth had been cleanly swept under the rug. But…the shrine had been involved.

Sure enough, when the doors opened once more, the small balding man with his turtle like appearance was already waiting.

“Come. I have found something new,” the man whispered excitedly as he continued glanced around to make sure they were alone, “You’re going to love it.”

“Hiro. Always a pleasure,” Gramps offered with a weary half-smile as he followed his friend through the empty halls.

“It’s quite extraordinary. The x-ray showed the tibia broken at three points,” the elderly doctor began with a nervous energy as he stopped and fumbled with his keys, “Yet one week later no sign of previous injury. None at all. The bone healed in less than a week. He said it was a mistake but I know what I saw and have the evidence to prove it.

“Do you now?” Gramps sighed before sighing heavily when the door opened and the dreaded conspiracy board was exposed, “I take it that-“

“That’s not all,” the man continued excitedly while locking the door, “I recently had another patient come in who had hereditary sensory autonomic neuropathy. That’s fifty confirmed cases right here in Tokyo. There are supposedly only 300 confirmed cases world wide yet I’ve seen fifteen patients in the last year alone. No relation to each other. At least not one they’d disclosed. Last one came in yesterday.”

“Is that so?” Gramps mumbled in a bored tone as he took a seat, “A blessing and a curse to not feel pain. I wish I had that-“

“Ah see but you wouldn’t. Usually it is quite degenerative. Takes it toll. Pain is the body’s warning sign. These individuals came to me for broken bones. Common injuries and much more severe ones as well. A deflated lung in this most recent case. She’d come in for shortness of breath,” his friend explained excitedly, “I documented it. Her lung was actively healing itself and I have the live footage of the scan to prove it. And another patient came in Wednesday with face tattoos that clearly weren’t tattoos. Smooth and flawless and the color...”

“Fascinating,” Gramps interrupted with what he hoped was a genuine smile, “Now-”

“Wait. Wait. I thought you’d find this interesting as well. One of the nurses on the pediatric unit told me about a haunting,” the man enthused as he moved to the board and pointed to a blue pin on the sprawling map of Tokyo, “Window blown out. Multiple accidents. Coma patient nearly thrown from the window. And best of all...”

The pause for dramatic effect made Gramps eye twitch. That was until he noticed very troubling photos among the clippings pinned to the board and his heart absolutely sank.

“Photographs of a mysterious man clinging to the hospital wall. Jumping from building to building. Rushing into a blazing fire and emerging without injury,” the man finished triumphantly before pointing to a nearby apartment complex, “Same description that was given by that little girl who said she was plucked from the air. Clear irrefutable evidence of demons among us.”

Scratching his nose, Gramp’s mind scrambled to find a way to dismiss these allegations that were actually probably spot on. Yes, a talk with Inuyasha definitely was in order. Surely, Hiro was not the only person who had such photographs and not the only one trying to get to the truth of the matter. Heaven help the boy if the conspiracy magazines started investigating.

“Have you shown these things to anyone else?” he decided on and his friend’s excited face fell.

“Well. No,” the doctor mumbled as he wrung his wizened hands and visibly deflated, “The photos are blurry and the witness wouldn’t go on record. But you see what I’m saying, don’t you?”

For a moment, the briefest of moments, Gramps desperately wanted to admit everything. His friend looked so defeated and miserable as he pushed the board back into his office. It was the shuddering sigh as the door clicked closed that did him in.

“You’re here for another note, right?” his friend mumbled as he crossed to the kitchen counter to grab his pen, “What is the excuse this time?”

A minute passed then two as his friend waited patiently - clearly disappointed that his old friend who used to be very interested suddenly acted like he dreaded meeting with him at all. It wasn’t a secret that this...hobby wasn’t widely shared amongst his other friends and acquaintances. In fact, Gramps was fairly certain he was the only person who knew the board and Hiro’s belief that something was out there.

“Kagome...”

Gramps warred with himself for a moment before saying to hell with it.

“Kagome is a priestess in the feudal era fighting demons alongside the demon you see in those photographs,” Gramps finally offered and immediately regretted saying anything at all. The reaction wasn’t what he expected. Namely, there wasn’t one. His friend stood stock still. Blinking slowly like he hadn’t heard anything at all. The silence grew so heavy and tense that Gramps almost took it back and claimed it was a joke. But, thankfully, Hiro beat him to the punch.

“Can...can I meet him?”

The question posed was soft and unsure. Like he was expecting to be told this was a joke.

“Kagome should be returning in the next few days. I will ask when they come as they normally come together,” Gramps offered before blowing out his cheeks, “I trust you with this Hiro. I trust you like I’ve trusted you my whole life. So when I beg you not to repeat this. To not have any of this anywhere in writing...”

“No. No of course not,” the doctor breathed as his lips twitched upwards like he was finally getting over his shock, “I would never betray you. Never put your family in danger. I just want to see for myself. That’s all.”

A second’s pause.

“So I take it Kagome doesn’t have agoraphobia? I did think it was odd,” he teased happily as he shrugged his shoulders and readied his pen, “What excuse are we making up this time then?”

“Arthritis. Severe,” Gramps offered with a warm smile, “And probably something that would explain bruises. The feudal era has its dangers.”

“I imagine it does,” the friend laughed once as he tapped the pen against his lips, ��Well, if she ever does need medical treatment, please know I am always available and can be discreet. Heaven knows there must be some injuries that...can’t be explained?”

The giddy grin at that comment had Gramps laughing once himself.

“You will call me. No matter what they decide, won’t you?” his friend asked after a moment as he jotted something down and ripped the prescription pad off, “I understand if he doesn’t want to be identified.”

“I will let you know old friend,” Gramps promised before his lips twitched upwards, “Maybe he can even help you understand some things that will help you with your...less than human patients.”

“I would like that very much,” Hiro hummed happily before sighing happily and moving to a cabinet, “This news calls for a drink. Do you have time?”

Gramps did indeed and the meeting was eventually arranged. Funny thing was, shortly after the meeting, Hiro looked up when a knock at his apartment window caught his attention.

There he was. The demon who had proved definitively that the crazy old doctor wasn’t all that crazy after all. In one graceful move, the boy swooped inside once the window was opened and looked around as he dusted his hands.

“You’re pretty easy to track. You know that, huh?” Inuyasha asked casually before making a face and laughing once, “I want to see the shit you’ve got on demons here while I got time.”

Nodding slowly, Hiro tried to steel himself for the inevitable. To be told he was a crazy old man and that everything - other than this boy - that he’d put together was just his own imagination.

“I h-have the board,” Hiro offered before clarifying when Inuyasha simply looked confused, “Records I mentioned. If you wish to see.”

Smiling, Inuyasha nodded once and leaned casually up against the wall. The man would never know how huge it was that Inuyasha had not only sought him out but that he actually felt comfortable in his presence. But to the half-demon, if Kagome’s grandfather trusted this man with secrets like this, Inuyasha trusted he could trust this old man as well.

“So...” Hiro breathed as he pulled the board into the tight living room and cleared his throat, “I’m not sure if these...”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” Inuyasha laughed as he moved closer and plucked up one picture, “That little shit’s still around?”

“Wh-”

A photo was flashed of a middle aged man with brilliant green eyes and a sly grin.

“I mean, you wouldn’t be able to tell. I only know from…well I’m not sure actually,” Inuyasha laughed once as he wrinkled his nose and scoffed, “But where the fuck has he been? That would’ve been nice to know.”

“Mr. Nakamura?” Hiro offered quietly - deciding to ignore the cursing in favor of learning more, “He works for some civil department I believe. Has a wife. A teenage daughter. They sometimes come in.”

Inuyasha snorted and continued glancing over the board.

“What did this dumbass do to get on your board?”

“Nothing really except his eye color changes often. Brown. Green. Sometimes blue. Thought it was odd so…,” the doctor admitted before realizing that Inuyasha knew who that man was which meant, “So Mr. Nakamura is a demon?”

“Yeah, he’s a kid now,” Inuyasha made a face and amended, “Then I guess. Fox demon, ya know? Shapeshifter but he had a thing for humans so I wouldn’t be surprised if the daughter’s only half.”

As Inuyasha confirmed a few more of the photos were probably demons and gave a truthful account of suspicious events on the board, the man went from being relieved he wasn’t insane to wondering how he could be a better doctor for those living in hiding.

“Tell me something. Since I apparently have multiple demon patients, is there anything I should know? Things to avoid?” Hiro asked as he wrung his hands, “Your...Kagome’s grandfather tells me you both are injured frequently.”

Inuyasha nodded absently before letting out a heavy sigh. A long pause followed while the half-demon moved to the other side of the very full and very large easel.

“Pain. I don’t really feel pain,” the half-demon admitted before clearing his throat and plucking up a different picture, “I mean, I do but I don’t. More...more cold. Dizzy. Hard to breathe. Hard to move. Like I know I’m hurt but I can’t necessarily feel the injury if that makes sense.”

Hiro did not think that made sense but he took mental note of it nonetheless.

“I mean, I’ve been hurt when I’m human so I know what pain feels like and it’s not that,” Inuyasha finished lamely before cocking his head to the side and adding, “And healing. It’s fast. Like bones. Bones fully heal in like a day so you’ve got to be quick in setting it or you’ll have to break it again. That’s probably why that guy came to you for pictures. The one you said. To make sure he set it right.”

“A day?”

Inuyasha nodded absently before slowly pinning the photos back on the board. Every so often he paused and opened his mouth like he wanted to speak but didn’t.

“Ya know, I was afraid all the demons were dead. That all my friends were...” the boy finally admitted in a strange tone before his eyes once again found the photo of the grown up yet transformed Shippo, “Well some must be but some aren’t. He’s not. Good…good to know.”

Smiling softly, Hiro had to agree. All these things were very good things to…

“Wait, did you say you turn human? Fascinating. Tell me more.”

Over the next few months, Inuyasha’s visits surprisingly became quite regular. To the point where Hiro stopped locking his window in the hopes that Inuyasha would simply let himself in to pin a new finding on the increasingly full board while he was away. That the boy would have new insight into demon physiology. New advice. It certainly was helping with his practice with absolutely fantastic results. A more aggressive regime and quicker action seemed to do the trick most of the time resulting in much happier patients. As a result, each month he found himself busier. Each new patient marvelously different in their own way. Despite having no specialty in the matter, twenty eight of the fifty individuals with that rare disease that blocked pain now had him as his PCP. It was absolutely wonderful.

And then Inuyasha’s visits stopped without warning. Months turned to a year and Hiro began questioning his own sanity. Perhaps there had never been a strange half-demon man who was interested in what he had to say. He truly was as crazy as everyone had always said. His old friend still talked about his granddaughter and the man but doubt creeped in. Perhaps it was just out of pity.

The board was disassembled. Pictures and clippings and ‘evidence’ thrown in trash bags. Absently discarded never to be seen again.

Life continued on until one day something changed. Specifically, it was an appointment for Mr. Nakamura’s annual. The man that Hiro’s ‘imaginary’ friend thought he knew. To say the old man was dreading this appointment would be the understatement of the century.

So it was, with a heavy sigh, wizened knuckles rapped at the door before turning the handle.

“Inuyasha apologizes for missing his appointments,” the green eyed, red haired man chuckled as his nine tails lazily swayed behind him. As the old man stared at the demon in all his glory casually perched atop the examination table, he couldn’t help but gape.

“He sent you did he?” Hiro breathed in awe and the far too amused fox demon nodded.

“You came highly recommended,” Shippo chuckled, “ I doubt you’ve had a human patient in years. Well, okay, maybe you’ve had one or two.”

Letting out a relieved laugh, Hiro smiled and closed the door behind him.

#inu pockylypse #novinuprompt22 #the truth is out there #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #writing #inuyasha #inukag #kagome #inuyasha fandom #inuyasha fanfic #inuyasha headcanon

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jekyllnahyena · 2 years

Photo

it’s kinda funny, cause the whole au is bout the ineviteble terror of tragedy and how Riyo and Ponds are the side characters of the big story, so they see what comes after it happened. And it’s technically very sad. They have nights haunted by terror, by the things they couldn’t do, didn’t do and a future they will forever have to mourn, not for only themselves but all that they’ve loved too.

and yet, my biggest theme is the creation of warmth and happiness in the bleakness that is their universe through love. It’s one that tends to appear with all I create in star wars, because star wars is a tragedy, or at least the time I mostly dabble in, and I love seeing the different ways this warmth surfaces with the characters I draw.

So have my two favorite nerds dancing and smiling in the middle of their loss and now ongoing fight as rebels. I.D Under the cut!!

[I.D. It’s two digital drawings of commander Ponds and Riyo Chuchi from star wars. Riyo has different tattoos, dark blue ones’ covering the old, and short, white-blue hair. Ponds has a mechnical left eye, a big scar covering the left side of his head and severel piercings. The first one is a doodle page of the two. In the upper right corner is Riyo with some plastic wrapped around her head. She’s redyeing her hair. Ponds is taking a picture of her because she looks ridiculous. She asks: ‘are u really taking a pic?’ Ponds answers with a ‘nooooooooooo. I’d never.’ Below that is Riyo, holding her mechnical right arm as she’s threatening Ponds. She says: ‘I’m going to beat your ass, I swear on my own grave!’ Ponds responds ‘Try me, Chuchi!’ They both smiling. In the left lower corner is Riyo sitting, looking down at her comlink, with Ponds resting his head on hers’ He says: ‘Your hair isn’t fluffy and warm enough.’ Riyo responds with ‘Your bald head isn’t better.’ Ponds counters with a simple ‘rude’. In the upper left corner is a close up of both their faces. They’re smoking, Riyo holding her cigarette with her mechanical hand.

The second drawing is of the two of them dancing in a pretty dark spaceship. They’re laughing. End I.D]

#riyo chuchi #commander ponds #priyos rebels au #ajekyllsart #have a doodle dump of those two :D #started out with me trying to draw the cowboy bebop ship as a background because im shit at backgrounds #and then i added those two #and then they wanted a complete page for themselves #fuckin rude in all honesty #cw smoking

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sunshinebunnie · 1 year

Text

Play to Win (A Brio update sneak peek)

After not touching Play to Win for over a year (?!?!?!), I finally found the inspo to get back to it. Just wanted to share a small snippet, in case anyone is still following along at home and wants to flail with me about it. 🥰🥰🥰🥰

Banner by the fantastic @purpleyin

*~*~*

She was still ransacking the supply closet when she heard the clear jingling sound of the bells over the front door. Her shoulders momentarily hunched as she grumbled under her breath about forgetting to flip the door sign to “Closed.”

“Uh, hey!” she called out from inside the office. “I’m sorry for the confusion, but we’re actually closed for the night! You’ll have to come back in the morning for your Sweet Lucy fix.”

Her ears briefly strained as she waited to hear the sound of the bells again, but there was nothing. Just a charged silence that was starting to make the hairs on her arms stand on end.

Annie did not have the bandwidth for the “customer service with a smile” bullshit that Beth had been spouting since she’d opened the store. It was that type of “the customer is always right” attitude that led douchebags like the ones who were surely milling around in front of the near empty display case feel like it was ok to linger in the shop even after being told it was closed.

Drawing herself up to her full 5’1” height, she did her best to stomp out of the office so there would be no mistaking how inconvenienced she was.

“Yo, I said we’re…” she started calling out as she was halfway across the floor before the rest of the words crumbled to ash in her mouth.

Standing at the display case was one of the brawniest dudes Annie had ever seen in her life, sporting several prominent facial tattoos and a bushy, well-trimmed beard that seemed like the perfect offset to his thick, blue denim jacket.

“Uh…” she started to stammer, only for her throat to constrict as the guy looked her dead in the eyes.

“Yo, these black sesame snickerdoodle things any good?” he asked.

Before she could debate the merits of her decision (like Beth surely would’ve), Annie blurted out the first lie that came to mind. “Couldn’t tell you. I’m allergic to snickerdoodles. All—uh—sweets, actually.”

The guy who looked like he had recently been the leader of a prison gang at Joliet just kept staring at her, not even so much as an involuntary twitch gracing his face.

Annie’s attention was glued so firmly to the bald-headed man’s impassive face that she shrieked at a decibel level that should’ve shattered glass when another, unseen person began chuckling.

The taunting laughter continued, doing absolutely nothing to stop her heart from trying to rip its way out of her rib cage.

“That's real funny,” a quiet, deceptively calm, male voice said. “Seems like you must have a death wish or something then. Opening up a bakery when you allergic to sweets.”

Annie bristled. “Well, see, that’s where you’re wrong. This isn’t actually my business.”

The hipster biker took a smooth half-step to the left revealing a tall, slim man with an arresting neck tattoo, dressed head-to-toe in black like he was doing his best Johnny Cash impression. His brown eyes glittered like he knew the punchline of a joke she hadn’t heard yet, and it made her want to squirm under the intense scrutiny.

“You here awful late for someone who says this ain’t her business. You a manager or something?”

#nbc good girls #brio #beth x rio #brio fic #sunshinebunnie psa #Play to Win Sneak Peek

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001-lvr · 2 years

Note

can you write more about dad!peter please? i love your fics omg!!! TY!!!

A/N: OF COURSE!!!🫶🏽🫶🏽🤗 thank you for the request!! AND TUANK YOU SO MICH!! IM GLAD YOU ENJOY MY FICS!!🫶🏽🫶🏽❤️❤️

The little things (Dad!peter)

Summary: Just Peter and his daughter having a conversation about his time in the lab! The child in this fic is a girl called Madison (Maddie for short)

The 13 year old girl was sat on the couch in their livingroom while y/n was upstairs catching up on some work. Her dad was also on the couch and they were talking about what it was like to be a guard.

“So you’re telling me, you and mom both worked in a lab? Where there were bald kids everywhere who had powers? And you were a guard? And mom was a nurse? And you escaped?” Maddie was bewildered, she had never been told this before. Peter nodded. “Exactly. But it wasn’t as fun as I first made it out to be. You see, I had been in that lab for many years. Since I was a child. You might not believe me when I say this but, I have abilities just like those children did. And I was the first one to be in the lab under the care of Dr Martin Brenner. He tattooed a number on my wrist, and I still have it. As I grew, he took my dna and put it in the children so they too had my abilities, and he would train them to get stronger and stronger. But don’t worry, they aren’t my children just because they have some of my dna. And though I was growing up, I could never escape. I was given the job as a guard. To make sure the kids weren’t doing anything that would put them or anyone else in danger. But I had a limit on what I could say to them. I wasn’t allowed to mention that I had abilities, I had to hide the number on my wrist. I couldn’t use my abilities anyway. I had a tracker in my neck, it weakened me and showed Dr Brenner where I was at all times. Any time I looked even the slightest bit suspicious to Brenner, he would punish me. But electrocuting the sides of my head. God, it was so painful. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But then, I met your mother. She was so beautiful, I’m certain I fell in love straight away. It was 1971 when I met her. After a month of knowing eachother I asked her to be my girlfriend, in which she said yes. We dated secretly, and on our 2 year anniversary, we did…adult stuff. Yeah. And a week later we found out she was pregnant with you. We were so happy, yet so sad at the same time.” He was interrupted by an “ouch” from Maddie. (It was sarcasm of course) Peter laughed lightly and shook his head. “You know that isn’t what I meant. We were sad because we were stuck in the lab, and if we had a child here, they would have turned you into a test subject. Which we couldn’t allow. So, we did the most logical thing, and escaped. We both had to remove the trackers from our necks though, which was painful to say the least. But after, we were free. And we could bring you up in a nice environment. We wasted no time in buying a house and getting a nursery set up for you. And then you were born. Now, I wasn’t planning on saying any of this to you, but since I have abilities, it’s a big possibility that you will too.” Maddies eyes widened, and she suddenly felt uneasy. “But! Don’t panic. I’ll teach you how to control them. And I will never, ever train you like me and the rest of the children were in that lab. So I wouldn’t worry about it, okay? It’ll all be fine.” He said, and pulled her in for a hug, which she gladly returned.

This was a new beginning for the young girl, but luckily she had her dad to guide her through it. “Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Can i see the number on your wrist?“

“Yes of course.” Peter rolled his sleeve up to reveal a number on his wrist. ‘001’

“So, a real tattoo huh. Could you use your powers? I’ve never seen you use it before.” Peter sighed. The last time he used his abilities, he accidentally killed one of the guards, while he was trying to escape. But if his daughter also had abilities, he didn’t want her to be afraid to use them. So, he nodded. And got an empty Pepsi can in front of him. He used his mind and crushed it with ease, but it still caused a little nosebleed. He wiped it and looked back at his daughter, who nearly had her eyes bulging out of her head in amusement and excitement. “That’s so cool! So you’re saying i can learn to do that?!” Peter smiled. “Yes, and so much more. You’ll do great things, I just know it. So, what was your favourite part about my time in the lab?” He asked. He was curious.

“Hm, probably when you asked my mom out. But I hated the part where you got a tattoo done when you were a child, especially on your wrist. Oh, and you getting tortured. You didn’t even do anything wrong. But, I also hate thinking about the fact that I was conceived in a lab. It leads up to something cool though, you both escaped so we could all be a family. That’s some real superhero stuff right there.” Peter looked at his daughter and smiled, “yeah, real superhero stuff.”

Y/n watched from the doorway, and smiled. A genuine smile. She loved her family more than anything. Escaping was worth it.

#fluff #stranger things x reader #peter ballard #platonic #001 x reader #001 stranger things #pls request #pls reblog #slayed #stranger things #netflix #ok bye #goddamn

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hollywoodcannon · 2 years

Text

Anonymous asked: So wait...are you or aren't you seeing Steve Austin?

Hollywood had never looked so blonde. More so any place that the Loose Cannon and the Texas Rattlesnake chose to destroy, all around them knew, within good time, that the ‘greatest tag team of the 90s’ was back and better than ever. Never able to be apart for long, never wanting to, always together because they wished to be, Brian couldn’t help but be happy. With an arm wrapped around Steve’s waist - kisses pressed to any exposed patch of skin - he would whisper the sweetest of nothings. Sometimes too silly, sometimes as poetic as a love song, an entire weight had been lifted from his shoulders once all their troubles were laid out. Moments and memories made up for, soothed because they had each hurt one another, their renewed forever just begun. It was like seeing a glimpse of heaven every time Steve’s cheeks were brushed in pink. A boyish blush that just made the man seem so cute, so innocent despite the crude mouth and tattoos and beer drinking, a smile that felt like home. Brian’s home, where he would always be kept safe and warm and welcomed.

Even though the Hitman couldn’t understand why they got back together, how it could happen and why so close to the Hart Foundation brotherhood, spoke outright about how odd it seemed, he, himself, couldn’t deny that it made both Austin and Pillman all the more better. Perhaps more intense, proud and confident, he would relent the war between himself and his foe, if only for Brian’s sake. Least, in most cases, but that was good enough. It was enough. Ever thankful to him - a wonderful big brother he was - the Loose Cannon wouldn’t let the Rattlesnake off easy. Tease him still, if not in the good name of fun, dance on the edge of ‘too much’ and ‘too little.’ Stir the pot for the entertainment of writers and curious fans, the boys in the back who couldn’t believe their eyes, leave the whole world guessing. But Brian needed not to be just as unsure. For he knew, above all else, just where his, and Steve’s, hearts layed. Commitments and more; their lives and souls an intertwined but beautiful mess. Meant to be.

“I am, but I’m also not.”

Brian razzed, a smile so wide it almost split his face in two. “Look, I’ll be the first to admit. It’s a hard task to ignore little Stevie. Guy’s face is everywhere I look! Not only is he the current Intercontinental Champ, but he’s also become the poster child for male pattern baldness. Both very luxurious careers, but only one will be permanent, and I dare say, it’s not the one that has him holding the belt. My dearest brother-in-arms, my beloved partner in this here crusade against villainy, against the likes of Austin 3:16, the King of Hearts, Owen Hart, will reclaim what has been so wrongfully taken from him. So, yes, I am seeing Mr. Austin. However, not voluntarily.”

“But all the same, I can see the look on your face. You’re confused. You’re a little scared. Well, good, you should be. I bet it gets under your skin like nothing else. Hearing me say these things to you, and yet, there’s this voice in the back of your mind that tells you that something feels off. You can’t tell if what I say is true or if I’m just pulling it out of my keister. Maybe I’m practicing a bit of both. Maybe I just like messing with you. Alright, look, you seem like a nice enough person, so I’ll give you a hand. I’ll keep it simple. You see Austin over there? You see that bruise on his collarbone? Let’s just say, you don’t get a mark like that from playing with the vacuum suction.”

___

#( Anonymous )#Pipe Bombs Flyin' // Answered #Got A Gun // WWF ERA #Stone Cold Hollywood Gold // Brian x Steve

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pinky-the-elephant-room · 3 years

Text

Memories

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟAN: I wrote this a while back and now I finished it finally yay. This prompt's based on the canonical timeline before Takemichi starts time traveling,

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ Warnings: Graphic violence and canonical character death. Fem Reader x Mikey.

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ Summary: Delinquents are no good and Y/N knew that. But why is it that she was unable to look away from him?

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

One. Two.

Y/N counted the beats in her head and pictured her body moving along to the rhythm. She let out a sigh and just let herself get carried away. It was almost easy to forget the loud boys on the train.

However, it seemed that she was the only one actively trying to bury herself in her iPod. In contrast, the semi-empty train’s occupants were either annoyed or terrified at the riffraff. A boy with long blond hair seemed happy to stuff his face, and another one had a shaved head with a dragon tattoo. Clearly, his parents weren’t the responsible type if they let their son get away with such a thing. The curious duo were surrounded by a group of youth who vaguely resembled the out-of-control delinquents on the news.

Trouble, that’s exactly what they were Y/N decided. And she didn’t have time for trouble nowadays. Not when she was so busy. The long-haired teen perked up from his snack, and she quickly turned away. Hopefully, he didn’t notice her curious appraisal lest he tried to get her attention and mess with her. Y/N was all too aware of men who would try things with a lone girl. Thinking they could bully her into doing things she didn’t want to. She sighed with relief when she peered through her bangs to notice no one was watching her.

“Next stop is Shibuya station! Pleas- “

Y/N quickly pressed pause on her large pink brick of an iPod and secured her bag’s handle on her shoulder. As she got ready to stand up, her movement though not loud, immediately caught the attention of the boisterous group. Y/N ignored the chills coursing throughout her body and stood near the train's doors, ready to bolt as soon it opened.

She jumped when she felt her school uniform skirt being flipped and turned around abruptly to face her assailant.

A random scrub seemed disappointed to find gym shorts underneath her skirt rather than panties. Yeah, she was just too smart for that now. Y/N tried to control the anxiety running through her veins.

“Aw man! Didn’t even get a proper look. You with the glasses! Are you the type to wear lace?”

She shakingly lifted her head to make eye contact with the rowdy adolescent.

“What are you looking at?” he snarled and grabbed her wrist. Y/N tried to twist out of his grasp in vain.

The long-haired boy lost his dazed look and seemed interested in their encounter. While dragon tattoo’s eyes narrowed at the scene.

“Don’t touch me,” Y/N murmured under her breath.

“Huh?? What was that?” The bald bully leaned in closer mockingly. The larger tattooed adolescent got up in a hurry and stalked angrily towards them.

“Ora! What the hell do you think you’re doing, Teme?” Dragon tattoo yelled at his subordinate, who seemed shaken at being addressed. “We don’t mess with girls!”

Y/N looked at the tattooed giant in shock. Was he defending her? This day was getting weirder and weirder.

Unable to keep still, she pulled the scrub close, using his hold on her against him, and then promptly judo flipped him. It was a bit harder than she was used to due to the weight, but she still heard the impact of the body’s landing on the train’s floor.

A chorus of astonished yells erupted, followed by pained groans.

“Shit. You got him good,” the taller boy exclaimed.

“Hey! What’s your name? I’m Mikey,” a cheerful voice yelled.

Unable to cope with the sudden attention of the entire train on her, which coincidentally at the same time the train opened its door, Y/N practically ran out. Ran until she became nothing more than a whisper and stranger amongst the crowd exiting the train station. Yet despite being no longer in their company, she could still feel the weight of the boy’s gaze. His dark eyes and long blond hair became imprinted in her mind.

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

Y/N felt a weight lift off her shoulders, seeing the grade in front of her in bright red ink. She had studied day and night to earn a good grade. Finally, things were going her way. She had a long way to go before college, but if she formed a diligent habit now then-

She looked annoyed as the train’s door opened, and a group of rowdy boys stepped through. She stiffened when she noticed it was the long-haired blonde and the dragon tattooed delinquent.

“The train again, Mikey? When’s your bike going to get fixed?” A chubby bald boy asked. Well, he sounded more like a man, but the roundness to his face betrayed his youth.

“And,” a white-haired boy interrupted. “Why do we have to ride with you just because your bike is broken?”

“Mikey” smiled and responded cheerfully, “Because it’s fun!”

The group all grumbled and cussed under their breaths before taking a seat.

Y/N tried to keep her eyes off them and to mind her own business. But she couldn’t help herself. The eclectic group was so weird but it seemed to contain this air of comfortableness and comradery like they’d been friends for ages.

A sting of old jealousy blossomed in her heart. She didn’t have any friends. Most times she didn’t mind being alone. Being alone meant she could study and not be distracted by unimportant drama. But it also meant that she was incredibly lonely.

A movement from the corner of her eye snapped Y/N out of her stupor. A chill went down her spine.

Mikey grinned serenely and leaned into Y/N’s face. She moved back, uncomfortable at the proximity.

“You’re that girl from that day!” he exclaimed and mimicked a judo flip with an invisible foe.

“Can you please give me space,” she muttered. A request which Mickey listened to and stepped back.

“T-thank you.”

She was taken back by the supposed delinquent listening to her.

Y/N knew some of the horror stories of troublesome teens who had nothing better to do with their lives than to cause chaos. Her law-abiding police officer father would frequently go on a tirade about Tokyo's recent uptick of gang activity. She knew all too well what these guys were capable of.

“Hey, where did you learn to do that flip?” There was a shine of curiosity in his eyes, almost childlike.

Y/N blushed at the attention the handsome boy was bestowing on her. Even if he was a troublemaker, he was still quite good looking and rarely did any ikemen actually talk to her.

“I took Judo when I was young, but I stopped after elementary school.”

“Oh,” Mikey became crestfallen, and there was this rush inside of her to immediately reassure him so he could return to his happy-go-lucky self. But there was no need because quickly, the jovial smile came back.

“Your strength sucked, but your form was great.”

Y/N, despite herself, was amused at the half insult and half compliment. She found herself more and more perplexed at the enigma that was Mikey.

“Mikey, let’s go back to our seat,” the taller tattooed adolescent interrupted, and he grabbed Mikey by the scruff of his shirt.

“Ken-chin! She doesn’t mind do you…,” Mikey’s eyes widened. “Wait! What’s your name again?”

“L/N Y/N. Nice to meet you,” she greeted with a quick nod. Only to berate herself mentally for giving her name away. Idiot. Now she was becoming friendly with delinquents. If her father knew, he would have an aneurysm.

“I’m Mikey, and this is Ken-chin. Now we’re friends.” Mikey then took a seat right beside Y/N and stuck his tongue out at his friend.

Y/N nervously swallowed and said, “I don’t mind as long as that guy from last time isn’t here.” She sneaked a peek over to the rest of the guys who were unashamedly staring at them back.

“Oh him? We took care of it, right, Ken-chin?”

Ken-chin nodded. “He was some lackey that recently joined. Tokyo Manji doesn’t mess with women.”

Tokyo Manji. Was that the name of their group? She had never heard of it before.

Y/N just nodded, not sure what to say to two gang members. What if she pissed them off by opening her mouth? She gulped and decided not to test that theory.

“So,” Mikey started, and he looked pointily down at her school uniform. “What school do you go to? I don’t recognize your uniform.”

She looked down at her red and pale pink uniform. Noticing her bow was sloppily tied, she discretely tried to fix the bow with Mikey’s gaze on her.

“It’s a private girls' only school,” she muttered.

“That sounds boring.”

‘Ken-chin’ then asked, “Can I sit here?” He pointed to the space next to her.

Y/N stiffened and wanted to say no. Two boys were going to sit on each side of her, and she wasn’t entirely comfortable with that.

“Of course, K-ken-san?” she replied tentatively. Unsure of how to address him.

He snorted,” San? Call me Draken.”

Draken like dragon? That was a pretty cool name, even if she didn’t believe that was his real name. If it was then, Y/N felt sorry for the boy because it was clear his parents were truly negligent.

“So, what kind of parfait do you like?”

Y/N looked at Mikey confusingly. What did dessert have to do with anything? She turned towards Draken for answers, who just seemed resigned.

“I-I like crepes better. Especially with frosting and chocolate sauce.”

Mikey nodded thoughtfully, “That’s a good answer. There’s a café right by our school that makes great crepes. What was its name again?” He cartoonishly thought for a minute.

“Red Cherry,” Draken interrupted.

“Yup! That’s the one. You should come with us sometimes.”

She immediately wanted to say no. There was no way she was willingly going to hang out with them. Mikey seemed nice enough, but they were still delinquents. So, she made lame excuses trying to dissuade them from continuing the conversation.

When the train announced her station, Y/N almost leaped off her seat in joy.

“Ja ne!” Mikey called out to Y/N.

She waved goodbye then as soon as the train’s doors opened left hurriedly. Her hand tenderly rubbed where she could feel her heart pounding against her chest. Despite feeling a bit relieved, she glanced back to see Mikey peering through the window and giving her a smile with a peace sign.

Y/N tentatively grinned as the bullet train sped away, only allowing a glimpse of golden streaks of his hair.

A part of her hoped that was the end, but a different part wondered if she would ever see him again.

She shook her head. Nope, no need to make it out to be more than what it was. Even if he was cute just by his little entourage, it wasn’t hard to guess he was bad news. And Y/N didn’t do bad news. Sure, bad boys were a lot of fun, but that was for daydreams and fantasy only. Not real life.

And with that resolve, she resolutely put Mikey in the back of her mind.

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

Y/N opened the ice cream wrapper and stuck the fudgy pop in her mouth. The sweetness almost made her feel better. Almost being the keyword. She sniffed miserably and then sucked the chocolate pop some more. She had gotten back her recent test scores. The papers in her backpack with their red marks were weighing her down with disappointment.

An 89. It was a disgrace. All that studying for a measly B. If her family disowned her, she wouldn’t even fight it. She deserved it.

She was distracted by her misery, not even noticing the sound of a motorbike approaching. Y/N was startled by the appearance when it stopped next to her.

Her eyes widened to see the familiar blond hair and cheerful smile.

“Y/N-chi! Long time no see.”

It was true Y/N hadn’t seen Mikey in weeks since that time he sat next to her. She thought he would have forgotten her by now since she never saw him on the train again. Looking down at his bike, it was easy to see why. He no longer needed it.

Wait a second. Y/N-chi? Her cheeks burned at the nickname Mikey bestowed on her.

“Hey, your ice cream is melting.”

She looked distractedly to see the chocolate dripping her palm and making its gooey way down her wrist.

“Huh. I didn’t even notice.” Deciding just to finish it before it made an even bigger mess, she was about to put the popsicle in her mouth when her wrist was grabbed.

“Mine!” Mikey then happily stuck the rest of the ice cream in his mouth.

“Y-you! That was mine!”

The long-haired blond seemly ignored her and licked his lips in satisfaction. She would be more upset, but it was hard to focus on her ire when he was distractingly licking himself like that. And the worst part was that he didn’t even notice how he was affecting her!

“Ne, why were you crying?”

Y/N became flustered at his attention now that the sweet treat no longer occupied him.

“What do you mean? I wasn’t crying.”

A confused look came over his face before Mikey shrugged. She felt her heart pound at the sight. It wasn’t fair gangsters shouldn’t be so cute.

“If you say so. Are you going home?” he asked while patting the seat behind him. “Come. I’ll give you a ride.”

“Ehhh? But what about helmets?”

“I’m a good driver; you won’t need it. Trust me.”

Y/N hesitated. Already, her brain reminded her with statistics of how likely motorcycle drivers would die in an accident without helmets. Her father had given quite the lecture when he found her cousin had been driving without one. Those gruesome accounts were hard to forget even now.

Mikey patted the seat harder, “Hurry up! I heard it was gonna rain today.”

Unable to put him off longer, she came to stand near the bike. Eying it cautiously, she handed her schoolbag to Mikey and then swung her leg over with a careful hand on his shoulder.

“Alright, I’m ready,” she said when she was situated, pulling his shirt and trying to get her bag back.

“I thought girls don’t like to sit sprawled like that when they’re wearing skirts,” he replied, giving back her belongings.

“I wear gym shorts underneath, so it’s fine.”

“You’re pretty smart, unlike Emma.”

Who could Emma be? She frowned at the idea that perhaps that was his girlfriend. Should he be giving rides to her? What if this Emma found out about it? Y/N had been the witness to many fights between girls at her school about nonsensical things like boyfriends. It was barbaric and immature to resort to violence over small things.

Before Y/N could voice her opinions, though, Mikey revved up his bike and took off with a whoop!

She yelped at the speed and held onto Mikey’s shirt tightly.

“Slow down!”

“Why would I do that? This is so much better!”

“Mikey, you liar!” Y/N yelled before ducking her face into his back. She felt him, with one hand, remove her hands from their vice-like grip and wrap them around his waist.

She became speechless by the proximity. It was easy to be distracted from the speed of Mikey’s bike when she could practically feel his abs over his shirt.

“So, where do I go now?” he shouted over the wind.

Y/N shouted out the directions to her house while battling her windswept hair that kept being blown into her mouth. She purposely made him stop two places down from her actual home. Her father didn’t need to see her on the back of a motorcycle with no helmet. Plus, who knows what he might say at the sight of Mikey. Despite his good looks, he was a thorough delinquent, and she didn’t want to risk a lecture today.

“Thank you so much,” she said while carefully maneuvering off the motorbike. “Although, in the future, maybe you shouldn’t give out rides to other girls.”

That got Mikey to stop revving his bike and stare at her.

“Why not?’

Y/N huffed,” Well, your girlfriend won’t be happy about it. And I’m not going to fight a girl for you.”

That just got an even blanker look. He was starting to resemble an axolotl.

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Then who is Emma?”

He chuckled and tugged some of her long tresses. “Silly Y/N. Emma is my sister.”

A blush overtook her face, and embarrassment flooded through her body.

“I should get going now. It’s getting late,” she said quickly, making excuses.

“I’m glad you’re not sad anymore. You look better when you smile,” he called out before turning his motorbike around and speeding off.

The redness that was barely beginning to cool off on her face once again rushed through, making her feel lightheaded.

He really was trouble.

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

She repeatedly blinked, trying to comprehend the sight before her. Y/N was beside herself. Never could she have guessed that she would see this sight. Mikey was standing outside of her school, seemingly glaring at the school’s locked gates.

She gulped and hurried to his side as he was attracting unwanted attention from her peers.

“Mikey!”

His face lit up, and he said, “About time. I’ve been waiting.”

Y/N knew that because she had gotten his text earlier saying he wanted to hang out on a school day of all things. She vehemently refused because she didn’t want to explain to her parents why she decided to skip when exams were only a week away. So, Mikey responded with pouts and sad emojis before finally understanding she wasn’t going to budge and that he would meet her after school ended.

She hadn’t taken him seriously, and now there he was. Mikey could have kicked those heavy gates open if he wanted, but she knew he hadn’t for her benefit. So, she was at least grateful for his discretion.

As she followed him out onto the streets, she couldn’t help but notice something was off about Mikey. Instead of pestering her to go to a nearby café like they usually did, he stopped at a park.

When Mikey sat down on a bench, he invited her to sit with him.

“Help me with this,” he said and then shoved a bag into her hands. The bag contained bandages and alcohol wipes.

“Why do you need this?”

Y/N didn’t need an answer when the answer was self-explanatory just by looking at his bruised fists.

She became aghast at his request. “Who hurt the invincible Mikey?”

“Heh. You should see the other guy’s face.”

She frowned at his carefree attitude. Getting to know him over a couple of months, Y/N knew Mikey rarely took injuries seriously. She rifled through the plastic bag and pulled out the alcohol wipes.

“Don’t,” she grumbled and then pressed down the wipe firmly against his skin. “Be a smart ass.”

“You know, Y/N-chi. Looking at you like this, I think you can become a doctor one day, and you’re pretty smart to boot,” Mikey said, hardly noticing her rough treatment.

“You got that from me putting bandages on? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re hardly a good judge.”

“And when you become a doctor, you should keep taking care of me.”

She scoffed, “Becoming a doctor is hard work, you know? Something that you, Mr. I get 30s on my test hardly know about.”

“Math sucks. You can’t blame me.”

“Math isn’t that bad all you need to do is pay attention and study.” Which she knew he rarely did. He preferred to skip school and only really attended lunch before going off to do Tokyo Manji business.

Mikey stuck out his tongue, “Blech. That sounds awful.”

She shook her head. “But don’t you want to graduate high school at least?”

“Nah, I think middle school is as far as I’m gonna go.”

They had this discussion before where Y/N was horrified to find out about his future plans. She kind of hoped that the gang stuff was a phase before he would move on as he matured. But he seemed dead set on it. He also mentioned opening a bike shop like his older brother, which had more potential. Mikey was so carefree in a way that she couldn’t relate to. She had her future planned. Although Y/N wasn’t sure what she wanted to do just yet (a fact that induced anxiety in her), she was sure to put in a 110% effort just like she did in everything else.

Y/N blew lightly on his inflamed knuckles before carefully weaving the elastic wrap around.

“There!” she said before noticing Mikey gazing at her intensely. “What?”

He looked down, his long blond hair hiding his facial expression. “N-nothing.”

“Ne, promise me,” he said before looking up again and sticking out his pinky.

She looked at his hand puzzlingly and couldn’t help but notice how long and pretty his fingers were.

“Promise what?”

“That when you become a doctor that you’ll take care of me whenever I get into fights.”

“Mikey! I can’t promise you-“

He shook his pinky in a threatening manner. “Promise!”

Y/N sighed, resigned, and linked her pinky with his. “Fine. I promise to fix you up whenever you get into trouble. Happy?”

His face broke out into a happy grin, and it wasn’t too long before his infectious happiness affected her. She giggled and laughed when he started tickling her, catching her off guard.

Mikey is trouble

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

Y/N flinched when she heard the door creak. She waited, expecting her parents to come storming down the stairs. When nothing happened, she let out a sigh of relief and then proceeded to pry open the door and lock it behind her carefully.

She bent down to adjust her tennis shoe a bit and jammed her Achille’s heel in. She opened her flip phone and recognized the address sent by Mikey as being a few blocks away from her.

This was insane. He had called her out in the middle of the night. 2 AM to be exact. Before she had met him, she was the type to be curled up in bed by 8 PM. 9 if she was staying up and studying for exams. But there was something in his voice, desperate and hoarse, that she couldn’t refuse. So, here she was, running down the streets as fast as her unathletic body would allow her.

There was no rush, no deadline. But everything from the situation to the goosebumps on her body screamed that she needed to be there immediately. Her lungs burned, and she kept going despite feeling like she couldn’t take another step. Mikey needed her.

Y/N saw him leaning against a streetlight, looking out of place wearing his black boilersuit adorned with kanjis in the affluent neighborhood. No delinquent would have ever been caught dead here, especially with police officers patrolling here every few hours.

“Mikey!” she hissed, unsure if she should be yelling at this time of the night. “Are you ok? What’s going on?”

He didn’t answer and looked up from the ground. She flinched seeing the dead look in his eyes, and almost stepped back in fear when he came closer.

That fear was unfounded as Mikey only tugged her closer in for a hug.

For several minutes she didn’t move, and he didn’t say anything either. They just stood there as Mikey clutched her as if she was his anchor and he was about to come undone. Then she felt him shaking and letting out little choked gasps as if he was struggling to breathe.

“Please,” Y/N begged.

She didn’t know what she was pleading for. What could have happened that caused Mikey to crumble like this? She almost didn’t want to know.

“Ken-chin. He’s-. “He cut himself off suddenly as if he couldn’t even finish the sentence.

Dread began to bubble in her stomach. Draken, despite his fearsome appearance, was quite the chivalrous guy. And though she didn’t know his entire story (she only knew bits and pieces), he grew up with much integrity as he could despite his background. She felt awful about how she first judged Draken, but over time became fond of him.

Mikey let go of her and straightened up. His face was blank, showing none of the distress Y/N was sure he was feeling.

“Ken-chin is gone. He was injured during a fight, and he didn’t make it.”

Her mouth opened and closed several times. She always had something to say, whether it was rebuking Mikey for his antics or for lending advice. But now, she had nothing. What could she say?

So, Y/N brought him in for a hug this time and didn’t let go.

“I’m sorry.” She didn’t know why she was apologizing, except she felt the need to. And she continued to, the only words that fell her mouth.

Sorry that Draken’s life was cut short. Sorry that he would never experience all the adult things that he and Mikey were looking forward to. Sorry that he never got the chance to live for something beyond a life of delinquency.

Y/N should have felt justified in her distaste of their lifestyle. She had previously warned Mikey that being a delinquent despite his well-intentioned beliefs wasn’t going to lend to a satisfying life. And it seemed like she was right. But it felt so bittersweet. Most of all, she didn’t feel it was right to point fingers when Mikey was hurting.

“I’m sorry too.”

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

Y/N laid flat against the wall as she watched the gigantic man in an impeccable suit walk away gingerly as if he hadn’t just heard the gunshot go off.

She knew him. Was it Honma? Haan… Hanma! That was it. He was Mikey’s associate that previously leered at her when she threw a drink in his face. Mickey told her later that he had a few words with Hanma in case he bothered her again.

She was holding her breath in case she made noise. Only when the taller man was no longer in view did she hurriedly run into the apartment.

“Mikey!” she called anxiously. “Are you in here?”

Y/N listened intensely, and then she heard quick breathing and small groans. She immediately ran towards the noise only to freeze at the scene. Mikey was watching intensely at the man who was spurting out blood.

Mikey spared her a look, and unconcerned at the man dying in his kitchen, he walked over to her.

“When did you come in?”

Horrified, she could not keep her eyes off the blood that was flowing and covering every inch of his pristine floor.

“Y/N, look at me,” his gentle voice coaxed. “That’s it. Keep your eyes on me.”

She didn’t even know when he steered her into his living room and made her sit down on the sofa. She heard him turn away and speak into his cell phone, his voice insistent and dangerous before he hung up.

“Mikey? Wha-why is that man?” she couldn’t bear to finish that sentence.

He placed a finger on her lips. “Shh. It’s all taken care of. Nothing to worry about.”

“Let me help! He could die!”

“Well, that’s the whole idea,” Mikey said under his breath.

She blinked, “What?”

“Come on, Sweetheart. There’s no need for you to be here.”

Y/N didn’t protest as he made her leave his apartment. Too flabbergasted at the sudden intimate nickname, he never called her that. Their relationship never breached that point. She was too afraid of everything it meant to be involved with a guy like Mikey, who every day didn’t resemble the young kid she met when she was younger.

Sometimes she wondered as his eyes lingered in places that felt too intimate. But then his eyes would grow dull, and she thought it might have been just a trick of the light.

It was when the cold air of the night hit her face; she realized something.

“Mikey! Are you ok?” she asked frantically and touched him, trying to see if he was ok. “You didn’t get hurt, right?”

“Ne, do you remember that promise you made me?”

Her brows furrowed, and she was determined to ignore his antics as she examined him closely for any signs of injury.

“Y/N,” Mikey demanded in a tone of finality.

“What? I’m trying to make sure you don’t have a concussion like the last time,” she replied, exasperated. “I may be a doctor, but even I can’t perform miracles if you don’t take care of yourself.”

He waited a few seconds for her to relax and realize that he wasn’t joking.

“What promise?” Y/N asked.

“The one where you promised to fix me whenever I get into fights.”

She let out an aggravated sigh. Unsure of where he was going with this. “I remember, and I’ve been helping out ever since then.”

“Even despite your families’ wishes,” he interjected.

“Even then.”

Y/N remembered the utter catastrophe when her father found out about the friendship between herself and Mikey. He was livid, and now their relationship further soured with Tokyo Manji’s activities creating chaos throughout Tokyo.

“But would you still stay with me now that I’m the one breaking others?”

Y/N knew what he was asking. She wasn’t stupid. Of course, she knew what kind of trouble he got into every night. It was no longer petty theft and graffiti. It had involved kidnapping, drugs, prostitution, and whatever illicit activities the gang had wroth.

She even heard of a van killing a few bystanders because of Tokyo Manji. She knew.

So, Y/N reached out and covered his hand with hers.

“I’ll stay by your side until you don’t need me.”

He smiled at her words, a slight upturn of his lips. His eyes, though were shiny with indescribable feelings.

“It seems like you’re the only one left. Thank you.”

A gasp left Y/N when Mikey suddenly crushed his mouth over hers. Just as quickly as it happened, Mikey pushed her away.

“But I also know you’ve been leaking information to your father. Go home, Y/N. And forget what you’ve seen here and don’t come back.”

Despite his words, he looked exceedingly sad and heartbroken. Like this was the last thing he ever wanted to do.

Heart racing, Y/N stuttered, “Mikey I- “

His face hardened, and the emotions became sealed away. “Go home. Or the next body in my kitchen will be yours.”

She wanted to say something. Anything to make Mikey come back. But he was too far gone. The boy who would gush about parfaits and crepes was gone. So, she watched him turn his back to her and leave. He was taking her heart with him just as she would with his.

#sano manjiro x reader #sano mikey manjiro #sano mikey x reader #tokyorevengers #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x you #sano majiro x reader #sano manjiro #manjiro sano #mikey sano #tokyo rev #tokrev #mikey tokyo revengers #tokrev mikey #mikey headcanon #tokyo revengers spoilers #tokyo revengers mikey

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one-real-imonkey · 3 years

Note

Mhmmmmmmm, prompts you say? How about......the commander batch end up in the past with the TM except they were all doing something (one was sleeping, the other was unconscious, one was doing reports, one in the middle of a battle, heck, if you include Fox he could have been having a 'meeting (free interpretation) with Palpatine! Maybe the end up as teenagers! Who knows!

In strike bc I haven't seen you write a lot about clones sooooo....yeah, feel fre to ignore this!

Oh the clones my boys!!!!!!

They deserve love and affection and absolutely I’ll write for them. I’m rubbing my hands together and cackling like a super villain.

They’re all their natural ages, as if they bandy been aged in advance.

———

They’d shown up a mile out from Jasters camp, discovered by a patrol.

Six boys, young boys, some armed, some injured, all almost identical to his ad.

Five of them were, if he had to guess, quintuplets, about 13, while the youngest looked about two or three years younger than them, his Jango’s age.

They were brought to the med tent, and Jaster called at the same time. He met them at the edge of the camp, let the little ones introduce themselves as they walked towards the tent.

Cody, the first introduced himself as, and Jaster noted the scar curling down the side of his face. Then Wolffe who was missing an eye, Ponds who was both bald and injured, Bly with yellow facial tattoos and Fox, who had no definable features Jaster could tell, but more hunched shoulders and bags under his eyes. And the youngest, Rex, with shaved blond hair.

They were not normal ade. The way they walked, watched each other’s sixes, the way their eyes scanned every inch of every room and how Rex’ika was kept to the middle of their group as they were escorted to the med tent. They moved like experienced soldiers, not a group of scared ade.

He stays to the side as they’re checked over, and though they’re obviously not sure where they are or whether to trust Jaster, they clearly want answers, and to compare notes.

“It has to be Force nonsense,” one of them, Wolffe, was saying, “how else could we have travelled so far in the blink of an eye. I’ll admit, it was a shock to go from a firefight to suddenly being alone with you all.”

“A blink of your eye,” Ponds threw back while the baar’ur bandaged his head wound, “I was unconscious and only woke up because you were yelling.”

“I nearly shot Wolffe, I’d been in a fight too.” It was concerning that Bly and Wolffe had both been in firefights, firefights, they were ade!

“Rex was asleep.” Cody chipped in, smirking slightly at the embarrassed and annoyed look that flashed across his vod’ikas face.

“Hey, I'd been awake for over a day, and so had you, so you're the one the medics would be angry at. He was doing his reports, because everyone would simply die if he waited until the morning.”

The baar’ur laughed softly, partly for the teasing and partly to lighten the mood with such awful things being insinuated by their comments, and gestured Jaster over, signalling that they were pretty much done, except for Fox’ika, who’s eyes they were checking having noticed his clear headache.

“It’s fine, baar’ur, you don’t need to worry about my headache.”

“Ad...”

“Nyac. It almost always comes after meetings with our... with our boss, it’s just stress and tiredness, I'm fine.”

Those words were oh so concerning coming from such a small child, and he could see the same concern not only on the face of his baar’ur, but also Fox’ika’s vode. He doubted boss was the right word for the person this ad’ika had been meeting. Not with the comments they’d been making, the way they stood and sat and walked.

Still, the baar’ur backed off.

“So, ade, now that you’ve been treated, I think we need to talk.”

“Yeah.” Cody, Jaster was starting to think he was their leader. “We should. Like why you keep looking at Rex.”

Had he been? The ad looked so similar to Jango, really, it was just the hair. Still, they all looked so very concerned to have any focus on their vod’ika, and he needed to be careful about that. The last thing he wanted to do was upset or scare them.

“To start with, it’s good to meet you all, my name is Jaster Mereel...”

The tent flaps opened and as if summoned his ad’ika slipped in,

“And this is my ad, Jango Fett.”

There was a second of silence, then a flurry of hand signs, before stressed little Fox swore, colourfully.

“Language!”

In another situation he might have slapped a hand over his mouth in shock of what he’d just said. He hadn’t meant to say it, but they all looked and sounded so similar to his ad, it had just slipped out.

And now they were all staring at him incredulously.

Jango looked half way between astonished at the language and annoyingly like he planned on using it.

He could imagine the ribbing he was going to get, how that conversation would go.

‘So Jaster how was your day.’

‘Oh fine,’ he’d reply, ‘ except that a bunch of stressed and battle worn ade appearing from thin air who look identical to my ad who taught him a whole new library of swears to use.’

He wasn’t too surprised that seeing Jango had shaken something in them, but their story soon slipped out. Time travel, war, messed up ageing. Children sent into war, whether they were physically adults or not, it was horrific, and more so when you could see them like this.

Now they were their real ages, the ages they would be without the enhanced ageing.

They were warriors and soldiers who’d seen the most brutal of war and death, and they were ade who deserved love and affection and so many other things they’d so clearly received from each other and none others as they’d grown up too fast.

These ade had been raised by demagolka and monsters, and his Jan’ika had been a part of it. Not intentionally, one of them had said, at least, they didn’t think so. Most of them had never even met him, and the one who had, Cody, claimed it had only been once. It was not a path he planned on letting his ad walk again, willingly or not.

It was no burden to adopt them, to claim them as his own and swear he’d give them a better childhood than they’d had. The biggest argument was over combat, because they were soldiers, and they wanted to fight, but Ka’ra they were so young. The quintuplets, they were only just 13, and when they were a little more adjusted and settled, they could start taking small missions, with adults and supervision. Rex’ika would have to wait, he was just too small. He and Jango could start at the same time, not before.

He would have been Demagolka to decide otherwise.

No child should look so grateful to be told they were wanted, that they had a home and loving aliit. No ad should look so disbelieving.

Jango looked over the moon to have new vode, as Jaster had predicted, worming his way into their little group and cuddling in. It was cute, and clearly none of them were capable of denying a vod’ika, even if he wasn’t one of the ones they knew.

Jaster isn’t surprised by the way Jan’ika looks at Rex, not only could they be twins, but Rex has the hair he knows Arla had, and though wary and watchful of both Jango and the rest of the tent, and likely anything they could hear happening outside of it, they were happy to hold Jan’ika too.

Jaster’s aliit had just grown larger, but he couldn’t complain. It would be a journey and a challenge, their horrific pasts creating problems he likely couldn’t even foresee yet, but he couldn’t regret it.

And he knew they’d be adored and protected by his people too.

———

Thanks for promoting, I loved it. They all deserve better. I wanted to add something where they saw Jango and assumed he was another Vod who’d traveled, maybe part of Rex’s old batch before they were decommissioned and his moved to their group, but I couldn’t fit it in. But this worked well too.

Also absolutely Palpabastard was messing with Fox.

Thanks for reading.

Inbox still open, prompts or headcanons or asks. (-:

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #jango fett #commander cody #commander wolffe #commander ponds #commander fox #commander bly #captain rex #jaster mereel #true mandalorians #time travel #prompt ask #prompt response #anon ask

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

heart+head(ache), m | myg, jjk

pairing(s): yoongi x reader x jungkook

summary: Like the seasons, the highs and lows come and go. Unlike the seasons, the lows are unpredictable and multiplicative, because life is not just one aspect, but many. If there's one person that can be your heart, it's Min Yoongi. If there's one person that can occupy your head, it's Jeon Jungkook.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; fluff / comfort, then PWP; smut (fem reader, nipple play, scratching / marking, fingering, hair-pulling, penetrative sex); softdom!Jungkook

this series has always been the personification of Yoongi and Jungkook as my muses. therefore it's not really a story, but rather a glimpse into my emotional state at the time it was written (about two weeks ago). I thought about not posting it, but, hey, you can choose to read it or not. I don't expect anyone to read it, tbh.

heartspace!Yoongi - his POV

"Leave me alone."

He sat down, silent, beside the hunched form.

"I can't take it anymore."

The only light came from the desk above them, the laptop screen blaring brightly in the darkness.

"I want to go back to the way it was."

He reached up and touched her knuckles, rubbing his fingertips over them.

"Back when no one knew I existed. Back when no one wanted to get in my head."

Over the silver rings, tracing reach one, decoration and armor, mirroring the outward self that protected the one inside. The fragile one that hid from the outside world. She let him see the fragility in this space, but only in this space. Her nails dug into her skin, tearing it up from the outside as the thoughts inside tore her to shreds.

"I don’t want these wings. I don’t want to fly high."

He waited, quietly, saying nothing, hand on hers. In this space, it was only him and only her.

The heart and the heartless.

"I don’t want to be in this light..."

Her eyes found his and he looked back, into shadowed orbs clouded from struggling for far too long and would continue to do so until she was no more. That was the way of the world, persistent and hurtful for no reason at all.

Time heals all wounds, but some wounds are blind to time, stagnant and frozen.

"I don't know the difference between pretending and not pretending anymore," she whispered, so quietly that he had to strain to hear.

He finally spoke, squeezing that thin hand gently.

"In some ways, they're the same thing for you, aren't they?"

She looked at him for a long, long time.

He lifted his hand from hers and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers.

“You are with me,” he murmured. “And with me, you can be anything.”

This face hid behind smoke and mirrors. This face didn’t trust the world and trusted their own reflection even less. The world could pretend to know, but the reality was the depth of the scars was much deeper than anyone could ever fathom and this mind was unlike anyone else’s, too creative for its own good, producing new and intricate tortures for the one that lived within it. Only here, in this space, did he have a glimpse. Even then, he wasn’t sure he would ever see all of it, because that wasn’t necessary and because some shadows should stay in the dark where they belong.

"I can't be like them, Yoongi."

Min Yoongi shook his head.

"They're ordinary. You're special."

"I'm not."

"You know you are, otherwise no one would find solace in knowing you exist."

He held her face in his hands.

"Nameless, faceless, and yet... they flock to the safety of you."

He leaned forward, forehead to forehead.

"Who else can say that? No one. Not even me. Everyone knows my face now."

Into dark, dark eyes full of pain, reaching in, shouldering the weight so it was a little lighter, a little less heavy. He didn’t need to know the reason for the weight. It was there, and so he assisted.

"They'll never know the one I know."

A little despair, a little helplessness, all her.

"I'll never know the one you know."

He kissed her, softly, whispering her name and his love.

“If you think you can’t feel, then I will feel for you. If you ever feel like you don’t have a heart, know that I will be yours. Trust me.”

“Can I?” she breathed against his lips, eyes closed, lost in his taste.

Yoongi chuckled, running his hands through her hair, breathing in the scent of sweet matcha marshmallow, deeper, richer, warmer now that it was soaked into her skin, smooth and soft under his fingertips. She was like that. Everything she touched became more vivid, more alive, more real, even if it was only a fantasy.

“Of course. You are with me.”

He pulled her into his hold, into his lap, both of them still on the floor, cradling her at her lows so he could raise her at her highs.

“However long you need, one day, one week, one month, a year, until the end of time… I will be whatever role you need me to be. Obsession, possession, enemy, protector, muse, lover, one of them or all of them,” he murmured softly, lips on her temple, hand on the left side of her ribcage, cradling that rapid rhythm under his fingertips.

It was easy to say, don’t think about anyone else, but much harder to do so, and thus he didn’t say it. There was no need to. She already knew. That’s why she had retreated in the first place, retreated to the safety of his heart and blocked out the outside world.

“They are but visitors and they should be grateful to visit.”

Her fingers twisted into his shirt, clutching the fabric tightly.

“But I am, can, and will be everything you need, if you let me.”

She spoke into his neck, her hot breath wafting over his skin.

“You already are, Yoongi. You already are.”

They stayed like that, for a long, long time.

headspace!JK - reader's POV

You opened your bedroom door to find Jeon Jungkook laying on your bed.

His dark brown eyes shifted to you.

You looked away and closed the door.

“Where have you been?”

Every time. Every time you heard his smooth, silvery voice, you were reminded of home, even if he wasn’t always here. Then again, home was never a place to you. Like a permanent resident, Jungkook always managed to find his way to your bed and you, well, you resided with his voice.

“Who knows,” was your answer.

Because, in truth, you didn’t know.

Jungkook tilted his head, pink lips slightly parted. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

He sat up, watching you, black strands brushing against his dark brows. There was a slight furrow to them, somewhere between disbelief and inquisition. White t-shirt, blue jeans. He hadn’t been here long, otherwise he would have given up on the jeans. His eyes followed you, resting his right arm on his knee, black tattoos standing out against the light wash of the jeans and white-shirt, tan skin the perfect background for them. With the red eyeball tattoo, perhaps it was more accurate to say that three eyes were observing you.

You stood beside the bed but didn’t get on it.

Jungkook let out a soft sigh, the side of his lips quirking up ruefully. “If I was hyung, I would say the right words.” He frowned slightly, chewing on his lower lip, tiny mole underneath flashing into view, a soft kiss from the moon, perfectly placed in the middle. “He always knows what to say.”

You could almost hear that gentle, deep voice murmuring to you, hand on your chest, right above the rapid rhythm below his palm.

You always say it’s nothing when it’s something you know no one will understand.

Jungkook placed his chin on the back of his hand and looked up, catching your eye and pulling you from your thoughts with his voice.

“I don’t know what to say, but I can make you feel.”

You looked back, but still didn’t get on the bed.

“You cut your hair.” It was to his ears now, still black, just shorter.

“Mhm.” He smiled. “Do you not like it?”

You chuckled dryly. “You could be bald, Jungkook, and you would still look good.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Someday I’ll show up like that and then I’ll know if you’re telling the truth.”

You didn’t laugh or banter back, settling into silence instead. He noticed right away. His features softened and he raised his other hand to beckon you to him.

You didn’t move.

His lips formed to the words and you could tell he meant them because he maintained eye contact, not letting you avoid his gaze.

“I missed you.”

Where have you been?

You placed your hands on the bed, fingers spread, silver rings glinting in the light, lighting each and every one, all except your left pinky. You still hadn’t found the perfect one for that one yet. The three silver necklaces you wore clinked together as you crawled to Jeon Jungkook, mind full of thoughts that fell away one by one, replaced by the sight, sound, smell of Jungkook, tongue remembering his taste, skin prickling, remembering his touch.

“I could have distracted you,” he whispered, leaning forward.

“I wasn’t the best version of myself,” you whispered back, the dull ache of intangible weight pressing down on your ribcage. “I couldn’t see you like that.”

He lifted his right hand from his knee and reached around your head, burying his fingers in your hair, pulling you closer to that face and those eyes, sharp and defined with an endearing softness, lashes lowering, inhaling your scent, lustful satisfaction clouding his gaze as he once again recognized that you had changed it from that spiced, warm chestnut to a heady matcha marshmallow.

“You know,” Jungkook breathed, tugging you to him, his lips brushing against yours. “I am here for all versions of you, good or bad, sad or mad, fallen apart or all in one piece.”

His teeth nipped your lips and your breath caught your throat, knowing he was making you wait, curling his fingers in your hair to hold your head in place.

In this space, with him.

“If your head is full of me, there’s no space for the other thoughts.”

“That’s not how it works, Jungkook.”

“That’s how I want it to work.”

His lips captured yours, firm, intense, hand pulling you to him and his hard body, surrounding you in his embrace, your gasp in his mouth as he pressed you to his chest, pinning you down, forearms flexing against the small of your back, your hands coming up to steady yourself on his shoulders, digging your nails into the thin fabric of the t-shirt. You shivered in his hold, eyes opening slightly, not realizing they had closed, and his were open too, filtered by his lashes.

“I don’t want to go back out there,” you said, so softly that the words didn’t seem real.

“Then don’t,” Jungkook whispered. “Stay with me.”

“You’re not good for me.”

“They’re worse.”

He spread his legs and put you in his lap. You could feel the texture of his jeans through the thin fabric of your pajama shorts, thighs on top of his, softness to hardness. His fingers traced the lapel of your pajama shirt and the red piping, smiling at the print, little red devil heads making various faces against the black jersey fabric.

“You’re insufferable.”

The small smile lifted and now it was yours, turning into a smirk. “Yeah, but you love me.”

You stared into those eyes, that face, trapped in his arms, his body, his voice, his sound, everything just Jeon Jungkook, and the hesitation remained. You felt his hand shift, raising, fingertips brushing your cheek, sending shivers up your neck and to his electric touch.

“I couldn’t come back because it didn’t feel right.”

His hand lowered, cradling the side of your neck, thumb stroking your jaw.

“What about now?” Jungkook asked, silvery and sweet.

You told the truth, because the truth was eating away at you.

“I don’t know.”

He turned his head and leaned in, inhaling your exhale, eyes closing.

“I’ll help you know.”

His kiss.

I want to be your everything.

He made you memorize the shape of his lips, made you memorize the weight of his hands, made you memorize the curve of his shoulders and chest, pushing you down on the bed, your hands sliding down and pressed to his chest, palm to his heavy heartbeat, hungry kisses and fleeting tongue teasing you, the lower half of his body pinning yours down. Heavy. Inescapable. You tried to move away to speak but he caught your lips, pulling your back, his left hand peeling your right off his heart and interlocking his fingers with yours, slamming it down on the sheets, his right snaking in between your bodies, undoing the buttons one by one. You cried out into his mouth and he lifted his head, black hair messy, breathing hard.

“J-Jungkook…”

His lips were dark, swollen from kissing you so fiercely, irises shadowed and pupils expanded.

“This is how it should be, with you saying my name like that.”

You glared at him, but he simply chuckled, diving back down again, lips attacking your neck, kisses and bites that made your breath hitch, clutching fistfuls of his shirt, and it didn’t matter, it simply didn’t matter anymore, too many outside thoughts when you could just have Jungkook invading your head, clawing the hem of his shirt upward, digging your nails into his back and his soft skin, his moans on yours, tongue dancing up your trembling throat, biting that space right behind your right ear, your pulse roaring under his lips and your name in his throat, no distractions., only Jungkook.

“My mark belongs all over you,” he growled possessively.

Your nails dragged down his broad back and his hips bucked into yours, his oppressive force and weight a welcome one. You didn’t respond. A single dark brown orb watched your face, smirk against your earlobe. No response needed because Jungkook could see it in your expression and the way you held him, violent but desperate, needing him more than anyone or anything else in this world right now.

“Someday,” he murmured teasingly.

“In your dreams,” you shot back, finding your voice.

“They’re all about you.”

He sat up, thighs straddling you, crossing his arms and pulling up his white t-shirt in one swift stroke, tossing it aside. His lips curved into a sly smile, seeing you bite your lip and narrow your eyes to hide your breathlessness at his muscular and toned torso, the black tattoos of his right arm rippling as he leaned down again, his large hands next to your head, smirk dancing above your face.

“Just like how yours are all about me.”

You didn’t look away. “They’re not.”

Neither did he. “They will be.”

You clicked your tongue.

Unfazed, unbothered, unwise, you pulled Jungkook down to you, closing your eyes, his fresh scent filling your nose, lips on your skin, murmuring, so sweet, so delicious, kissing your collarbones, pushing your shirt off and reaching around you, forcing you to yank your pajama shirt off to avoid getting tangled in it and your unhooked bra, already moving on, lips wrapping around your hard nipple and you felt his eyes on you, opening yours to see his smirk and his tongue flicker, pulses of desire clawing through you, all because of Jungkook.

“What?” you managed to get out, sucking in a breath as his hand came up, fingertips pushing the other hard nub, watching your expression with his tongue extended.

“You belong under me, like this, enjoying everything I do to you,” he murmured, lapping slowly, not enough but still too much with the visual included.

“S… Stop looking at me like that.”

He shook his head slowly, your name falling from his lips, black hair brushing over his brows. You stiffened as his hand slid under the waistband of your shorts, under the thin fabric of your panties, long fingers dancing closer and closer to your heated, dripping core.

“If I look away, you might disappear from me again.”

You were lost, lost in the feeling of Jeon Jungkook.

Brown eyes ensnaring you, drowning your senses with his sensations.

“I can’t have that.”

His lips wrapping around your nipple again, deft fingers slipping inside your pussy, moan drifting from your lips as you raised your hips, shorts and panties sliding down, but Jungkook was already moving, plunging his fingers in fast and rough, sucking hard, tongue teasing the hard tip, other arm wrapped around you and free hand splayed in the small of your back, locking you in his space.

“Fuck, Jungkook, fuck…”

Your walls clenched around his fingers, his chuckle vibrating through your nipple, faster, harder, so easy because you were so wet and he was so close, one hand in his hair and the other clutching the sheets, back arching, muscles pulled taut in his touch, thighs unable to close because his own were holding them open, fingers tightening in his short black hair, nails digging into his scalp, breathing hard, not letting him have his favorite sounds, so Jungkook increased the pace, his own fingernails clawing at your back, and your eyelids fluttered, jaw clenching, moan torn from your throat.

“A-ah, Jungkook…”

And it all crashed down, fierce blossoming pleasure overtaking your veins, pitch hiking as his fingers stilled and his thumb pressed to your clit, fuck, don’t, but he did, he did because you pulled him even closer, chest to chest, his triumphant pants against your neck, hand sliding up your back, pushing your head down, taking your lips and your scream as you came again, all over his hand, tight pulsating walls clenching around his fingers, the scent of sex painting the air and his palm, covering him with you.

“Fuck…!”

You broke the kiss, hand wrapping around his forearm, squeezing hard, taut muscle pushing you back, tattoos peeking out from beneath your fingertips, staring into his eyes, time stopping, slow circles on your most sensitive spot, his blown-out pupils reflecting yours, skin to skin, heart racing against his.

“What?” Jungkook panted. “Tell me.”

His brown orbs searching your face, shrouded by lashes, desire so obvious that it was tangible and palpable.

“Want you.”

His lips curved into a smug smile.

“Yeah? Say it again.”

Your hands left his hair and his arm, reaching between your bodies, still gazing into his eyes.

“Want you, Jungkook. Want you to fuck me.”

His forehead touched yours as the button came undone, his hair sticking to your face, both sweaty from the intensity.

“I really missed you more than the words,” he mumbled against your cheek, helping you push his pants down, skin to hot skin, kicking them off the bed.

“Mhm.”

“I’m not lying.”

“I’m not an idiot, Jungkook.”

“You are if you don’t believe me.”

You stilled, holding the condom out and Jungkook took it from you, ripping it open, cocking an eyebrow defiantly as he rolled it down his hard length, nudging your thighs.

“You… You’re just here to annoy me.”

Your eyes shifted away and you felt him pick up your legs, pushing them up, hooking them over his shoulders. One of his hands cupped your chin and tugged you back to face him, not letting you avoid his gaze.

“We both know that’s not true,” he said softly.

You gasped sharply as he gripped your chin, holding you in place as he slid in, setting his jaw at your tightness, both of you shuddering at the feeling of your pussy surrounding his cock, feeling it swell inside you and get harder, stretching you out, his determination nearing as he leaned down, bending you in half, hand leaving your chin and pressing his palms flat against your sheets, breathing hard as he shoved himself the rest of the way in, a little pain but so much pleasure, soft thighs against his hard torso, your breath mixing with his, hot and heavy and sweet despite how firmly he had you pinned down.

“I want your head full of me,” Jungkook sighed, slowly rolling his hips into you, making you gasp. “You’ll never have a bad thought if I’m occupying that space.”

“Fuck, you can’t… ah, that’s not how it w-works, Jungkook…”

He was using his weight to drive his thrust, powerful and intense, ramming his hips into you, your juices leaking out and sticking to his crotch, the inside of your joined thighs slick and wet, loud slaps echoing throughout the bedroom, stiff length so hard you could feel it twitch inside your pussy, hitting you as deep and as rough as you liked, probably too much for the normal person, but not you, because you wanted to feel it all, wanted Jungkook to really fuck you and not be gentle about it, grabbing his hair and smacking your hips up to meet his, making you both moan loudly, names mixing with the visceral sounds of sex.

“I’ll just keep fucking you then,” Jungkook hissed. “Keep fucking you and make you feel so good that nothing else matters, nothing except how good I can make you feel.”

You looked up, your silver rings glinting in his black hair, your silver necklaces cutting into your neck and the three coin-shaped pendants jingling and clinking in rhythm with the mattress bouncing under your bodies, pressure and pleasure building inside your core, struggling to breathe as you glanced down and watched him enter and reenter, thick cock slick and hard before disappearing inside you.

“A-Ah…”

Back to his eyes, nearly black from arousal, groaning as you came around him, throbbing walls squeezing his entire length, feeling it all with every pulse.

“You’re gonna have to f-fuck me harder… than t-this…”

He smirked, raising an eyebrow. “You got it.”

You threw your head back at the first smack, clutching his head, feeling it all over, pleasure like rushing fire, eating up all your nerves and replacing it with sound and touch, the swift squelch of his length plunging into you, the feeling of him filling you up and taking your breath away, so good you could barely breathe, so good you could barely think, nothing but the feel of Jungkook towering over you and slamming down into you so you could thrust your hips up to meet him, so close, so close, heavy exhales blending together, skin and nerves prickling, humming with ecstasy, feeling so good you could only moan his name, and he groaned yours, right in your face, edge of desperation in his normally controlled, deep voice..

“Cum, yes, cum for me – fuck!”

And it all crashed down, fierce fire rocketing through you and hitting its peak, gasping as you smacked your hips up and clenched all around his cock in rapid throbs, his moan washing over you, jerking and flinching as he came in strong jolts, rutting his hips into yours to feel it all, shifting the head inside you so your muscles massaged him all over and drained his orgasm out.

“Jungkook… fuck…”

He lifted his arms and lowered your legs, hands coming up to hold your face, tipping your lips up to him, kissing them deeply.

“You don’t understand,” he mumbled, staring at you through his lashes. “It hurts when you don’t come to me.”

He kissed you again and again, your words wisping out between them.

“I…”

Feeling sorry there wasn’t another way.

“I have to get through it myself… It wasn’t you… You didn’t do anything…”

Jungkook collected you in his embrace, breath becoming one with yours.

“Yeah, but I can do something, so I need you to give me the chance.”

His eyes were telling you, you don’t have to go back out there. Stay. Stay with me, in this bedroom, in this space, just you and me. Your hand was against his temple, silver rings against his silver brow piercing, tracing his sharp features, feeling airless as you looked into those dark brown orbs and listened to his voice that seemed to be a permanent resident of your thoughts.

“Keep me with you, always.”

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #yoonkook x reader #jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook smut #yoongi x you #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

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gothgirlbethany · 3 years

Text

Headcanon Time!

Here’s a list of applicable headcanons for this blog! It’s pretty long so I’m putting the individual character heacanons under the read more. These are mainly for the Tainted versions.

General

Eden is the oldest, being just as old as the universe, and Isaac+dead counterparts are the youngest at 18.

Out of the humans, Eve is the oldest at 27.

Samson is the tallest while Lilith is the shortest. Maggy comes close second to Sam. (I have no set heights yet)

Blind Bitch Club (aka needs/has glasses): Eve, Jacob, Keeper, Laz, maybe Sam.

All the Isaacs don't really get along as much as they should

The Tainted characters are older versions of the originals. In the instance of this blog there has been a thirteen-year time skip between when they first left the Basement and when they returned

The Basement is a limbo created by God to give “trials” to abused kids and Fallen beings he feels like tormenting again

Scars accumulate from runs and can be healed quicker by getting HP ups or using the Yum Heart

Personal items (Torn Photo, Polaroid/Negative, Mr. Dolly, possibly some others) differ in appearance based on who’s “player 1”

The Mom-based bosses (minus Mother) and Angel Isaac+??? also change according to “P1”

Mother is Jacob and Esau’s mother. This is why defeating her unlocks them, and why the alt-path is so different and new and coincided with their arrival to the Basement

Age Ideas (Parentheses are Tainted)

Isaac+dead counterparts: 5 (18)

Maggy: 7 (20)

Cain: 10 (23)

Judas: 10 (23)

Eve: 14 (27)

Samson: 11 (24)

Laz: 10 (23)

Beth: 9 (22)

J+E: 9 (22)

Apollyon, Azazel, and Lilith are thousands of years old and are listed in order of time of creation. Eden's age is the estimated age of the universe.

Applicable Headcanons for Each Character

Isaac

Now lives with his dad

That. Explains the bruises.

Named all the unique monsters in the Basement, as well as identified some Items

One thing he and his dead counterparts have in common is a love for drawing

The chaos of having seventeen people crammed into one floor stresses him out more than the others

Appreciates his friendship with all of them, though

Gender is Isaac. Doesn’t really care what pronouns people use so everyone uses he/him for short

Magdalene

She used to be a pageant child and still suffers body issues from it.

The Caffeine Pill item REEAAALLLY upsets her cause of that

V… valley girl accent……….

Assigned healer

BEST HUGS!!!!

Maybe too good. If she's hugging you don't let her get distracted cause she'll forget her own strength

Cain

Has a prosthetic left foot from an accident (havent thought of exactly what yet)

His left eye was gouged out by his dad tho

He's the most generally well-off of everyone. Guess he was just born lucky…

Absolutely was a Little Shit™ as a child and still is

Avid min-maxer in video games

Kleptomaniac

Ok the way I'm describing sounds like he's got a bit of OCD

Often fulfills role as leader when need be

I don't have any ideas for Abel yet but I'll think of something. Maybe he was absorbed in the womb?

You know what??? I like that. Cain's a chimaera. He has (uh. Had???) heterochromia. That's why his eye items are different colors.

Is bald on purpose

Judas

Br*tish. Mancunian, even.

Hanged himself in the closet

His pact was with Belial (obv)

Chose to learn the dark arts when he was nine

Eventually got the stick out of his ass and developed a sense of humor

Still Anti-Christian to the point where it's a bit worrying but the others are starting to understand him

Yes he had a friend named Jesús. It was an unintentional betrayal, though.

???

He can't really talk. All that comes out when he vocalizes are grunts and groans.

Responds to a lot of questions by just. smiling and shrugging 🤷‍♂️

Just. Chilling.

Chaotic and does what he Wants for comedic purposes

Eve

Has a Dead Bird tattoo on her chest.

Needs to take blood-thinning pills.

Forgotten calls her "V" as a reference to his own nickname.

Has a younger brother named Adam

Ma'am please stop smoking it's SO bad for you

Half Japanese cause I said so

She's still marked by the Whore of Babylon on her left thigh, which she got through the Satanic Church

It's undecided which demon she made her pact with. I was thinking about making it a twist where it's Lilith…

The local crows love her

Samson

Back story here

His middle name is Loowit after Mount St. Helens

The only person he fully trusts and can make him smile is Maggy 🥺

Beat his dad to death lmao

He was happier as a kid when his mom was still around…

Now he just has anger issues and gets easily annoyed

Delilah.

Azazel

The OG. It's unknown what his Choir was before his Fall, besides being in the class of Watchers

Has a face mask for every occasion. Ofc there are meme ones

His sense of humor is. SO BAD.

This is where his wings and horn went

Making fun of people is his way of showing affection

Still misses Semjaza even though he was kinda back stabbed

Lazarus

He is a TOTAL hippy. Vegetarian and all.

Flipped Laz doesn't give a fuck about any personal beliefs though and will do anything to survive. Sometimes regular Laz will flip back with a stomach ache cause he unknowingly ate meat.

Laz subconsciously flips when he feels like he's about to die (kinda like the emergency button trinket). Obv it's automatic when he "clears" rooms.

Normal Laz is very sweet and shy

Dead/Flipped Laz is angry, driven to that point by dying so many times. His rage could almost match Samson's

Flipped Laz is incredibly paranoid and is always in fight-or-flight mode

Eden

A fallen deity

Knows more about the world than the others

They are the personification of the chaotic nature of the universe. They are both tranquility and chaos. They are blessed and damned. They are all and nothing.

Judas introduced them to memes. Oh God why did you do that. They're almost as bad as Azazel. They won't stop saying amogus. Help.

Fourth wall breaker

God wanted to make them one of His angels so they'd always be under His control. But Eden is too stubborn.

Eloquent speaker

Shapeshifter cause their true form would melt everyone. Mainly changes their voice to quote ytps.

Lately they’ve been losing some control of their powers, which is why they appear glitchy

Lost

Edgy

Needy

Keep killing him it's funny

Check out his spiders

Backstory thing here

While he knows he can easily die he still fucks with the others cause he thinks its funny

Lilith

The OG

No hard feelings for Adam, but definitely some for God

And Samael. Dear LORD don’t bring him up

Married to Asmodeus

Gello's full name is Gelatínus Azariah Shamdon (yeah lol, Raphael's cover name, and Asmodeus' father)

Assigned mom friend and treats everyone like they’re her children

With help from Azazel, she got Judas and Beth together

In general plays matchmaker with Zaze. They've got a great record it's just 99% of their successful matches are random nobody enemies no one cares about

Incubus doesn’t seem to talk to her anymore...

Keeper

Often forgets the other kids' names cause he never cared to learn them unless they paid up (he always called Bethany Brittany for example)

This is why he gave them all titles and refers to them by that (The Zealot, The Broken, etc)

INSANELY good at math. Gotta be good at counting them coins

Best way I can describe his existence is that he's a corpse inhabited by a fragment of Greed? When he was "unlocked" he was no longer controlled by Ultra Greed/part of the hive mind

Another eloquent speaker, he's more flamboyant about it though

Apollyon

Another OG

If he gets too excited about the Pit eventually taking all, new cracks appear or previous cracks on his body worsen.

His pre-Fall name was Abaddon. It’s unknown what his Choir was.

Abbadon was cocky and prideful but was very quickly humbled by God. Don’t ever shit-talk Gabriel again

His sentences always trail off…

Used to be friends with the Horsemen

Main form of affection is existing in the same room as someone, like a cat. He considers this bonding.

Forgotten

Everyone calls him "F" for short.

He's been hanging around Eve too much cause now he's emo and apathetic like her.

Is the skeleton a different soul??? Who knows!

Uncomfortable in tight spaces. He's not over the being buried thing

Bethany (Her!!!!)

I dunno if that's supposed to be an eye or jewel on her head??? Honestly I kinda prefer jewel

Either way it bleeds when she cries

And it only ever glows if she has an active wisp

Each wisp she summons is gifted by a Goetic demon (I'll explain more once I actually make a ref sheet)

Has a Seal of Solomon ring (again will be on an eventual ref sheet)

Her mom's name is Judy (after Judea in the Bible)

Kinda backstory again

Second soprano in choir

Knew Edith

Only acts tough. She's still sweet on the inside. Her mouth just runs faster than her brain sometimes and regrets things she said

Jacob

J+E backstory here

His mother's name is Rebekah (Like in the Bible)

Momma's boy

Has always been easily jealous and afraid to admit it

Has had a weak stomach ever since he, well, watched his brother get flayed

Blood makes him queasy, cause, well--

We all know he simps for Beth. Dude please just let it go

Currently wearing his mother’s dress

Esau

Much like in the Bible he's the older, fraternal twin

And his dad liked him more…

His vision doesn't suck ass like Jacob's cause of his pact

Which he made with Satan btw

The reason why he's grabbed by Big Horn when he "dies" is because Esau babysits Lil Horn for him. It's the least he can do.

Speaking of Lil Horn that's his little onglydoople. His cutest tootsit. Bapy

I wanted to be dramatic and only have him in serious situations but it's honestly more fun to make him act like an angry cat

Friends with the demon bosses. Yes he gets a lot of "Remember when we tried to kill u??? Lol." jokes from them

I tried to make sure everyone had at least a few. Some definitely have fewer than others lol. I tried my best.

Feel free to, like, reblog this or message me about this. I came up with these on my own so peer review would be nice 👉👈

#((i cant think of anymore so imma post it now))#((left this all out of parentheses for ease of formatting))#the binding of isaac #tboi #headcanons #ooc #mun speaks

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alphabravocharliedelta · 3 years

Text

Therefore I Am | Russell Adler x Bell! Reader VII

Series: Call of Duty: Black Ops Cold War

Therefore I Am | Russell Adler x Bell! Reader

Chapter VII

Word Count: 6700

[Chapter VI] [Chapter VIII]

Summary: After somehow reconciling with Adler, Bell and the team are left to continue their pursuit of bringing down the undercover spy ring, but it proves to be more of a challenge as Bell struggles to move on from their Perseus-affiliated past.

Content Warning: mature content, vulgar language, drugs, needles, panic/anxiety attack(?)

Notes: A bit of a chill and slow chapter this time, thanks for your patience. Be sure to stay hydrated and to rest your eyes from the screen!

[Y/N] "Bell" [L/N]

September, 1983

CIA Safehouse, West Berlin

“We’ve got a job to do.”

It was like a switch.

The trigger phrase you never heard for the longest time still had its grasp on you. You felt consciousness leaving the realm of reality, purging into the memories and digging them up. The headache from earlier only seemed to worsen.

Soon enough, you awaken to the smell of burned clothes. Something heavy lied on top of you, which you came to recognize as a fresh corpse. Pushing them off, you unbuckle your strap and fall onto the metal flooring, causing the helicopter sink a bit closer to the ground.

Even if you've seen this scene repeatedly, it was unnaturally real. The smell, the sweat, and false pain you felt would be parallel to the real thing. But of course, it wasn't. Everything was fragmented, pulled together and assembled like a puzzle from war clips and verbal storytelling. You were never here.

And yet, Vietnam looked so beautiful.

"This will just be like last time, Bell. You woke up in the middle of a firefight."

Jumping down from the chopper, you landed on the ground, pain shooting up your legs. Sucking it up, you found yourself surrounded in a jungle like terrain, a paddy in front of you. Around you were a few American soldiers struggling to break through the defense of the Viet Cong soldiers. Nearby bushes and trees were on fire, and the smell of smoke filled your nostrils.

One of the troopers in front of you was caught off guard, getting stabbed by a bayonet. His companion kills the attacker, before tending to his colleague.

It was nothing new. You've seen it all, and could probably even risk closing your eyes and walking through the hell of it.

"The crash survivors were defending against a VC attack. You ran forward and picked up an M16."

You find the aforementioned M16 propped up against a rock, and you did as instructed. Aiming down the sights, you took down your enemies one by one. It felt like you were doing most of the work, watching them all fall. Once there was an open opportunity, you trekked forward.

Water filled your boots as you wadded through, loudly splashing around as you made it across. You could feel your feet sinking in the mud with each step as you practically dragged your feet. Your fellow combatants seemed to disappear when you weren't looking, their voices fading away. There were five, then three…

“The remaining VC retreated into the tree line. It was then you realized that you were the sole survivor. You set off to… Find the bunker.”

You made your way through a small path. The green leaves seem to encompass you, nearly covering the sky. Dew drops would come down from above, slipping off of the tree branches and creating wet spots on your uniform. Humidity made your uniform stick onto your skin, bringing an unwanted itch all over. The buzzing of mosquitoes and flies didn't help either.

A ruin revealed itself behind the shrubs. The stone was mossy and covered in vines, a couple of Buddah-like statues sitting on each side on pedestals. A lone torch was lit, lighting up a red metal door that stood at the ruin’s opening. It was beginning to rust a bit, the red paint peeling around the edges. There was a strong sense of longing and familiarity radiating off of it, and you approach it, locked in a trance.

"Forget the red door, we're changing it up."

The red bunker door was replaced with a dark wooden one, just as your fingers made contact with the handle. It was well kept, unfitting for its scenery around it. The knob was golden.

"You said Nikitin was trying to make you remember something important. What was it?"

You walked in.

The room you stood in had peach walls and a concrete floor. It wasn't the main meeting room, but rather a side office. Your office. Boxes were stockpiled and pushed to the side, a few filing cabinets aligning the corners. There was a large billboard on the right wall, featuring a map of the world along with various pinned papers, and meticulous red arrows.

A nice change compared to the lifeless grey and white walls from before. The color brought a sense of believability and welcoming. Stepping through it all graced you in intimacy, memories slowly trickling out from the tightly packed dam that held it all.

Maneuvering around, you placed yourself behind a well polished wooden desk that was covered in papers. There were sticky notes on top of it, scribbled in your own handwriting, with warnings of telling you to stop. Your mind refused to give into the pressure, your endurance training from years before kicking in.

You peeled them away.

You needed to understand.

A black and white photograph was placed on top of the small pile, featuring a rather threatening man, whose face was scrunched up in anger. They lacked any facial hair, and the piercing gaze seemed to bore holes into you. The bizarreness of it was that their left eye was practically colorless, with a visible scar running down where dark irises should match.

"Their heart rate is spiking."

"Hang in there Bell."

Looking up, you see Perseus waiting idly at the door. He was a bit younger, with less gray in his hair and a face reformed with less wrinkles. Along with his uniform, he had an armband with the group’s symbol on it.

He gestures towards the picture in front of you. “What do you think?”

"Depends on what he can bring to the table." Your body begins to move on its own, and you lift up the photo. "You said he used to work under Kravchenko?"

"He was in charge of the Nova Six production on Vozrozhdeniya. You heard what happened, I presume?"

"Operation Rebirth," you answer. Shoving a couple sheets aside, you open a nearby manila folder and bring out a couple of photos: One with a bald man with shades, and another with a thick goatee and eyepatch, labeled 'Jason Hudson' and 'Grigori Weaver' respectively.

"What the hell? That's the mission we did back in sixty-eight."

"So you know." Perseus paces over to the map, eyes darting around before pointing his finger at a certain spot. "He's being held in the gulag, here. I think he would be a good addition to our team. His knowledge of chemical weapons can be of great use to us."

You nod. "What do you need me to do?"

"I want you to—"

His voice began to drown out, slowing down and warping as each syllable was enunciated. You felt yourself getting pulled away, as if you were getting sucked into a vacuum. Everything seemed to pulse as the light started to drain away.

"No, fuck! FUCK! Bell, what did he say?... Goddammit. Lazar, we're doing another injection."

"But, I thought–"

"This is what Bell wants. They're onto something, and we're going to find out. This isn't going to waste."

You winced as you felt something poke and sink into your eye.

"We've got a job to do."

The crash site appeared before you again. It was dark, crickets singing from down below. There was the crackling of fire as nearby shrubs and leaves caught fire. Shadowy figures moved like ants at the paddy, on the lookout for any American survivors.

"Let's skip ahead."

They froze.

"You're in your office. Perseus is telling you about a man being held in prison. You ask him about his plans."

The peach colored office arose around you, replacing the night sky and semi-humid terrain. Noise levels were turned down to the whirring of a fan that stood to the corner of the room.

"What do you need me to do?" you repeated.

Perseus walks over to you, eyes glittering with passion and intent. His agenda and fixation is one of the things that drew you to him in the first place, and why you didn't hesitate to join in on the ranks once he asked you to join. With his strong resolve and leadership, you had no doubt then that Perseus would be the perfect fit to run the country. "I want you to lead a squad with me. Together, we'll break him out. And from there, we can work to rebuild the Union."

"Of course."

"Good. I trust that you'll keep this a secret between us. There's been talk of more moles, and we do not want the Americans interrupting this operation."

You look back down at the photo of the disgruntled man Perseus was keen on introducing to the group. "What's his name?"

"Vikhor Kuzmin, so I've heard. I hope you two will get along."

"Kuzmin…"

The scene begins to warp, colors beginning to blend together into one large mass. Perseus was frozen in place, blending into the peach colored walls. His green uniform mixed with it, spreading out and darkening the once vibrant room. The voices of him and Adler got farther and farther away, and you could only watch as the setting changed in front of your eyes.

"Bell?"

"What's happening? Stay with us, Bell."

"Shi—!"

There were brief flashes of the mission to the gulag. Breaching the doors open with a nice chunk of C4, a group of about four following your lead. Kuzmin was in one of the cells that was hidden away from the public, at the depths of the prison reserved for people like him. Radio chatter and shouts fill your ears. Underneath his torn orange uniform were muscular arms covered in ink, various tattoos embedded in his skin. He was true to the photo, not a detail amiss.

"I've been waiting," he says in a hoarse voice.

You couldn't respond.

The scene shifts. Thrown into a meeting, appeared in a confined room. Judging from the walls, you were underground in a hidden place, water dripping from the cracks on the ceiling and pooling on the cold floor below. There were two other people with you: Stitch, now out of his prison garments, and Perseus.

"Why'd you call me here, General?" you ask, closing the door behind.

“Stitch here is about to give an update to how our Nova Six arsenal is holding. I thought you would be interested.”

“Of course.”

You take a seat in one of the swivel chairs. Stitch eyed you with some interest, probably wondering why you were even called here. The guy practically covered himself from head to toe, so you couldn't read his expression. From experience, he wasn’t the talking type, the both of you barely giving each other a second glance if you just so happened to pass by in the hallway. But through the chance you did interact, it was always insults or arguing.

“We have a potential transport route for the cargo,” Stitch begins, resuming his attention to Perseus. “Jose Luis Menendez. I have a plan in mind that might interest him. By next year everything should be lined up if negotiations go well.”

Perseus nods. “Very good. Things have been running smoothly with production, I hope?”

“Yes.”

“We’re using a drug dealer to smuggle some gas?” you quote. It wasn’t a bad plan, but it was a risky move to trust someone not heavily involved within the organization.

“You have something better?” Stitch challenged, and you beam at him, flipping the pen around in your fingers.

“Nope. Sounds interesting. Are you sure you can handle it, tough guy?”

Stitch restrains himself from reaching over to choke you, and continues to describe his plan. “A friend of his is being held by the Americans. There’s been plans for his transport, January, nineteen-eighty four. Our bargaining chip.”

You give out an amused whistle, leaning back in your chair. “Not bad.”

"Kuzmin has also told me about a particular man that should be in our interest," Perseus adds, sensing the tension increasing between the two of you. "I had one of our agents pull up anything relating to them. And, I have to say, quite a mysterious man, I think you'll like him, [L/N]."

He personally hands you a blue file. Opening it, there wasn't much to behold. There was a picture of a middle aged man, with a scar that stretched across the left side of his face like vines. A nice set of aviators sat on his nose, hair neatly fashioned. The CIA symbol was stamped on the wall behind him.

Your eyes drifted off to another part of the page, and you found his name. Russell Adler.

You close the folder after reading what little information was provided. Perseus was right, you were intrigued. "What are your orders?"

"Our friend Stitch has personally volunteered to handle him, but I assured him that you would be best fit for the job," Perseus admits, much to your colleague's dismay.

Glancing at Kuzmin, his already disturbed scowl was further darkened, a vein protruding from his temples. You gave him a scornful grin. "So, that's where your eye went. This American took it."

"You ought to watch your mouth, mutt."

"Is that how you talk to your superior?"

"[L/N]," Perseus warns, and you settle back down. "Please. You'll be working together from now on."

"If he isn't a nuisance."

You see Kuzmin’s hand twitch, unbeknownst to Perseus, who gives a nod. "Continuing where we left off, I want you to deal with the man in the file. Russell Adler. If we let him loose for too long, we may have to deviate from our objective."

"I'll get my team—"

"No need. We already have a plan in mind."

You raise a brow in interest, waiting for him to continue.

"One man shouldn't be of much trouble to you, no? He may be America's monster, but we have a few of our own." He nods at you. "Pose as a CIA agent. We'll have someone from inside set up a meeting with you soon, they'll get you in. Once we get a hold of the bomb, you'll clean up the rest."

"Do you have any preferred methods in mind?"

"I'll leave it up to you, [Y/N]."

"When do I start?"

"After the weapons get to Duga. Ensure that Arash doesn't stray from the plan, yes? Come back here when everything is settled."

You nod in acknowledgement. "I won't fail."

Satisfied, Perseus gets up from his spot and walks over to you. He places a hand on your shoulder, his grip a bit more tighter than it should. "I know you won't."

It felt more like a threat.

With years of planning already under the name, there were no excuses for screw ups or mistakes.

“He may seem like a good person when working with him, but remember— Do not trust Adler.”

“He'll lie to you.”

You woke up gasping for air.

It felt like you couldn't breathe. Attempting to inhale proved more difficult than it should have, your throat turning against you and constricting itself.

The sensation you felt when you were drowning came back, and your hands tried to go for your neck, just trying to breathe, only for the straps to hold you restrain you.

Where were you again?

Your left eye felt like it was on fire, a burning sensation settling in, and you could hear your own heartbeat echoing within your ears. Your heart hammered against your chest, just trying to escape it's prison. His final words bounced around your head.

"Bell?"

Everything felt distorted, becoming more rounded as if you were looking through a magnifying glass.

"Let… Let me out." you gasped. Every limb felt heavy. Your attention directs to your left and next to the window, you were met with an unpleasant sight. A sense of dread overtakes you.

Perseus was standing still. There was a look of severe disappointment written on his face, the corners of his lips slipping into a frown. It was the worst feeling— failure to meet someone's expectations and vision. His lips part, forming words, but nothing was enunciated.

You failed him.

"Genera—"

"Bell," someone's voice cuts you off. A rough hand settles on one of your cheeks and delicately redirects your view back to your right side. Adler enters your peripherals, a cigarette hanging from his lips, nearly finished. "It's me."

There was his soothing voice again. It wasn't forced or demanding, instead taking on a calming and mellow manner, as if he were talking to a fragile thing. He wasn't panicking. It felt almost endearing.

"It's just me and you here. I'm going to take off the cuffs, got it?"

You managed a nod. Adler reaches over, unbinding both ends. Without hesitation you shot upward and doubled over, just trying to catch your breath, but it just came out in short pants. Somehow you brought yourself to a sitting position, but it felt like the atmosphere thickened as a result. You coughed, just trying to clear out the lump that resided in your throat, but nothing regurgitated. Adler catches you as you stumble over your feet.

Turning your head again, Perseus's figure was gone, yet you could still feel his lingering presence within you.

"I can't…"

"Deep breaths Bell. Just copy me."

You watched Adler's torso expand as he took in air, his muscles tensing up underneath that black turtleneck sweater of his. Mimicking his action, you pull your stomach in as well before exhaling.

Why was he so good at this?

Adler's strange understanding on how to deal with your messy life and panic attacks was one of the few things that kept you sane. The Walkman, his presence…

Why?

He tried to kill you.

And you were supposed to kill him.

"You're okay, [L/N]."

And yet he could pull shit like this, and it works. Every. Single. Time. It didn't help that Adler started to call you by your last name more frequently as well.

“How… How long was I out?” you croak, diverting your attention away from him. Your heaving finally evened out, and the lump within your throat dissolved, leaving behind a slight aching in your chest.

“About two hours. You went into a submersion period, and we lost you right after you mentioned Stitch.” He gives you a cup of cold water. "How do you feel?"

The condensation of the water made you shiver. “I'm… getting better.”

The setting finally meshed itself back to normal, the walls no longer slugging. Looking around the room, Lazar was gone.

"Ready to talk?”

You took a sip, before fully downing it in one gulp. Wiping away the excess water with the back of your hand, you catch a hint of a rash at your wrists before trailing back to Adler. “First, tell me how you know Kuzmin.”

He takes a seat on the table. "He’s one of the people we captured from Rebirth Island. Also goes by the alias ‘Stitch’. I was in charge of his interrogation but the bastard never broke."

“You're the one who stabbed his eye out,” you recall.

"I was just returning a favor for someone I know," he comments, watching your reactions. The color was slowly making its way back to your face, but you still had your left eye closed. "And you? You were reiterating how you broke the guy out of the Petropavlovsk prison. Elaborate."

You hum to yourself, sorting out everything you just remembered. "I led a strike team. Perseus would cover our squad as we went in. Really murky place, smelled like shit. Stitch was located on the deeper levels of the gulag, so we had our work cut out for us." You massage your wrists, trying to lessen the pressure that lingered. "The general was right though. His Nova Six project was something we were looking for."

"What's the plan for it?"

"I don't know. Last thing I remember was Kuzmin mentioning the Menendez trade routes to direct their supply to parts of the U.S.. There was something about a prison transport happening in January— He was hoping to use that as leverage to establish business with the drug lord." Your voice trails off to a whisper as you avoid Adler’s fierce gaze. "Not only that but…"

"Spit it out."

"We... were planning to make a set up of where I was a KGB defector who wanted to work for the CIA. I was supposed to gain your trust and keep them updated. Once we got a hold of Greenlight, I… needed to finish the job.”

"As in… kill me?"

"...That's one way of putting it."

You couldn't look at Adler when you informed him of the past ploy. How could you, now that you remembered that you were ordered to slice his throat open? You felt like a fool for becoming infatuated with him. Was the admiration you felt your own, or was it something you subconsciously convince yourself to feel in order to get closer to him?

Dry laughing at your own idiocy, you gave out a disappointed sigh. "Arash must have caught onto our scheme. I bet Perseus didn't expect you to throw me into your MKUltra project. And now look how I ended up."

Out of all things, why did you have to remember that? You couldn't see Adler in the same light now, and you were positive he felt the same about you. It felt like the relationship you managed to build up between the both of you was about to come crashing down. "Nikitin was right."

"He may be right, but I'm still alive," Adler interposes. "You're one of us now, [Y/N]. If you wanted to kill me, you would have done it by ages ago, regardless if you remembered or not."

Your heart jumped at the mention of your name, but it quickly retracted, the feeling of guilt taking over again.

He hands you your Walkman.

"Come on. We got our work cut out for us." Adler states. His voice or facial expression didn’t even give a hint to his internal monologue, despite what you just told him. While it’s a reaction that you expected, it was one that didn’t make you feel any more better about yourself. "Sims took a crack at the disk for you, but he already got stumped."

"Anything on the news about the bar?"

"No. I had an associate cover our asses." He places a hand on the door and turns to you with a small smirk, some teasing affection behind it. "Good thing you have me."

"...Sure," you mumble dejectedly. Someone was a bit optimistic for someone who just found out someone close was supposed to gut him open.

"Team!" Adler yells as he opens the door, and the activity around ceases. You caught Hudson near the evidence board (when did he get here?). "New objective. We need to find the whereabouts of Vikhor Kuzmin. Gather any evidence relating to him, and pull up past files relating to Operation Rebirth, the Menendez family, and their associates. Get Mason and Woods on it too, cross reference everything we have to what Bell knows."

And with that, you were bestowed the highest honor of stress and workload. Everyone spent the rest of the night pulling out old dusty boxes from inventory and sorting out the sicking yellow manila folders. They dated all the way until Vietnam days to the most recent findings, and you had to split up the work.

With the assistance of Sims, you manage to extract the information from the floppy disk within an hour. It was filled with KGB daily reports, as well as some encrypted emails that you had the luxury of breaking apart. The contents further backed up your testimony, containing some documents about the Menendez cartel and their affiliation with Perseus. This type of treasure trove is what the CIA yearned for. While it didn't go into the specifics, it had the data of a few encrypted messages and layouts of what Perseus and his underlings were planning. There were mentions of a NATO base as well as the prison transport. No specific dates, unfortunately, so the team had to act accordingly.

Your eyes were bloodshot as you worked nearly for two days straight, just trying to put everything together. At the same time, Nikitin's words echoed from the depths of your mind, along with his abhorrent mocking smile plastered across his aged face. A weird flavor would spread across your tongue just thinking about it.

The phial Nikitin had in his pocket that had been sent off to the analysis team and returned via paper results, confirming that it was one of the drugs the cartel was smuggling into the U.S. You never forgot the taste of it, and refused to even get near almonds now.

Now you just had to write down everything and present your discoveries. You made yourself comfortable in the inventory space, watching the arcade machine flash brightly with the title and demo of whatever game input it was set to. The music helped you focus, but, after sitting for hours staring at the same rotten pictures and text, you broke.

A fresh breeze nipped at your skin as you walked outside, and you took a deep breath of the crisp air. It was night out, and a few bugs were dancing around the old yellow light. The buildings in the short distance were irregularly lit, the color of the exposed walls hard to determine under the dark sky. The gravel crunched underneath your shoes as you went around the corner. Finding the rusted ladder, you made your way up to the roof.

You situated yourself around the middle and lied down, looking at the sea of black above. You turned the music low, finding a good balance between silence and the rhythmic beats. Leaving your work at the table, there was now nothing to bother you at this very moment, leaving you to stray into your thoughts.

Multiple times you had told yourself going through the scenarios again with Adler’s help would provide answers for everything you’ve been missing, but in the end it only conjured up more questions. Your sense of self was leaving your grasp, and you could only live in the past. There was an invisible tingling sensation around your wrists. You were never able to forget the scene of sitting in the lab, bound to the chair while Park and Adler tried to make you submit.

Breaking a subject’s will and erasing their mind is a difficult and painful process.

That’s a small price to pay.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. You needed to stop thinking about it, but having to work around the people who brought the issue upon you served as a daily reminder of what you have been through. Adler was the worst of them all, and it didn’t help that you were developing feelings for the man.

The effort of sorting out truth and falsification was mentally draining as well. You had to get used to the resurfaced memories and live by them now. Despite gaining more info about your past, you felt a bit lost on what the next step would be.

“Mind if I join you?”

Speak of the devil.

Opening your eyes, you see Adler’s head just protruding out behind the raised edge of the rooftop. Your breath hitched at the sight of him. You’ve been intentionally avoiding him the past couple days after finding out the truth, and with him here, you couldn’t exactly deny his company with nowhere else to go.

You gave a small nod of permission, and he vaulted himself over. He brusquely walks over and takes a seat next to you. There was the usual smell of nicotine that followed him, but judging from the strength of it, Adler hasn’t touched a cigarette for a while.

“Nice view,” he compliments, gazing up at the sky. “A bit chilly, too.”

You sit up. “How’d you know I was up here?”

“Sims told me a while back that you used to come up here when things bother you.”

"Damn it."

He observes you for a moment. “You’re avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you—”

“Then why are you up here?”

You look at him as if his asked a stupid question. “How can you still talk to me, knowing that I was supposed to kill you?”

“C'mon Bell. As if we all never tried to kill each other at some point holed up at this joint.” He shrugs. "And honestly, I could say the same about you. I shot you in the damn heart, yet here you are still willing to talk to me."

“Mikhail did say that the bullet was two centimeters away from piercing the heart tissue.”

“You mentioning that only further adds insult to injury,” he retorts lightly. As soon as he did though, he realized that you weren’t in a joking mood. That brooding appearance of yours wasn’t pleasant to onlookers like him, and it only brought upon further worry. "Talk to me, [L/N]."

"How do you handle it?" you blurt. Nothing about Adler gave away his internal struggles and torment. For someone with his age and experience, there was bound to be shit locked up in there. "Stress, the PTSD… Everything. I just want to take a break for once without shit plaguing my mind."

He shifts position. "Well, for one, having someone to lean on is a good idea."

"Who would that be?"

"For me, it used to be my ex-wife. As of now, it varies. I would get a shrink like Sims, but I rarely make it to the meetings." Adler pauses, before adding: "Mason has periodic evaluations. Why do you ask?"

“I’m just… trying to sort everything out. Like, I thought I was finally coming to terms about myself, but then it turns out even I don’t know. It feels… fake, you know? Who am I, really? Lieutenant Colonel [L/N] of Perseus or Bell of the CIA?"

"Lieutenant Colonel, huh? That's a high ranking for someone at your age."

"I'm serious, Adler."

Underneath everything, you could feel your old cold-hearted self resurface whenever you held a gun. It kept you on edge, like a snake just waiting patiently for its time to strike. Nowadays you only kill when it's necessary, but Nikitin's provocation brought out that nature Adler and Park had tried to suppress. Adler's power and hold on you was faltering as you both now saw eye to eye, he could only do so much to keep your deviant behavior in check, and you were afraid of losing yourself.

His leniency only added onto the anxiety— letting your guard down was the last thing you would do if you were in his stead. "After Cuba, when you put me under interrogation… I heard Perseus. He was saying to not trust you. It didn't occur to me until now but… How would he know about you? I thought it was just my subconscious telling me about the truth, but it was more than that."

"I'm sure it's nothing."

"It's anything but nothing!" you yell. "How can you say that?! I spent so long telling myself to trust no one but myself, but even now I can’t do that now. How the hell am I supposed to keep moving forward if there's a chance—"

“Take a look around, Bell," Adler cuts you off. "You're here in West Berlin, surrounded by the best CIA operatives. Woods, Mason, Lazar, Sims, Hudson. If something were to happen, we got you covered. Hudson and I didn't go through the effort of having you back on this team for nothing."

“Even so—”

"Even so, if you're so concerned, and you shouldn't be, I already lived long enough to make a few enemies, Stitch being one of them. Having a target on your back isn’t fun, but it’s what makes the job a bit more thrilling in its own twisted way.

“I’ve worked with you long enough. You have your struggles, but you snap back at every opportunity you get, and you sure as hell won’t go down without a fight. If I were you, doubting myself is the last thing I would do. That’s basically letting Perseus get in your head, and I wouldn’t want to give him that sad excuse of a victory.”

You weren’t just a machine made to follow orders, Adler knew. Comparing the person who you were today, to the one he knew back in 1981, it was like flipping a coin. On one side was the once reserved and obedient agent he invented, the person he tried to distance himself from getting too attached; the other was the you of today. The temperamental, smart-mouthed individual who was struggling to set free from the chains that tied you back, trying their hardest to search for yourself. Yet, you managed to put everything else first before yourself, and he needed you to recognize that you were important too.

“What I said that morning still stands, and always will.”

There was the fuzzy feel again.

You were always quick to judge how people might react. It was always better that way, to prepare yourself for the worse when it actually occurred, but it brought more harm than needed.

Fighting off lingering predispositions, you yielded to his persuasion, bobbing your head once. Bringing your legs up to your chest, you hugged them as the breeze began to pick up. It was unusual: you just needed someone to reassure you, and with it, it felt like everything would be fine. Even if it was temporary. "...Okay."

You feel something drape over your shoulders shortly after, with the familiar smell of cologne and ash.

"Don't want to get sick again," Adler states. Without his jacket, the black dress shirt he wore underneath hugged his form tightly. Memories from September's mission flashed within the back of your mind, the image of you tugging at his shirt to dress his wound as he laid unconscious. For someone his age, he was well built.

You avert your eyes, pull the edges of the jacket closer. Those types of details about people never fascinated you before until now. "...You mentioned your ex-wife a couple times before. Was she beautiful?"

"Mhm. Of course she was." He leans back onto his hands, gazing up at the sky as he reminisced about his past woman. "But, she's an ex for a reason, so let's not tread there."

"Why not?"

"Isn't it obvious? I have you now."

Your heart practically jumped out. This charismatic asshole. "You don't mean that."

"I do."

"You can't."

Why were you so scared? Just the thought of someone loving you felt almost unearthly. The emotional baggage you carried was already enough, so to hear that someone was willing to take the time to help guide you through it, and lend a listening ear was too good to be true.

You could feel his blue irises piercing you underneath those shades. "Why not?"

"You can find better."

"I did. And they're sitting right here."

Adler wouldn't let you go. And it hurt. God must have had a fun time writing out your life story, making two people who, at one point, were at each other's throats now fall for one another.

Stop fighting it.

It was something you kept denying, but with each passing day working alongside Adler, it became harder and harder to bury underneath. That man just strives to succeed in his goal, no matter what the cost, and if the goal this time was to get close to you, and break every wall you had put up in his direction, then he had succeeded.

"You must think you're real slick, huh?" you mumble under your breath.

Caving in, you rest your head in his lap, staring up at his faintly glowing face lit up by the outside lights of the safehouse. Adler stiffens at the gesture, caught by your sudden affection, before easing up. He places a hand on your cheek, and you lean into it, giving out a soft sigh as you closed your eyes, feeling the warmth spread. You couldn't avoid it anymore, small tears brimming at the corners of your eyes.

K̴̦͍͑̀̚i̵̡̺̝͋̔͠l̴̝͎͕͒͋̕l̸͇͇̽͘͝.

Kiss him.

It was something new. The intimacy and the casualty of it. Something like this wasn't comparable to the parental love you had when you were younger— It was a new experience, something of its own existence, and you couldn't help but adore it.

A stillness found itself between the both of you. The awkwardness that would have followed never came. Adler pondered to himself for a moment. You could see his Adam's apple move underneath the stubble as he wondered what to say next.

"If it makes you feel better… Here."

He adjusts his weight slightly, shoving a hand into the collar of his shirt and pulling out something metal from underneath. Adler dangles his dog tags above you, waiting for you to hold your hand out. When you do, he lowers it gently.

You didn't even know he wore them. The tags were a bit rusted, dirt and dark spots situating itself into the little imprints of lettering and edges. Your thumb brushes over the protruding words, reading them. His name, blood type…

Did he want you to keep this?

Adler notices your complex expression as you gazed up at him. "What? Is there something on my face?"

"No…" You grip the tags in your hands, afraid to let them go. Adler was out of his mind— for giving you a sentimental object like this, and for believing in you. But… If that's what he wanted, then you will respect his wishes. "Just thinking how I haven't seen you smoke for a while."

“Just trying to kick the habit,” he discloses.

You roll your eyes. “Knowing you, it goes way deeper than that.”

He smirks slightly to himself. There really was no use hiding things from you. “Just thought it would be rude to do it around you, seeing how you reacted that morning.”

"Am I supposed to thank you for that?"

"Hey, I'm just helping you live longer."

"I don't die that easily."

He returns a small grin. "I know."

Whenever it was just the two of you, it felt like you were on cloud nine. With the walls gone, you found yourself falling heads over heels once again. It was such a complicated thing, and yet you felt more relaxed and stable, knowing that you didn't have to spend any more energy just being apprehensive.

"What're you listening to now?" Adler asks softly, and you take an earbud out, holding it out to him.

To be able to spend a moment like this with him was something you never imagined doing in your lifetime. Much or less, falling in love with a person like him. You had spent endless days counting bodies and shooting guns since you were young, to a point it had hardened you emotionally. Climbing up the ranking ladder was a challenge on its own, as not everyone was keen on having a younger soldier commandeering their lives. There was no time to maintain deep relationships then; you were too busy for that.

But after meeting Adler, you felt more… Humanized. He was like your bridge to stability. One look at him and a wave of calmness would wash over you.

Was this what Mason meant about Hudson and Woods keeping him grounded to reality?

Now it was just you two sitting on a roof in private, with one earbud in your ear, the other in his, just listening to Dreams by Fleetwood Mac. Adler was humming to the lyrics.

"Russell?" you call.

"Hm?" He tilts his head downward, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. His striking blue eyes meet yours. He notices the corners of your mouth were upturned slightly into a small smile. The look in your eyes was something he wouldn't forget— filled with a new light, mixed with an unyielding devotion.

“Do you really trust me?”

There wasn't a trickle of doubt in his mind.

“With my life.”

#the next chapter there's going to be a fat timeskip #russell adler x reader #adler x reader #russell adler x bell #cod black ops cold war #black ops cold war #call of duty #call of duty x reader #bo:cw #text #fanfic #bell #russell adler #abcd briefing #call of duty imagine #these chapters are getting shorter and shorter again OTL #ahh i gotta stop lingering on chapters for too long or else they start to get cringey to read

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witches-and-devils · 2 years

Text

Addiction, Chapter 4

Everything slowly came back into focus. The soft crackling of a fire as it greedily consumed all the air and wood surrounding it, the faint ringing of chains in his ears that almost resembled white noise at this point, even the annoying tapping of the man’s fingers against the desk in front of him. It’d been nearly a decade since he left that good-for-nothing village, why had he been thinking about it in the first place?

“And…Mr. Ace?” Shit. The Witch paused, taking in the face of the man they’d been speaking to in an attempt to gauge what he’d been talking about.

He was a scrawny little shit, bald with a half-assed attempt at a beard growing along his jaw and neck. He’d tried to make himself look intimidating, covered himself in cheep tattoos, and made sure he was surrounded by Demons that were barely stronger than Imps. He wasn’t a Witch, so he either killed Witches in the past for their demons, had his own Witches, or just got lucky. Considering the lack of magic he’d yet to see under this guy’s possession, neither of the first two options seemed fitting.

Ace took a moment, clearing his throat as he folded one of his slender legs over the other to give him the opportunity to take a quick look at Damascus’s form beside him. Still bored, that’s good. It meant he hadn’t missed anything too terribly important. Even with someone barely tolerated to continue breathing, Ace had a sort of image he needed to uphold. It was important to make it clear to the other contract killers that he was professional to everyone he was working with, they already had a hard time finding similar people to work with due to Damascus’s reputation and a general lack of belief that someone like Ace had managed to keep him chained for so long.

To be fair, sometimes even Ace wondered how the hell he’d managed to keep the bond formed with Damascus’s constant attempts to break loose whenever his guard slipped by even an inch. Their reputation was the main reason Ace spent so long meticulously planning every moment. It’s why his suits were always perfect, why a single hair was never out of place, why he’d beat it into himself to keep up the act of a blind man to those who underestimated him.

Oh, this guy was still waiting for a response.

“Mr. Lothario, while I deeply appreciate and cherish the time we have together, I am a busy man with other things to attend to today, so if you would-” Ace gestured for him to continue, sarcasm dripping from his tone. Damascus shifted in the corner of his eye, he was starting to grow restless. Even now he found it difficult to keep his mouth shut during these meetings, though Ace had a hard time believing that the behemoth was even trying to keep his temper in check purely out of spite. Lothario shifted anxiously in his seat.

“Right, well- as I said, the job is a tad bit…complicated. The mayor’s son is a high and mighty one, he should be hosting a party here in a few weeks. We’ve-” Ace held up a hand, ignoring the flash of old burns that just barely peeked out from the cuff of his suit jacket. He ignored the way his client bristled.

“Please keep in mind, I really don’t care why you want this guy killed. Just tell me where you need us so we can get paid and start on our way.” A beat of silence fell between the two men. Ace despised the people who were too afraid of his reputation to even communicate properly. It helped in some cases, fear and intimidation were fantastic tools in keeping people at a safe distance, but it also had the tendency to…drag things out or drive away those too terrified to go through with a job.

“...Right,” Lothario started, once again glancing between him and Damascus before forcing a smile across his face that looked more like he was trying to take a shit rather than put on a brave face, “well, all I would need from you is to make some commotion over by the east end of the river in town, that way-” Ace’s eyes seemed to sharpen, the only sign of annoyance hiding behind a carefully groomed exterior.

“The east end?”

“Y…yes?”

“In the middle of town?”

“Yes, we…need something large enough to distract the guards away from the main attack so it’s easier to-”

“Shut up.” He brushed him off with a wave, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward against his knees, “You mean to tell me, that you want us to wander into the middle of town, make a few messes, kill an unknown amount of guards and policemen, and get out?”

“I…well, yes, that is the plan-”

“Are you impaired, Mr. Lothario?” The man stiffened, looking to be biting back a sharp tone as he tensed in his seat.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ace, I’m afraid I don’t-”

“Impaired. A state of damage to the body whether physical or mental. Can you walk? Can you move your arms? Or did you suffer some sort of blow to the head as a child?”

“You-”

“Because, frankly, that’s the only reason I would think that it would be reasonable for us to be doing all the heavy lifting for the meager sum you’re offering.” Lothario glared at Ace, opening his mouth to stutter out some sort of half-assed excuse but Ace simply turned to stare at his Familiar. “Actually, I may prefer this outcome. Damascus, what do you think? We could always use a bit more notoriety.”

“Wait- no- we’re getting the-”

“Mr. Lothario, as pitiful as you are, I really don’t like labeling myself as a charity service. If you insist on us doing all the dangerous work for you while you skulk in the shadows with these laughable lackeys of yours ‘backing you up’, I can’t be expected to go running around town proclaiming that you were some sort of genius behind the whole operation, now could I? I really don’t enjoy lying to potential clients, especially when it would do nothing but hurt me.”

Lothario huffed, gritting his teeth loud enough that the sound easily reached Ace’s lovingly decorated ears. “You can’t just-”

“I’d like to hear from my Familiar, thank you.” Ace turned to Damascus just as the big brute was picking something out of his teeth. Charming. The Demon hummed as he mocked the idea of mulling it over in the first place as he flicked the black glob onto the desk. It splattered onto Lothario’s old suit. He leaned forward, the tight chain around his neck flexing as Ace kept him firmly rooted in place. Damascus couldn’t go getting any ideas, even if they could easily kill everyone in the vicinity. He’d prefer to take the money and leave, rather than deal with the hassle of cleaning up and apologizing to whatever sad sacks knew the worm of a man in front of him. Why did he always need to fight against the bond? It should be obvious after all these years that Ace isn’t planning on loosening his grip any time soon.

“Killing’s the fun part, taking out some guards is nothing, but…” Ace held back a pleased smirk when he saw the shiver that ran down Lothario’s spine. It’d taken him a while to get used to the deep baritone voice of Damascus too, sometimes it still caught him off guard if he was too engrossed in his studies to remind himself that the Demon was always lurking. “The deal’s gotta be better if you’re wanting all the glory.” The smirk instantly fell. Ace didn’t like that idea at all. He tried to ignore the amusement in Damascus’s eyes as he glanced over at the Witch. Ass. Always poking and prodding, anything to give him more control of their tense relationship.

The Demon slowly leaned back, lessening the strain against their glowing bond. “Either give us all the credit or triple what you’re paying us.” Ah, well at least he was living up to the Greed Demon stereotypes. That felt fitting enough, Ace turned to Lothario expectantly and nearly broke his neutral, business-like demeanor when he saw how hilariously red this slug had gotten from Damascus’s words.

“You can’t be serious,” the thug hissed, veins bulging out in his forehead as he slowly rose from his desk. Ace leaned back in his chair with a bored expression.

“Mr. Lothario, I suggest that you calm down and-”

“To hell with you, you know we don’t have the money for that type of request-!”

“Well then, I suppose that we won’t be working with you after all-”

“You need to change your request!”

“You need to watch your tone w-”

“I refuse to be bullied by you and that idiotic ape!” Ace’s eye twitched, his hand curling in slightly. He…had a thing when it came to people cutting him off, even if it was interesting to watch the coward try to stand up for himself. It wouldn’t do right by their reputation to let something like this slide.

“Damascus-”

“Shut up, Harpy!” The man was ranting and raving at the top of his lungs by now, the Demons behind him taking a step back as they cautiously glanced between him, Damascus, and Ace. “You can’t just waltz in here demanding ridiculous amounts of money you know I can’t pay just because you got lucky and landed some big shot Demon!”

“Harpy?” Ace narrowed his eyes, slowly standing up from the chair, “Damascus, I think we-”

“You should leave.” Ace pursed his lips, sucking on his teeth for a moment. He was almost tempted to just let Damascus loose and kill the man. Blind eyes snapped towards the enraged man as Ace’s far-too calm voice filled the tense silence around them.

“Mr. Lothario, I am going to give you one last warning. Consider your options here and the situation you currently find yourself in. Either shut. The fuck. Up. Or die.” Lothario leaned forward, a sadistic look in his eyes. When did he get the balls to stand up to him?

“How about I just turn your ass into the Church? I’m sure they’d love to get rid of-” Within seconds, Damascus was lunging forward and smashing into the desk with enough force to knock Lothario back down into his chair with a terrified gasp. Splinters of wood danced through the air, a few landing in Ace’s hair which was immediately fretted over and plucked from his well-kept locks. Smoke billowed from between the Demon’s teeth as that gleeful, sadistic look entered his dark eyes.

“Do you honestly think you’d survive trying?” He questioned, his voice coming out deep and crackling like a roaring flame ready to leap at the man within moments. Good- good- that meant Lothario’s attention wasn’t on him. Ace took a moment, stepping behind Damascus and out of either of the two men’s sight as he took a moment to just…rub at the scars on his wrists and calm the pounding of his own heart.

You’re safe, don’t think about those dark eyes staring through you, don’t think about the shoulder that still gave you trouble when it rained, just…breathe. Ace swallowed heavily, only tuning back in and recentering himself when he realized how close Damascus’s teeth were to the fool’s neck. “Do you honestly think Little Boss would stop me from killing you if he thought you were a threat?” Ace…tried not to snap at him. He despised that fucking nickname, he wasn’t even short for a human! Just because the guy was eight feet tall doesn’t mean Ace is a little fucking thing he was six foot- oh shit-

“Damascus,” Ace warned from behind him, his left eye twitching when he barely saw a reaction from the Demon. At least he’d been kept on edge long enough that his reflexes would be enough to keep Damascus from murdering Lothario.

“I ate one of your little worker demons on the way in. Did you like having it flicked onto your chest?” Oh right, Ace had almost completely forgotten about that. Either way, the terror that entered Lothario’s eyes was almost too perfect for him to feel any major rush on stopping the Demon at the moment, even if he had acted without Ace’s permission. Slowly but surely, he pulled away and returned beside the Witch, settling back with a grunt of annoyance. “...You’re really not making many friends in this town, Lothario... How many companies did you bully before us? How many would be happy to just see you… disappear?”

A wide grin spread across the Familiar’s face, revealing the thick, sharp teeth that had nearly torn through the man’s jugular a few seconds prior. “Quadruple and all the fame,” he started, not once looking back to check with Ace. He didn’t mind, the odds were obviously in their favor, but…that hint of anger sparked up his back either way. He was deliberately refusing to acknowledge him, he was wanting to take complete control of the situation like the cocky asshole he was. “And I’m not asking this time. You can’t bullshit me with the ‘I don’t have the money’ excuse.” Damascus nodded to the fancy watch around Lothario’s wrist, the only thing on him that honestly didn’t look tacky or covered in piss at this point. “That’d cover it just nicely.”

Closing his eyes, Ace breathed deeply through his nose. One last moment to panic and worry, and then you were done. You’re safe. He isn’t a threat. When his eyes reopened, the chain was firmly grasped in his hand and tugged up into the air as if to prove a point. His voice came out in a tone of practiced, careful nonchalance, “As I’m sure you can see, Mr. Lothario, keeping someone like Damascus acting like a well-behaved pup takes its toll on me.” He paused, enjoying the barest hint of a shift in his Familiar’s stance. A careful jab, just enough to bite back. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want to risk upsetting either of us any further, correct? I should remind you that Damascus has a habit of making killings a bit of a…spectacle when he’s in a creative mood.”

“N…no, no of course not,” the man forced out through chattering teeth, his hands shaking so bad it took him a few minutes to even get the watch off his wrist in the first place. Ace raised an eyebrow, leaning over and quickly swiping it off the desk, causing Lothario to stumble back a bit with an involuntary gasp. “If- if the watch doesn’t cover everything, please- please let me know and-”

“East end river, yes, I know. We’ll see if you're competent enough to stay alive until then, hm?” Ace turned to look at Damascus, nodding towards the wall before glancing over at the quivering Demons who hadn't spoken a word this entire time. “Oh, and you should really look into investing in some Demons that might actually be worth your time while you’re at it.”

“Of course- you’re right, of course, how- how foolish of me to-” Ace hummed, cutting the man off as he slipped the watch on his wrist and looked it over absentmindedly. Gaudy. Hopefully, it would actually fetch the price Damascus was claiming it would, though the Demon was rarely wrong about these types of things.

Approaching the wall, he bit into his thumb with practiced ease and scrawled a few simplistic sigils unique to him that always smelled of copper and burning wax as they ignited with a pink glow. Within moments the pair were stepping through the wall and into the freezing forest that surrounded them. His feet quickly sunk in a few inches, some snow spilling into his shoes as he flicked a hand out and closed the portal behind him. The Church hadn’t found them in eight years by sheer luck. Ace was always careful, even if that meant teleporting them an hour away from their home in the thickest part of the woods instead of straight into the warmth of their beds.

“You know,” he mumbled, pulling his jacket tighter around his lithe form as the Demon fell into step behind him as always, “you really didn’t need to lose your temper so easily over someone like him. We would have ended up with all the fame and the money in the end anyway, threats or no.” The chain faded from view, invisible to all but still weighing heavily around Damascus’s neck as a constant reminder of who held the reins.

“Buuuuuuu-T,” the Demon responded, popping the ‘T’ near the end with a pleased smirk on his idiotic face, “I got us more money in the end, didn’t I? Upfront too. Besides, guy had it coming, insulting me like that.”

“He didn’t insult you.”

“Any insult to you is an insult to me.” Ace rolled his eyes. The damn behemoth saw everything as a slight to his reputation, most of all this bond. Though…that bit was one Ace didn’t particularly mind, except for the late nights where he feared Damascus might actually make true on his word and attempt to break free and kill him when he wasn’t expecting it. “He threatened you, called me an ape, acted like he ran the fucking place-” Ace rolled his eyes as his Familiar went on and on and on about all the different perceived slights that would have earned the man death. They’d probably end up taking care of him in the end, either way. He really didn’t need a giant man-child bitching and moaning about him the entire way back to the hideout.

At least he seemed to have exhausted his list as they slipped inside the ramshackle little cabin. An old thing, probably a summer home to some rich snobby fucks. Still, it had running water, power, and it was far enough from everything else around them that Ace actually felt fairly secure. He slipped his coat off, hanging it beside the door as Damascus walked into the living room. Again, Ace felt that irritated irk in the back of his mind as the Demon didn’t even bother taking off his snow-covered shoes as he flopped into the only chair in the home that actually managed to fit his gargantuan form.

“What's the plan, Little Boss?”

“Must you call me that?” Ace complained as he slipped his own shoes off at the door and snapped his fingers together to get a fire going in the small living room. He knew complaining about it would do nothing but encourage the behavior, but he really despised that nickname.

Walking over, the Witch settled into the small window seat, pulling a knee up against his chest and absentmindedly nibbling on his nails. So much work had gone into his image, the unassuming blind man that kept people guessing, the way his suits were always carefully tailored, his skin always clean, everything…absolutely perfect, even up to the charmingly messy hair atop his head. All that work, and it still almost crumbled to pieces at one threat of turning him into the Church, even from some nobody that truly didn’t matter.

He couldn’t risk it.

“I'm not entirely sure. He's obviously not a threat and I think you managed to scare him enough that he won't try anything but...as you said, he hasn't made many friends in town. It might be best for our reputation to not associate with him." Over the years the little Witch had grown quite talented in handling their business. He had to in order to live up to their reputation as one of the most successful hitmen around. "I know I don't like this. I'll look around, put the word out and see if any groups nearby would be willing to pay to have him killed. We do this job for him, get our money, then collect on another and ensure the other groups remain unaware of our involvement with him. To anyone else, it'll look like we simply did the job to get close enough to kill him in the first place."

The only response he received was a grunt. Damascus was probably already half asleep, that chair was like magic with how quickly it worked at relaxing him. Ace dreaded the fallout if something were to happen to it. He wasn’t going to get much sleep tonight, not after that scare. He’d best make the most of it, at least. Make sure he’s dressed well and start to poke around for more information on this poor fool.

Ace didn’t leave the room until he was sure Damascus was asleep.

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theclockworkmonk · 3 years

Text

Cultural Exchange

Written for @kataang-week

Day 2: Blending Cultures

Words: 2,009

Read on AO3

Read on FF.net

Summary: Katara has some selfish reasons for encouraging Aang to explore Fire Nation culture.

*******

Katara was starting to get worried as she walked up to Zuko's old family house on Ember Island. The outdoor furniture was smashed and splintered, and the door was ajar, hanging off its hinges. She sped up, beginning to panic, and ran up the stairs onto the porch.

She threw the door all the way open forcefully. "Hello!? Aang?"

She was greeted by a chorus of pained male groans.

"Close the door!" Haru wailed, shielding his eyes from the bright morning light that was now flooding the front room of the house. All the other young men, basically every male friend their group had made since leaving the South Pole, gave similar cries of distress from where they were strewn haphazardly across sofas and armchairs.

Katara sighed in relief, but then grew annoyed at the boys for scaring her. Instead of closing the door, she moved to the windows and threw all the curtains open.

"You're evil!" moaned Te'o from the floor, where he had fallen out of his chair.

"What exactly happened to those plans for a laid back, calm bachelor party?" Katara asked the room harshly, "How did it go? 'Oh don't worry, Katara, Zuko's not one to throw wild parties!'"

"Uggghhh, I"m not, but I'm friends with a lot of bad influences," came a weak voice from under a coffee table.

Katara laughed at the sight of the soon-to-be-married Firelord crawling out from under the table, looking like he had been put through a dozen successive Agni Kais. But her laughter died and she gasped when she saw what was on Zuko's head.

"Zuko, what happened!?"

"What does it look like? Your brother got us drunk."

"No, I mean what happened to your hair!"

Katara bent all the water from a nearby vase and froze it into a flat, shiny mirror, and held it up to Zuko's face. His eyes widened in horror and he leapt to his feet, upending the table.

All of his hair had been reduced to a narrow strip down the center of his head. That hair had been left long, and was tied back, but both sides of it had been shaved down to his scalp.

He recognized this look. It was exactly the way Sokka had his hair when Zuko had first encountered him.

"Aw Zuko, I'm touched!" crooned Katara dramatically. "Showing your support for rebuilding Southern Tribe culture by sporting a warrior's wolf tail!"

Zuko stared in disbelief at his reflection. He raised his shaking hands to the sides of his face.

"I look like I stuck my head between two grinding stones," Zuko muttered.

"Oh, don't say that, I'm sure once the Firelord is seen sporting this hairdo at his wedding, it will be all the rage across the Fire Nation," said Katara with a grin.

Zuko buried his face in his hands. "Oh, spirits, the wedding! Mai's going to kill me."

Katara was about to agree, but was interrupted by a scream of anguish and horror coming from the bathroom.

Katara and Zuko both bolted across the room and down the hall. She whipped out her bending pouch, ready to slice the door open, but lucky it was still unlocked. She kicked the door open and her blood froze in fear again as she saw Sokka doubled over, his face buried in the sink and his hands over his head.

"Sokka, what's wrong!?" asked Katara urgently, placing her hands on her brother's back. "Are you hurt—oh…."

She jumped back and gasped when Sokka turned to face her, his lip quivering.

He was completely bald, with a crude painted blue arrow leading from the back of his head, ending between his eyebrows.

Katara's chuckle at Zuko's expense was nothing compared to the explosion of laughter that erupted out of her now. She had to put a hand on the wall to steady herself as she shook until she was out of breath.

"Well, it was just a regular festival of cultural exchange last night, wasn't it?" she squeaked out.

"This isn't funny, Katara!" said Sokka desperately. "You don't understand, it's not coming off! It's real! And my hair! Next time I visit home, my brain is gonna freeze!"

"Oh, calm down," she said dismissively. She grabbed her brother's cheeks and pulled him down to inspect his new body art. "There's no inflammation on the skin, it's not a real tattoo. You just found some...wow, really durable face paint."

She looked him in the eye suspiciously. "Where did you get this stuff?"

"Uuuuhhh," said Sokka uncertainly. He turned to Zuko. "Where did we get this stuff?"

"Uuuuhhh," Zuko concurred.

Katara rolled her eyes. "Seriously? You don't even remember last night?"

"I can remember most of it," said Zuko defensively. "Things just get a little fuzzy after that bottle of moonpeachshine got opened. He was the one who brought that, so really this is all his fault."

"Hey, I don't remember tying you up and forcing the stuff down your throat, Lord Lots o' Shots," replied Sokka.

"Where's Aang?" Katara suddenly said, her grin wiped from her face.

For a moment, they just looked at each other in silence, then ran through the house again.

After searching the whole house and not finding Aang, Katara was beginning to panic again. But when she checked the back garden, she found Appa there sleeping soundly. A lumpy mass was sitting on the bison's head: a human body, the top half covered by a blanket, but long legs protruded from underneath, with blue arrows ending at the feet.

"Aang!" Katara called as she ran towards him, and thankfully the tattooed feet stirred. Aang slowly sat up, squeezing his eyes shut at the sunlight as the blanket fell from his face.

"Oh come on!" Katara sighed in relief. "You too?"

"What?" he mumbled, getting his bearings. He reached up to scratch his head, and discovered what was itching him.

Aang was wearing a wig. Avatar Aang, the mightiest being in the world, was hungover with a lopsided wig of black hair glued to his head. The foreign hair was pulled back into a knot that was contained by what Katara recognized as Avatar Roku's old hairpin.

Aang reached up and felt the hairpin, and winced. "Oh Spirits, I had hoped that was a dream."

"So you actually remember what happened?" asked Zuko, joining them outside along with Sokka, who had put a hat on to avoid getting sunburned.

"Well last night, Sokka got excited by this idea of me wearing Roku's hairpin at the wedding, as a sign of the Fire Nation's commitment to the Avatar and the balance of the world. I wasn't as intoxicated as he was, so I pointed out to him that one needs hair in order to wear a hairpin crown."

"Oh yeah!" said Sokka, remembering now, "Seems like a short sighted fashion decision."

"It's not short-sighted, that's the point," said Zuko irritably, "When royals or generals suffer a great defeat, they cut their hair off. The crowns of the Fire Lord and Prince are designed so that you can't wear them unless you've gone long enough without a defeat to have enough hair to wear it."

"Yeah, you said all this last night," said Aang. "Then Sokka suggested that I could borrow some hair, and we asked who would have extra hair to borrow, and that's how we ended up partying with the—"

"The Ember Island Players," Zuko finished in horror. "Oh, kill me now, this is going to be the subject of their worst play yet."

"I certainly hope so," said Katara. "I'll be there opening night."

"The wig and the facepaint….seemed like a good idea at the time," finished Aang painfully.

"Well if this stuff doesn't come off my face soon, then the Firelord is going to have to have them interrogated about how they undo it," said Sokka.

"Oh I will?" asked Zuko, raising his eyebrow. "The way I see it, I just have a bad haircut, I didn't put any crap on my head, so you can go begging for them on your own."

"It is not a bad haircut!" said Sokka angrily. "You're now the best looking guy here, saving my dignity is the least you can do."

"I might need help getting this thing off me too," mumbled Aang, futilely pulling at the wig. "And we should probably put this back in a safe spot."

He detached Roku's hairpin crown from his knot, and Katara gasped as his hair (that wasn't actually his hair) fell from it.

The messy black hair fell to the base of his neck, covering his ears and hanging in bangs over his forehead, partially obscuring his eyes. He scrunched his face in annoyance and brushed the hair away from his face. Katara felt her face grow hot as she watched her boyfriend's fingers run through the hair, and an image floated up in her mind of her fingers replacing them.

Zuko and Sokka went back into the house, Zuko cheekily offering to melt the facepaint off of Sokka, and promised to keep most of his face intact, as Aang climbed down off of Appa, still pulling at the mop glued to his head.

"I need to find a way to get this thing off me," Aang grumbled. "It won't stay out of my face, people can't see my arrow."

"Well, we can't have that," Katara chuckled. "The world can't know that the last airbender has broken such an important air nomad requirement as the sacred chrome dome."

"Well, it's not a requirement," said Aang, "but I still suspect I look far too much like Zuko for my taste—"

"Wait, really?" Katara cut him off, her eyes widening.

"Well you tell me. I don't have a mirror, but I suddenly feel the urge to sulk and reclaim my honor— "No, I mean, shaving your head isn't a requirement or anything?" Katara asked quickly.

Aang seemed surprised by her question. "Uh... no. Most of the boys did anyway, because it gives you a slight edge in airbending, since your skin is in tune with the air currents. We all had to shave it once, when we got our arrows, but most girls grew it back."

He continued to fidget with the wig as he started walking back towards the house, seemingly oblivious to the blush creeping up his girlfriend's face.

Katara tried to act casual as she fell in step with Aang and linked her arm with his.

"Sooooo...hypothetically speaking," she began, not looking at him, "you could have a full head of hair. If you wanted to."

Aang shrugged. "Yeah. But I've never really felt the desire to. With hair, you have to wash it, and there's so many different haircuts to pick from, it's easier to just shave it in the morning."

He turned to look at her curiously. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason!" she said innocently.

They walked in silence for a few seconds, then a strong morning breeze blew past them and Katara felt her knees grow weak as Aang's messy "hair" whipped in the wind, dancing around his handsome face beautifully, in a way his real hair had never grown long enough to do.

"I was just thinking Sokka might be onto something!" she blurted out before she could stop herself. "You know, about wearing Roku's crown. Maybe the Avatar adopting a few Fire Nation fashions will placate a few of the naysayers, who say that you're a foreign interloper. It will show them that you're their Avatar too. It would be a great exchange and blending of cultures, to reflect peaceful cooperation."

Aang frowned thoughtfully. "Well, I….guess that kind of makes sense." He shrugged and chuckled. "I'm still definitely going to get this hair off me, though. Then I can decide whether to start growing my own."

"Hmmm….yeah," Katara whispered greedily under her breath, "I bet that'll look even hotter."

"Hmm? What was that? I didn't hear you."

"Nothing!" she squeaked, and ran back into the house.

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