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kiruuuuu · 10 months

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Sun's Out, Guns Out - Day 5!🌈

Hi all, this is your quarterly reminder that I'm not dead 😊 As always, @dualrainbow has organised a Pride event and I'm happy to participate! Give them a follow and check out the other entries 💖

Since I tend to resort to my favourites when I can't write what I want to write (motivation, thy name is fickleness), this one features Thatcher and Lesion trying to figure out a few things. Well, mostly Thatcher. Please enjoy!! (Rating G/T, fluff, ~3.3k words)

Mike Baker has always had a knack for teaching. Born from the addicting sensation of being smarter than everyone, he quickly realised there’s actual merit in passing on hard-earned knowledge founded on a mixture of theory and painful experience. It took him a while to suppress the resentment of witnessing others, armed with his wisdom, excel immediately where he had to struggle for much longer, but once he overcame that particular ego trip, he started receiving heartfelt compliments.

And, well, he likes those.

Suddenly, he played a part in many success stories, was cited as a major influence by skilled operators around the world, and shook hands with others whom he admired on equal footing. There are other advantages as well, like broadening his horizon through exchanges with young minds from vastly different cultures, many of which left him befuddled at first yet enriched in the long run. He’s often called old school, a term he wears with pride instead of embarrassment seeing as it stems from his conviction that advanced technology might be useful but ultimately a crutch. He’s opened many eyes to the old ways and no doubt saved countless lives by empowering others to acquire survival skills not reliant on newfangled tech.

This, too, he learnt the hard way. After the disaster in ‘92, he vowed never to allow something like it again.

Amidst the coaching, he endeavours to learn from his students just as they soak up his advice. Not always successful, he still tries to grasp their differing world views and outlooks, attempts to understand how they developed and why his own rarely match. Finding similarities is easy, there’s timeless topics such as cars, sports and physical fitness, and beyond that cyclical trends materialise and disappear over the course of a decade or two – whisky, gardening, woodworking, it all recurs.

But the longer Thatcher pushes his retirement, the more he perceives a rift forming between his generation and the younger ones. Not having any children himself (or any friends who do), he’s reliant on his work relationships to keep him up-to-date, and while there’s no shortage of sensible, eager young men in the SAS as a whole, Rainbow generally features established, well-adjusted operators who need little guidance.

So… maybe it’s the small sample size. In any case, Thatcher is increasingly perplexed when Mute mentions most of his friends don’t even own a car anymore. Or that they have no notion to buy a house and settle down – even Thatcher considers marriage optional, seeing as his own crashed and burned spectacularly, but not wanting to own property? And the absolutely disrespectful way Mute speaks of national treasures like the Queen and Thatcher’s namesake (which, alright, he’s had long discussions about this and maybe she wasn’t the progressive saint he once thought she was, but still – defacing her monument just isn’t funny).

At first he was filled with a giddy sort of glee when the taciturn, serious young Brit opened up to him, heeded his advice and even looked to him first when he was unsure about anything work-related, but the longer they spend conversing about their private lives, the more Thatcher wishes he’d never asked in the first place. He’s fairly sure he will never understand the point of ‘memes’, no matter how often Mute tries to explain.

And one day, a humid, muggy Friday in June, Mute approaches him with a problem for which Thatcher has no answer ready yet. So he does what he always does when he’s unable to process news or make his mind up: ask the one person for help to whom he’d entrust his life without a second thought.

~*~

“Mark thinks he’s gay”, says Thatcher, apropos nothing, as he turns the page from sports to local news. ‘Hotel California’is softly pouring out of the radio next to the toaster – the classic rock station isn’t his favourite but one meaningful glance over Simon & Garfunkel incentivised him to switch to it. He didn’t want to be accused of being a lonely old man again.

Across the table, Lesion visibly smothers his initial reaction, whichever it would’ve been; there’s an unnatural half-blink and an almost imperceptible pause in guiding the ham-topped croissant to his mouth. And Thatcher thinks: here we go.

They haven’t fought in a while. Not for the entire year, actually, if he discounts their usual bickering (and he’s inclined to, it barely counts despite the awkward atmosphere it forces bystanders to endure, which is incidentally Thatcher’s favourite part). He regrets having to sacrifice their harmonious breakfast which, apart from the at-times questionable songs wafting over, is nearly perfect where he’s concerned. Lesion bought fresh muffins for Thatcher and croissants for himself, Thatcher provides good-quality cold cuts, they share a pot of tea and discuss whatever is new either in their lives or the world. It’s idyllic.

Sadly, he’ll have to ruin it – for the greater good.

Could he introduce the topic in a less inflammatory way? Sure. Would it have the same result, i.e. a quietly destructive Lesion who chooses his words so carefully it’s hard to imagine he’s simultaneously holding himself back from throttling Thatcher? Absolutely not. And therefore this is the only option remaining.

Once Lesion has bought himself some time to process Thatcher’s remark by carefully chewing for an inordinately long time, he avoids his gaze and asks, very calm: “Did he drink too much and say a few things he now regrets?”

Deflection. With a joke, at least, Thatcher taught him that – when they first met, Lesion would raise his brows and change the topic when confronted with anything he did not want to comment on. Either he’s attempting to save the mood or his brain is working overtime to figure out how to respond. Good. So he doesn’t know what to think about this either.

“Nah. We both know the lad barely drinks.”

Lesion begins pushing the crumbs on his plate into a neat pile. “He does when James is around.”

And this is why Thatcher chooses him for any difficult topic. Lesion has mastered the art of being unobtrusive and inoffensive to the point where everyone around him either forgets his presence or believes him to be an accomplice of sorts, thus dropping all inhibitions. His skills in information gathering and observation are unparalleled and Thatcher enjoys making use of them, even if it’s for petty purposes.

Well. Especially for petty purposes.

He’s right, of course, he always is: Thatcher retroactively analyses Mute’s behaviour around his colleague and concludes that yes, Mute does indeed let Smoke be a bad influence on him.

“Tell me what happened.”

Somehow, the initial friction has disappeared and though Thatcher would prefer a sharper exchange of words, he plays along for now. “Julien dragged him to a Pride event last week and some bloke there talked Mark into believing he fancies James. He’s not fully sure, though, so he poured his little heart out to me.”

He spots the tell-tale crease between Lesion’s brow. He’s getting pissed – even though Thatcher isn’t entirely certain why. But that’s what he’s here to find out. “I have additional questions”, Lesion states after a moment, “but I think it’s best if you tell me your thought process first.”

“On what?”

“You seem to disagree with him. I’d like to hear why.”

“With whom?”

Lesion refuses to take the bait and get angry over stupid details. His patience is another virtue Thatcher admires greatly. “With Mark’s assessment of himself.”

“That he thinks he’s gay?”

“Yes.” He takes a sip of his tea. “That.”

Alright then. If this was anyone else, Thatcher would refrain from elaborating, wave it off and attribute it to personal differences rather than risk offending or coming across as ignorant. The two of them, however, have known each other for such a long time that no such anxieties remain: they’ve both made idiots of themselves in front of the other, have supported each other through various crises, have become such an important and fundamental part of each others’ lives that he discards any vanities in favour of personal growth.

Most of the time.

Which doesn’t contradict his urge to exasperate his best friend. It’s almost… charming? Endearing? He’s not sure of the correct term, but it does leave a deep, satisfying feeling in the low of his stomach to watch Lesion ruthlessly apply logic to try and change his mind, working himself up to unmerciful gentleness with which he both ensures victory and that Thatcher’s pride isn’t hurt. These days, he rarely allows himself any indulgences, yet Lesion’s cutting rhetoric is too addicting.

He’s not proven wrong often, but with this man, he almost enjoys it.

“We’ve talked about it before”, he starts, Lesion keeping up eye contact now as he finishes the other half of his croissant, “being gay isn’t a choice.”

An encouraging nod. So far, so good.

“Either you’re born gay or you’re not.”

The nodding fades. Surely, he can’t object this early.

“So either you know that you’re gay, or you don’t know, which means you’re not. And yeah, there’s the bisexuals and whatever, but they know who they are as well. Mark on the other hand said he never really had any interest in anyone until now – but if he was gay, that wouldn’t have happened.” He probably should stop talking. Lesion is looking at him, mid-chew, the same way he did when Thatcher ranted about poor people always buying poor quality products even though purchasing slightly more expensive, higher-quality ones would last much longer.

Which, alright. He conceded the point eventually.

Another sip of tea after the croissant has disappeared. Lesion adds more crumbs to his pile. “Is it too late then?”, he asks, curious. “For him to realise he fancies men.”

“Huh? No.” Ridiculous. As if there was some kind of cut-off point where lads had to live as heteros because they didn’t claim their gayness fast enough. “No, what I mean is… he’s just not gay. He’s found a kindred spirit in James, somehow, and I predict he’s going to turn into an annoying little gremlin under his supervision, but he’s confusing a serious, close friendship with, I don’t know, attraction? Romance?” The more he scrutinises it in his head, the more sense it makes. “Yeah. He never fancied anyone before. How would he know what it feels like? I have the impression he just never had a friendship like that before.”

Actually, this is obvious – he’s almost embarrassed he couldn’t come up with the same explanation when Mark sought him out. No wonder the poor lad is a little lost, a shithead like Smoke will do that to an innocent soul.

Lesion is starting to shift now, sharpen around the edges, weighs his words more deliberately before he allows them to escape his lips. It’s reminiscent of how he is on the job, competent, no-nonsense. He might crack jokes and wear a smile but Thatcher’s gaze penetrates the thin veneer of jovial gestures to reveal remorseless efficiency. And though he respects that part of Lesion deeply, he also savours how pliable, how… domestic they are around each other. Lesion has saved his life more than once, and he’s helped remodel Thatcher’s bathroom. He asked Thatcher to test drive a used car he considered buying, and he’s killed with a smile and a shrug.

If he’s honest, Thatcher prefers his softer side. There’s something peaceful in sitting in his garden and trying to spot birds, even if they’ve had to wash blood off their bodies more times than they care to count.

“How did he come to the conclusion that he likes James?” Gathering more necessary intel. Thatcher suppresses a grin.

“I can’t recall his exact words, it was surprisingly flowery. Maybe he dreamt about kissing him, felt like he was having butterflies in his stomach whenever James texted him, something along those lines. Typical shite, you know. But I mean, that’s normal.”

Lesion’s eyes snap up.

Oh? He’s picked up on something though Thatcher wouldn’t know what exactly. They’re still dancing around the issue, Lesion hasn’t formulated his point yet so it’s difficult to tell what he’s thinking. It’s no fight yet.

“Normal stuff”, Lesion repeats and it sounds very close to a question. He must know what Thatcher means.

“Aye. Everyone has these kinds of thoughts, even if there’s some kind of stigma on it since blokes barely talk about it. It’s curiosity, nothing more, the brain latches on to something and you can’t get it out of your head for a while. Like buying a new car, innit? A mate gets himself a brand new ride and suddenly, you want one too. It’s almost impossible to push that thought away.”

“… a new car.” It seems Lesion has resorted to parroting bits and pieces of Thatcher’s speech. Again, with anybody else, he’d be upset that he’s opening up about a topic rarely discussed between men and met with hesitant mockery, but this is Lesion. His best friend would rather jump out the window than hurt him deliberately.

“Not the best metaphor maybe, but you get the gist. He’ll just have to pull himself together and realise it’s perfectly normal to have these kinds of, I don’t know, intrusive thoughts, and move on.”

Lesion’s face evokes the image of an exhausted mum debating internally whether she should let her child eat the crayons just so she can have a bit of peace and quiet. He’s still not contributing to their conversation which is frankly worrisome – not that Thatcher is apprehensive about what might be going on in his head, but he knows the longer he talks the worse it gets. The two of them have a code word for ‘you should probably shut up now’ and there’s a reason Lesion is the only one who uses it regularly.

“Do you not agree? Just because you think like this doesn’t mean you’re queer. Hell, most of the blokes on this earth would’ve ended up married to another bloke if they followed that line of thinking. The two of us might as well have married.”

This shakes Lesion out of his stupor. “Might as well”, he repeats, sounding oddly entertained. It seems he’s about to add something but decides against it, shaking his head a little before he takes a deep breath and gets up to pour himself another cuppa. Buying more time. This is getting serious. “Want the rest?”

Thatcher hands him his Arsenal mug, mulling over the phrase which seems to have sparked amusement in his best friend. There’s worse fates in the world than being tied to this man, he supposes – they get along better than any married couple he knows. Most days, their schedules are intertwined, they give and take in equal measure and have found compromises for all their differences in taste. “Might as well”, Thatcher mutters without meaning to and accepts the tea-filled mug with an added ‘ta’.

Instead of sitting back down, Lesion leans against the counter, fingers wrapped around the Winnie the Pooh mug he used to pick as a joke (and now defends from other guests), steady gaze resting on Thatcher without the hint of reproach. There’s a warmth in it he’s accustomed to seeing when it’s late and they drank a little too much. Quiet anxiousness rises in Thatcher; he can deal with exasperation but doesn’t do well with vulnerable sincerity.

“You’ve not talked about this with anybody else, I assume?”, Lesion asks.

“Of course not. If they’re all too embarrassed to say it out loud, I’m not gonna be the first one.”

An eternity passes while Lesion stands there, eyes drifting aimlessly around the cosy kitchen, and contemplates how to reply. Thatcher’s uneasiness increases with every passing second yet he knows better than to interrupt the other man’s thoughts. Despite his growing desperation to interrupt his own.

He has a feeling he won’t like what he’ll hear next.

“I wouldn’t call it ‘normal’”, Lesion starts hesitantly. “I do believe it’s not unusual to be curious in one’s younger years, but… dreaming about kissing your mates when you’re in your fifties is, um.”

Thatcher’s cheeks begin to heat up. He hopes he hasn’t committed a grave mistake. “Oh come off it – don’t tell me you don’t think about those things.”

“Ah…” The corners of Lesion’s mouth lift into a sheepish smile. “I do.”

“See!”

“But, Mike. I’m gay.”

Uh.

Thatcher’s brain screeches to a halt. “What”, he says and can’t keep the hint of anger out of his voice. Strangely, he feels betrayed rather than surprised, and it’s a tad odd to realise he’s genuinely upset over the fact Lesion never told him. He cares not one bit about his sexuality, Lesion can do whatever he wants, but Thatcher needs to be in on it. Still, it helps to distract him from the fact that Lesion’s earlier words open up an entirely different can of worms.

Which is that apparently Thatcher’s mind has significant overlap with that of a gay man, at least where other men are concerned, and he is not prepared to face this particular revelation just yet.

Maybe I should’ve married him, he thinks and suppresses the sudden, absurd urge to laugh.

“Do you want to talk about this?”, Lesion offers, still smiling, and it’s eerie how well he knows him – when conflicted, Thatcher tends to withdraw unless assisted, yet is too prideful to ask.

He appreciates the suggestion but appearances force him to weakly object: “Don’t you have errands to run today?”

Lesion shrugs. “They can wait. I’d rather make sure you don’t end up brooding the whole weekend.”

A fair assessment. Thatcher nods and is flooded with relief over having someone in his life so willing to talk about everything and nothing, except… Suddenly, there’s something else besides gratitude as well.

~*~

“… so, in conclusion, it doesn’t matter what you identify as. Just do what you feel is right, use your common sense – and I know you have a lot of that. If you feel an attraction, there’s nothing wrong with pursuing it without worrying about labels for the moment. Alright, lad?”

Mute stares at him in much the same way Thatcher’s family did on their last reunion when he asked for extra vegetables. He adds a mental note to teach Mute how to control his expressions better and keep his composure even when confronted with the unimaginable.

“Do I have something on my face?”

“No, I just -” The lad blinks a few times before starting to nod. “I mean, yeah. Thanks. That’s actually really helpful. I was worried about some of it, but what you said just… some things clicked.”

Boy does Thatcher know how that feels. “Don’t mention it. You got your head on straight, lad, keep it that way.” He realises too late and hastens to correct himself: “I don’t mean – well, you know what I mean.”

His awkward floundering earns him a grin he much prefers over the troubled look which has recently dominated the young man’s features. “Yeah. No worries.”

“Good man.” Thatcher pats his back and gets up, relieved their talk went smoothly and confident he’ll be able to manoeuvre similar conversations in the future. Which is a relief, because based on Mute’s memes, the entire younger generation is some kind of queer or other and he’s had his suspicions about Dokkaebi for a while.

“Just one question though.”

He turns to Mute, expecting anything from mundane to profound and certain he will be able to advise. After all, it’s his job to guide and teach wherever he can.

The lad points to Thatcher’s neck. “… is that a hickey?”

Alright.

Well.

Time to make up an excuse and get the fuck out of here.

#rainbow six siege #fanfic #oneshot #thatcher #lesion #smoke #mute #thatcher/lesion #smoke/mute #event #I either want to write 100% smut or 100k fics and there's no in between #so please accept this as an offering instead #inspired by comments about people who are ACTUALLY like thatcher and everyone hopes they figure it out eventually #lesion is starting to give me big kim kitsuragi vibes

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keravnous · 2 years

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mark "mute" chandar & james "smoke" porter - i love you like an alcoholic

listen to the playlist here ft.: Mitski, The Neighbourhood, Nothing But Thieves, Mother Mother, Nasty Cherry, BANKS, Glass Animals, Hozier, Bastille ...

highly inspired by @kiruuuuu 's amazing work <3

#rainbow six siege #r6s #smoke r6s #mute r6s #mark chandar #james porter #smoke/mute #mute/smoke #playlist edit #my playlist

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isopodsinmymailbox · 1 month

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siege art dump😆🏳️‍🌈

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ruskizzo · 5 months

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How I imagine the SAS team would react to finding a white mask child.

Smoke, Mute, Thatcher, Sledge

They weren’t exactly pleased to find a white mask— specifically a poor child, cowering into a corner with blood smeared over the white suit.

Thatcher instantly called over coms to know what to do about a child white mask, his eyes not once leaving you or the others.

Sledge was the first to talk to you, kneeling and allowing you to trust him at your own pace. He only asked a few questions, “you hurt?”, “there any more of you?”

He mainly made sure you were okay. It tore his heart seeing such a young child standing in a fighting zone with blood all over them, not to mention on a terrorist team.

Thatcher was the second to talk to you, coaxing you to calm down and talking about how they would transport you somewhere safe and cozy.

Mute and Smoke were the ones to stay quiet, not really sure what to do or what was going on. They really only kept guard, looking for any more white masks or any possible threats.

It broke Mutes heart seeing the child so frightened. He mentioned to take the gas masks off. Seeing how you screamed when they first appeared; four humans with guns and a massive hunk carrying a sledge hammer, scary. But overall he kept quiet, not sure what to do or say.

Sledge and Thatcher were the ones talking, Smoke kept close to you. He made sure you completely comfortable with them, smiling at you and attempting to cheer you up with cheesy jokes he made up randomly.

Mute just watched, his grip on his gun not once loosening. He eventually crouched near you and Smoke and ruffled your hair in attempt to make you smile.

Once Ash had commanded them to lead the child towards the medic and truck, Smoke was the first to lead you— a gentle but firm grip on your hand as he slowly led you out. Mute on the side, covering your eyes or attempting to block your view the best he could when you passed a dead white mask.

So sorry it’s not the best, school night and I was just really bored. :(

#r6siege #r6s #rainbow six siege #rainbow 6 siege #r6s x reader #r6s sledge #r6s thatcher #r6s smoke #r6s mute #r6s SAS #rainbowsix

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zu-is-here · 2 years

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Fallen Stars band by @help-im-a-gay-fish

Nightmare & Dream by jokublog

Cross from xtaleunderverse by jakei95

Shattered Dream from shattereddreamsau by galacii / galacii-gallery

Underswap!Sans by popcornpr1nce

Blueberror by loverofpiggies

Ink by comyet

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barbedwirechain · 8 months

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💨⛓️

#mine #me #my face #video #transmasc #butch dyke #butch fag #butch on T #punk lesbian #goth faggot #420 #alternative black people #alternative poc #face piercings #old fucker was talking to me while i smoked this so i muted him #queer masculinity #transmasculine #barbedwirechain ina barbed wire chain #smoking

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smokedetected · 2 years

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R6S Duolingo and language learning HCs

Stupid fluff/crack hcs for some of the r6s operators, inspired by a recent heated discussion in our research group about everyone’s Duolingo habits (lol).

Warnings/notes: none (unless you’re severely traumatized by the Duolingo owl, though if that’s the case, it’s probably already too late anyways) Slight romance and/or suggestiveness in some.

Sorted alphabetically under the cut—I wrote for everyone that popped into my mind at the time.

Ace: Will totally take the initial placement test for Norwegian, just for that cheap and easy XP-boost that will catapult him to the top of the leaderboard and allow him to flex his high score in front of the others. (Everyone knows what’s going on, but let’s let him have this.) Will be extra motivated should you decide to get the app as well and absolutely swoon over you should you decide to take up Norwegian (he still won’t take it well should you outcompete him on the leaderboard, though, so keep that in mind).

Bandit: Doesn’t really care for the app per se, but is more than happy to help expand your knowledge of German swear words and street slang should you decide to take it up, whether you want it or not. If you’re serious about learning the language, he will do his best to help you in earnest and make an effort to include you in the German banter between the GSG9 member (be careful, though, as he will absolutely take the opportunity to feed you wrong and/or offensive words every now and then so he can have a laugh when you cheerfully insult any of the other German operators, thinking you were merely throwing out some German slang). Will be more encouraged than ever to give you German pet names. He would also take the opportunity to introduce you to his favorite German bands and songs (just stay wary of the meaning of some of the lyrics you will inevitably pick up).

Blitz: This is his home turf—Elias doesn’t need to be convinced to download the app, he already has it (and every other language learning app out there) ready to go on his phone. He finds the questions and problems in Duolingo too easy to really challenge him, but he’ll use it to refresh his memory on grammar and vocabulary during breaks or look into the more exotic languages they offer just for fun. Gets very excited if you are interested in languages, too, and all the more so if the language you want to learn happens to be German! He will send you all kinds of materials and resources to help you study, from news articles to memes. When he sees you practicing using the app, he will come up to you and give you a kiss whenever you get an exercise right.

Doc: Gustave always encourages the people around him to try new things and stay flexible, physically and mentally, so he welcomes it when you introduce him to the app. Other operators might complain about the persistent reminders sent by the app, but Doc actually appreciates them—without them, he would quickly forget about the app again as he’s always caught up with work late into the night. Should you decide to learn French, he will gladly practice with you whenever you have a moment of time throughout the day, remaining patient and encouraging even as you torment him with the exhilarating questions about his name and profession that come with the early stages of learning a new language.

Dokkaebi: Will get super competitive and try to get as many of the other Rainbow members as possible into Duolingo as well. They don’t all have to learn the same language, but there will be an internal competition about who earns the most points every week. Will probably act casually about it, but then log into the app again at the last minute before the leaderboard closes, while her fellow operators are either already asleep or focused on something else and absolutely obliterate them and their scores. If you tell her that you want to learn Korean, she might be a bit surprised at first, but will quickly find it endearing when it becomes apparent that you’re serious about it. She loves it when you text her in Korean whenever you learned something new and will in turn send you Korean proverbs and other tidbits you might fight interesting.

Glaz: Not a huge fan of the app (maybe because he doesn’t think the interface is visually appealing?). Would maybe use it to gain a basic understanding of the language of a country he’s sent to on a mission + any themed lessons that catch his eye. If your native language isn’t English or Russian, he would use the app to check out the basics while he’s away from you, though he would much rather get the explanations directly from you. If you inform him that you’re trying to learn Russian, his heart will melt and he will shower you with sweet words of praise and encouragement to make you feel comfortable enough to speak to him in his native language. Will also buy you a premium subscription when you aren’t looking to make learning even more fun for you.

IQ: Monika is smart and a quick learner - you know it, I know it, it’s literally implied in her codename. Quickly uninstalls the app again because she finds the exercises too easy and doesn’t want to bother wasting time on having to unlock the few lessons she’d actually be interested in. If you or another operator were the ones getting her into the app, however, she’d keep it around just so she can keep doing the weekly challenges with you—she finds it cute when you get all competitive about it and it makes her happy that you want to participate in them with her. Her first reaction to you telling her that you want to learn German would be a blunt “Why?,” as she thinks you might get more use out of other languages. Tell her that you’re doing it for her and she becomes incredibly flustered (all the more so should you decide to call her by one or more German pet name(s)), yet happy at the same time.

Jäger: Marius quickly incorporated the app into his daily routine, usually getting his daily session in during breakfast or dinner. Will regularly remind his GSG9 colleagues to use the app by sharing his milestones to their group chat (*screenshot of perfect 2-week-streak* “Und bei euch so? 😏” (”what about you guys? 😏”) Will be very giddy should you decide to learn German—he’s very eager to practice with you and will constantly point out how certain things are called in German as well as give you additional info and expressions. He’ll probably get ahead of himself and it will be nearly impossible to remember everything he’s telling you, but he doesn’t expect you to and is glad to repeat it.

Kapkan: Hates it. Thinks the interface looks stupid, the sample conversations pointless, and was just about ready to ask Sledge to borrow his hammer to smash his phone and computer because he accidentally consented to receive all the reminders and push notifications and it’s driving him insane. If you’re using the app to learn a language and feel like its helping you, however, he is willing to put up with the eye sore that is the Duolingo owl and the noise pollution coming from the app, just for you (particularly if the language you are trying to learn is Russian—his adoration for your efforts outweighs any negative feelings he may have). If your native language is something different from Russian or English, he would make an effort to learn at least the basics in it when things start to get serious. While he’s a diligent student, he becomes surprisingly shy and easily flustered when attempting to speak to you in your native language, so stay patient and give him lots of encouragement.

Montagne: As his perceived lack of proficiency in foreign languages when compared to some of the other Rainbow operators is something that’s been bothering him on and off for some time, he was very happy and receptive when you introduced him to the app. He uses it to quietly practice by himself during moments of downtime as he goes about his day. I feel like he’d be the type of person to have a 500+ day streak that makes you go “damn! :0″ when you see it on their profile for the first time. Is over the moon when you reveal to him that you’ve been trying to learn some French for him and have nothing but praise for even your most awkward attempts at speaking to him in French. Naturally, he will want to repay the favor and take up your language in return, but it will take some verbal encouragement from you before he overcomes his shyness to actually talk to you in your native language.

Mute: would never resort to cheap exploits like raking in a massive number of points by acing the placement test in his native language (as others are rumored to have done), but would quickly figure out the little tricks, bonuses, and power-ups that allow him to continuously earn the highest score possible while learning. Finds the exercises too easy and doesn’t like how you have to unlock certain topics through progression, rather than being able to freely choose what you’re interested in learning right from the beginning. If your native language isn’t English, he will look for other better resources on it on his own. Even if English isn’t your first language, he doesn’t really see any concrete need for you to improve but will respect your desire to do so by providing you with recommendations for English books and movies, as well as the offer of discussing them with him once you’re done with them.

Smoke: While the gamification aspect does hold some appeal in his eyes, he doesn’t really feel the need to follow the path given by the app—he’s convinced that if you want to learn a new language, it should ideally come naturally to you by actively engaging with source materials in it (read: chemical safety data sheets, scientific papers, and online shitposts). Should his daughter discover her love for Duolingo-based language learning, however, you bet he would download and use the app, if only to keep her happy and connect with her (he would, however, be equally happy if you were to compete with her in the challenges in his stead—in fact, he would only adore you more for doing so). If your native language isn’t English, the first thing he would ask you to teach him are swearwords, if nothing else, so he can annoy his fellow operators even more effectively. If things get serious between the two of you, however, he will be more than eager to learn other things as well from you.

Tachanka: Would use the app to learn a few bits in your language as an icebreaker and to surprise you & show you how much he cares about you. Flirty and straightforward as he is, he would then quickly graduate to asking you for some one-on-one conversation training sessions, offering to teach you basic Russian (or flirting/swearwords, depending on how you roll). Should you decide to learn Russian, he will be all over you whenever you use your newly acquired, meager language skills on him — he will be incredibly happy and proud of you. In fact, he might get a little too excited and unintentionally embarrass you a little by boasting about your “skills” to his fellow Spetsnaz members, putting you on the spot when they subsequently demand a first-hand demonstration. He’s quick to pick up on the naughtiest, most suggestive expressions in your native language and will make good use of them behind closed doors with absolutely zero shame, causing your blood to flow to your face (as well as other places) whenever he does so.

Thatcher: Was most definitely pressured into getting the app by someone else on his team and only begrudgingly agreed to use it under the condition that that person would also set everything up for him. He will quickly get annoyed by it and delete it after Duo keeps counting typos he didn’t bother to correct as mistakes, subsequently providing you with ample opportunity to expand your vocabulary of British swearing. If English isn’t your native language, he would try to learn some phrases from your first language for you. He’s very serious about it and somehow selects rather lyrical source materials for this endeavor—on occasion he sounds like an old-timey gentleman plucked straight from a romance novel, causing a blush to appear on your cheeks every time he talks to you like that.

Thermite: Another one who would probably see Duolingo as a kind of dating app with extra steps. Would repeatedly come to you under the pretense of asking you how certain features of the app work, etc., just so he has an excuse to stay close to you. If you’re in an established relationship, he will ask you for a kiss for every exercise he gets right whenever he’s actually using it to practice. Will make an effort to remember the most random sample phrases to repeat them back to his fellow operators in their native language and think he’s hilarious for doing so. If you’re the type of person that gets discouraged whenever you accidentally miss a day, causing your streak to break (the type of person he is), he will briefly log into your account and do a quick and easy exercise just to keep your streak going when he sees you haven’t logged into the app after you’ve already gone to bed. Will also really work with the random, basic phrases he’s learned in your language so far to impress you or at least make you laugh.

___________

thank you for reading! <3 these were very fun to do! If you are missing a specific operator, I didn’t spontaneously have a scenario of them pop into my mind, but you are free to request them.

Next post (in a few days) will be less shitpost-y (I hope, lol)~!

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sithprincex · 3 months

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Need more lesbians in my life to come over and smoke weed with me bc for fuck sake i hate being quiet after work sometimes…..

#shut up Luna #a rare occasion I’m not mute after work #and just wanna smoke and laugh at stupid shit with someone

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akkivee · 4 months

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from a gold shachihoko to a copper shachihoko huh 🤔

#vee queued to fill the void #i’m trying to put together a look at kuukou’s various symbols on his outerwear for a post and was mildly surprised lol #like kuukou’s colours are muted and that’s obvious from the moment you see his entire fit yeah #but it completely flew over my head that kuukou’s shachihoko changed since it’s one of the few aspects of kuukou’s attire that carried over #lol we back to kuukou analysing in the tags this is great lmao so i was thinking #i haven’t gotten around to posting it but one of kuukou’s lines for new years in arb is him stressing to stay healthy #like he even says not to overdo it!!!!!!#i always wondered what aspect of smoking & drinking kuukou doesn’t like and it seems to be pointing to the body/mind ruining aspect #(tho to be that aware of it is still hmmmmm lol 🤔)#real gold should never have to be polished and usually withstands the elements quite fine but copper!!!!#turns green under prolonged exposure to water air etc and that’s what happened to kuukou’s speakers like it’s an oxidised copper dragon lol #so we have a kuukou who has gone from bright colours and golds to a kuukou in darks and copper a less resilient metal #best case scenario it’s just symbolic of kuukou’s experiences!!!! like his speaker is of a dragon that has been exposed and weathered a lot #but is still going strong kicking ass taking names lol #worst case scenario i think is that it’s a 🚩 🚩🚩that kuukou’s being weathered down by something and not in a good way #nodders yup yup yup we back to worrying about kuukou starting off his year STRONG lmao

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weedstop · 6 months

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high at night =_=

#um the audio in this video may be insane #i might just mute it and reupload it #there’s a lot of white noise lol #weedstop #girls who smoke weed #me #mine #2023 #vid

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kiruuuuu · 1 year

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Kiru's Advent Calendar, Day 21🛌

Without any further ado, here's the second part of that Smoke/Mute fic I posted yesterday! I hope you enjoy 😊 (Rating E, the best combination: explicit + emotional hurt/comfort + fluff, 6.9k words)

“Lie down”, comes the quiet request and neither of them lets go, resulting in Smoke half-dragging Mute with him, pondering whether he should awkwardly remove everything covering the bed with one hand or look for an alternative. He still hasn’t decided when Mute reaches around him and simply tosses the blanket aside, sending everything on top flying and replacing it with Smoke himself, pushed down onto the mattress with their connection now severed. He doesn’t get the chance to miss the contact because Mute descends on him immediately, shuffling the both of them further up on the bed until Smoke can rest his head on the pillow, chasing kisses and ‘accidentally’ kneeling on Smoke’s sweatpants, forcing him to partially undress himself.

Mute finishes the job with intoxicating smoothness, palms gliding over Smoke’s legs and brushing off his trousers almost as an afterthought, then pushing his shirt up until it pools around his neck. Their mouths only leave one another to allow for Smoke to take his top off properly, then slot back together for kisses deep enough to sink into entirely. It doesn’t feel like a mistake anymore, not even a tiny one, not like a grey area or anything questionable. It feels like heaven. It feels like something they should’ve been doing all along. Every touch of tongue on tongue is electrifying, the sensation of embracing the strong body above him a desperately needed kind of soothing. He wraps his legs around Mute’s hips to pull him closer until the weight of the other man presses him further into the mattress and he wishes they could stay like this forever.

Alas, they can’t – though the alternative is acceptable too: Mute sits back up to take his own t-shirt off, arms crossed and all, showing off muscles, and Smoke’s body temperature rises with every inch of revealed skin. He remembers vividly how he stared in disbelief when Mute undressed himself last time, exposing his sculpted chest and tan skin, and somehow, it’s even sexier this time. Maybe because he does it more deliberately, returns Smoke’s gaze, holds it as he finally gets rid of the stupid belt, unzips his jeans and good lord. Just the bit of underwear peeking out has Smoke sweating, let alone the way Mute so carelessly tosses his clothes aside like he’s got better things to do. Like the butt-naked Englishman before him.

And Smoke can’t help himself, he marvels at the beauty of Mute’s (largely) unmarred skin and needs to do something about it, he can’t not. Decisively, he yanks the younger man back down to his level and peppers his shoulder with kisses, smiling when Mute shies away with a low chuckle, and sucks on warm skin once it’s clear Mute isn’t going anywhere. They’re moving against each other now, bodies melting together like they were made for it, dancing to the rhythm of Smoke’s muffled moans. Somehow, he manages to drag Mute’s trousers down with his feet, hooks his toes into the waistband or the belt loops, whichever he can reach, and pulls them over toned thighs while his mouth makes Mute squirm delightfully. There’s only a thin layer of fabric separating their erections now and, judging by the noises escaping from his throat, Mute is getting into it again.

Hunger drives them as they start devouring what’s theirs, Mute’s hands squeezing Smoke’s arse, all of his weight half crushing the man under him, but Smoke doesn’t mind, not with his fingers carding through messy hair and his hips rolling against Mute’s, mouth still occupied with biting and suckling and licking whichever part of his lover he can reach. Teeth pull on Mute’s earlobe, forcing out a quiet gasp that shoots straight to his cock, and catching a glimpse of reddened, almost purple skin and bite marks fills him with pride. Regardless of the outcome, Mute will have to live with these mementos, just like the bruise on Smoke’s calf which faded over the course of almost two weeks. Reminding him every time he caught sight of it.

They could fuck like this, a steady transition of more and more insistent touches until Mute is suddenly inside him and they strive towards a mutual orgasm, and Smoke has no doubt it’d be phenomenal, but he’s got something else in mind. With more effort than he’d like to admit, he flips them over so he’s straddling the subject of all his desires and finally gets a better look at him. Mute’s hair is more tousled than usual, wet lips parted and stretched into a dreamy smile, neck covered in love bites (and they flatter him beautifully), breaths deep and measured. He looks like a young god.

It almost hurts to look at him.

“I want to ride you, babe”, Smoke tells him, though he should’ve phrased it as need, not want, and Mute does a content, affirmative nod like that’s what he’d been hoping for anyway, dopey smile still brightening his expression. He obediently lifts his hips as soon as Smoke reaches down to remove the last piece of clothing he’s still wearing, making Smoke rise with the gesture as well with no visible effort and Jesus Christ that shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Smoke takes his time on purpose, generously fondles Mute’s tight buttocks, brushes against his rock hard shaft, lets the waistband drag over it while pulling the briefs down and only relents when Mute starts trembling slightly from the exertion. He never once complains, however.

Once the offending piece of fabric is gone, Mute’s lower half sinks back onto the mattress and Smoke is suddenly glad he went for a larger toy earlier. His hand moves on his own, wraps fingers around the velvety-smooth flesh and marvels at the heat of it. Yeah, he needs this inside of him like five minutes ago. Before he can even open his mouth, Mute reads his mind and indicates the bedside table with his chin, muttering a vaguely embarrassed: “Behind the beer, next to the bowls.”

I’m in love with a fucking slob, Smoke thinks and suppresses the immediate flare up of panic upon the realisation that yes, he still does, and never didn’t, and this really isn’t the moment. He manages to grab the bottle in question without causing anything to topple, not even the precariously balanced pile of books, and pours some of the massage oil into his palm to warm it up. “No lube?”, he asks, curious, and earns a shake of the head. “Babe, you gotta stock up.”

“Didn’t have the need so far.”

Smoke raises a brow. “Well now you do.” And if Mute was planning on replying, he’s stopped short by Smoke’s hand encasing his cock and gliding down from the head to the very base, then back up just as slowly to coat it in the slippery liquid. He’s chewing on his lower lip again, visibly holding back a moan which escapes him nonetheless as soon as Smoke’s thumb rubs over his frenulum. He’s so sensitive, eyelids already falling shut as Smoke pumps him lazily – it must’ve been a miracle that he lasted as long as he did last time. “Babe. Talk to me”, he requests, drinking in how Mute blinks up at him in return, gaze unfocused.

The answer is not what he’d expected, delivered in a marvellously hoarse voice, a deadpan: “Get on with it.”

Well. No need to tell him twice. He flashes a quick grin, stomach flipping when it’s met with a mirror image, and lifts his hips, shuffling further up until he’s positioned correctly. The tip of Mute’s penis kisses his hole and has him shudder already, the anticipation killing him. He’s been fantasising about this ever since Mute very nearly fucked him unconscious, and despite the differing circumstances he’s not any less aroused – Mute is gorgeous, and hot, and staring up at him like he hung the stars, which in and of itself makes Smoke’s dick throb as violently as his heart.

When he pushes down slightly, he has to make a conscious effort to relax and is rewarded with the addictive feeling of being opened by Mute’s erection, his ring of muscle stretching to accommodate and twitching once the head finally slips in, aided by generous amounts of oil. Smoke has to pause and breathe, already feeling full yet wanting more, adjusting slowly to the girth. Mute’s facial expression has slipped a tad, disbelief creeping in, and when Smoke eventually buries him a little deeper, Mute’s eyelashes flutter and his mouth forms a silent oh. His eyes flick up and down, not sure whether to focus on the spot where they’re now connected or Smoke’s face, and impatience has his lower half attempt to meet somewhat faster, forcing a whimper out of Smoke as the thick shaft pushes in further.

“Don’t move, babe”, he gasps, pressing down on Mute’s taut stomach muscles as if that’d actually stop him from anything, “wait. Don’t move yet.” It feels so good, having Mute inside at last, but he knows he should go slowly if he wants to enjoy the ride.

Mute draws a shaky breath yet nods, hands coming to rest on Smoke’s thighs, creeping up a bit, and then they push -

“And don’t do that”, Smoke tries to admonish him while swatting his hands away, fighting against the amusement showing on his face, “you’re unbelievable. Don’t touch me. No, don’t – put your arms up. Arms up, babe. Keep them there.” He relaxes once Mute has obeyed and gripped the headboard with both hands, pursing his lips in an adorable pout, and how is he this cute with half his cock up Smoke’s arse?

To ease the slide, Smoke leans back, propping himself up on the mattress next to Mute’s thighs, and allows the rest of Mute’s erection inside with small thrusts, going deeper and deeper until it bottoms out and that’s approximately when Smoke’s brain stops working. He throws his head back as he grinds against the impossibly big cock, still getting accustomed to the feeling of being filled completely, and moans through clenched teeth when it twitches hard against his sweet spot. He’s sleeping with Mute, again, they’re enjoying the same intimacy as before, and it’s not just a spur-of-the-moment thing, Mute wants him and Mute wants him instead of anybody else, and it feels so fucking good he’s getting light-headed.

True to his word, Mute stays perfectly still yet is betrayed by the muscles standing out in his strong arms where he’s holding on to the headboard; he’s trying so hard not to move Smoke takes mercy on him. He rises up and up until the head pushes against the inside of his entrance and then sinks back down, enveloping it in tight heat once again, drawing a pitiful noise out of his lover. The movement is smooth, Mute’s cock going balls deep without any trouble again, throbbing in pleasure. Just to be sure, Smoke repeats the motion, toes curling as Mute reaches deep into his guts, and then he does it again because he likes the helpless look Mute throws him too much.

Normally, he’d go for a witty quip or some more dirty talk (especially since Mute is weak to it), but another vicious throb inside him hits just the right place, so all Smoke grits out before starting to ride Mute in earnest is a quiet, heartfelt oh GOD. And then his world melts together into an onslaught of pleasurable sensations.

Being in full control means he gets to set the pace and the angle, which in turn means he’s slamming his hips down like his life depended on it while grazing his prostate with every downwards motion – he only needs half of Mute’s length for that, though he occasionally buries him all the way inside when he’s forgotten what overstimulation feels like, or when he has to take a momentary break, or simply whenever he wants to hear Mute moan like a whore. The sound alone would be enough for fierce need to pool low in his belly, and coupled with the sensation of impaling himself on Mute’s dick, it’s positively magical.

He relishes it all, Mute’s adorable, adoring glances, feeling the body between his legs tense up in pleasure, his own thrumming lust demanding for more and ever more. Internally, he’s fighting over whether he should draw this out and enjoy it for longer or instead take what he can, hoping for a round two, aim for an orgasm intense enough to knock his socks off. And though he’d initially vowed to make it last (in case this ends up being a one-off, but he’s not thinking that too loudly), he has to admit the latter option seems more tempting.

Mute’s chest is glistening with sweat, the labour of not doing any work clearly getting to him – his entire body is tensing up, muscles tight and dancing on display, abs twitching. The moans he produces are miserable, either it’s too much or not enough for him; Smoke can’t tell because Mute doesn’t tell, though the lack of complaints has to indicate something. Now and then, he rakes his gaze over Smoke’s entire body, head to toe, always getting stuck in the middle where he can watch his own dick disappear inside his fellow teammate, where he can watch Smoke’s own follow his motions, slapping against his belly. Mute’s mouth seems lonely. Smoke idly wonders whether Mute would suck him off if he asked, and whether he’d let him come down his throat. His tongue is certainly skilled enough to coax out a killer climax.

By now, Smoke’s body is protesting against the position, his arms trembling under his weight, so he takes the opportunity to lean forward, lean down and seal Mute’s lips with his own once more. Their kisses start out sloppy and only get worse as Smoke keeps grinding his hips, yet the extra stimulation from playing with Mute’s tongue and rubbing his poor, forgotten erection over Mute’s flawless skin is more than worth the awkward position. The lad snogs him like he needs it to live, all open mouth and thinly-veiled despair, arching his back and needy groans. Smoke enjoys it for a little longer, sucks on his lower lip while letting him go deep, but when he sits back up, it’s his gig again.

He’s steadying himself on Mute’s chest, pressing down on ribs and savouring the resulting shallow, fast breaths, and picks up the pace. It’s not perfect, he can feel the sheer size of Mute’s dick better though the angle doesn’t work as well, yet they’re closer like this, keeping up eye contact, sharing more body heat. It makes Smoke want to tell him, burst out with all the feelings he’s harboured for his friend; his heart is full and threatening to overflow and maybe, just maybe, he can chalk it up to the heat of the moment later. He got away with it last time, didn’t he?

“James”, Mute interrupts his thoughts before he can decide to act on them, “can I touch you? Please?”

And he’s nodded before he fully processed the plea because how could he ever say no to this man?

With a relieved sigh, Mute immediately makes use of the permission and runs his palms over Smoke’s thighs, follows the rolling of his hips and guides them gently before moving on to roam over the rest of his body. Curious fingers seek out all his erogenous zones as if they knew exactly what to aim for: fingertips brush over his throat and press down experimentally, causing Smoke’s breath to hitch and his rhythm to falter momentarily because holy hell how does he know. They push between their legs and stroke over the place where they’ve become one, force Smoke to pause for a moment while they prod at his hole, making him shiver in pleasure. Of course, they play with his nipples, twist throaty moans out of him and have him nearly fold in half at some point, hips stuttering and stomach fluttering.

Eventually, they explore his crotch, wipe up some of the oil from the base of Mute’s own cock to smear it onto Smoke’s, stroke and squeeze and massage even more powerless noises out of him. They adapt to his tempo, sliding up when he bears down onto the delicious piece of flesh, stroking him all the way to the base when he lifts his pelvis again. He can’t see straight anymore, the mixture of Mute’s eagerness to please and his dick hitting all the right places is too much for him, he’s rapidly climbing up towards his climax now. Mute steals his move by massaging the sensitive spot directly below Smoke’s glans and adds an unfair twist to his wrist on the upstrokes and if he keeps this up for just a little longer, Smoke is going to blow his load much sooner than he’d like.

“Babe, I’m getting close”, he warns his lover, “but don’t stop. This feels amazing, you feel so good.” Mute’s focused expression shifts into something Smoke can’t interpret, but what he can interpret is Mute’s hands letting go of his weeping erection to move back to the top of his thighs. “I said don’t sto-oh fuck -”

While he’s still reeling, Mute looks up at him with what can only be described as puppy dog eyes, full of feigned innocence despite knowing he’s being very naughty, probably expecting Smoke to tell him off yet before he can do so, Mute again slams up into him, to the hilt, at the same time pushing Smoke’s hips down to meet his thrust and Smoke’s vision is gone for a second.

This is too much. It’s too deep. He explicitly told Mute not to -

When Mute repeats the motion, one of Smoke’s arms gives in and he’s forced to steady himself on his lower arms instead of just his hands, which brings him much closer to Mute’s face, meaning the bastard can give him a quick, cheeky kiss before rearranging his insides. Again. “Babe”, he starts and whatever else he wanted to add is lost and replaced with a high-pitched whine because now Mute’s changed to a choppy, fast tempo, burying himself completely inside Smoke with each thrust and holding him in place, allowing for no escape. He’s got no choice but to let Mute have his way with him, he’s physically too weak to fight back and mentally too smitten to try – besides, it feels fucking sensational, it’s just – it’s the principle of it, he wanted to be in control this time and -

- and Mute slams right against his sweet spot and Smoke’s cock twitches so hard he worries about pulling a muscle.

Okay. Yeah.

This is fine.

He gives in with an animalistic, guttural groan and lets Mute mercilessly pound into him for the second time in his life. The lad is manipulating his body however he wants it, pushes him up so they can trade some more spit (because this has little to do with kissing anymore), lifts and drops his hips so he can reach as deep as he likes, digs his fingertips into strained thigh muscles to force out more half pained, half appreciative noises. When it becomes clear Mute is too occupied with scratching up Smoke’s sides and groping his backside to pay any attention to his neglected erection, Smoke (literally) takes it into his own hand and starts jerking himself to the erratic tempo of Mute’s movements.

His blood is hot in his veins, intensifying every shock of pleasure until he’s left simply whining into the crook of Mute’s neck, cheek against cheek, their chests pressed together, bodies moving in unison. He’s close, Mute’s ministrations brought him almost to the edge and now he’s hovering near it, pausing his strokes intermittently to not go too far, and their physical proximity is getting to him. Mute is cradling him in his arms, mouthing at and moaning against his skin, sweat-slicked and burning, thrusts getting faster, more desperate. His increasing urgency is contagious and Smoke finds himself babbling, he’s got no control over what comes out of his mouth anymore.

“Come inside me, babe, please”, he begs, probably preaching to the choir, “just tell me when. I love you. God, you feel so good. Don’t stop.”

Mute’s rhythm falters momentarily (and Smoke can guess why), he draws a sharp breath and buries his teeth in Smoke’s shoulder, the brilliant pain somehow amplifying the overwhelming need to come. “Don’t”, Mute mumbles around a mouthful of skin while he continues to bury himself balls deep. “James – don’t.”

There’s no stopping him now. Smoke repeats it, meeting Mute’s thrusts and his own fist with reckless abandon, says it again and again and Mute’s response in the form of a quiet, hopeless whimper is music to his ears. Though he doesn’t trust his own body to support him anymore, not with how wobbly he feels, Smoke lifts himself up with one arm to say it directly to Mute’s pleading, desperate, pleasure-contorted, beautiful face: “Babe. I love you.”

And, without any warning at all, Mute just explodes inside him. He shoves himself as deep as he will go, and comes, lets out a deafening moan that his neighbours probably had no chance not to hear, eyes rolling back, grip impossibly tight on Smoke’s waist. Smoke can feel every single spurt, feels the shaft inside him jump and it’s the most magical thing he’s ever seen, even factoring in the last time they did this – and since his own hand never stopped, kept stroking his own cock, he’s shoved off the edge also as soon as he realises what exactly it was that triggered his lover’s orgasm.

When the first storm front of blinding pleasure rolls through him, he involuntarily clamps down on Mute’s throbbing dick, causing it to twitch even harder, causing Smoke to tense up again, and so they shudder their way through their orgasms, heightening each other’s pleasure as they hold on for dear life. Smoke can hardly bear touching himself with how intense it feels, his cock shooting out white strands all over Mute’s torso as he trembles and pants and wallows in mind-numbing ecstasy; and below him, Mute squirms and moves against him, intent on prolonging this divine feeling even more. They end up riding it out in small motions, teeth gritted and fingers twitching, basking in the intensity of it until it starts to fade gently. Even then, they coast on the aftershocks once the overpowering sensations have mellowed out, puffing out incredulous breaths, eyes closed in bliss.

Eventually, Smoke’s arm does give in and he unceremoniously collapses onto Mute, trapping his too-sensitive dick between their bodies but not finding it in himself to care. Mute withdraws awkwardly, leaves behind an uncomfortable void and it’s a sign Smoke is sobering up that their general stickiness is beginning to bother him. Still, he enjoys the physical contact, the warmth, the all-encompassing exhaustion slowly taking over; his limbs are made of butter and bones no more than a suggestion. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to even slide off without considerable help. Maybe Mute won’t mind sleeping like this. Smoke certainly doesn’t.

He considers driving the point home by repeating himself post-coitus, though he assumes Mute wouldn’t appreciate it – in the heat of the moment, sure, he might interpret it as appropriate teasing, as a way for Smoke to assert what little dominance he can, possibly even a form of dirty talk (and that thought is particularly weird). But now? Now it’d carry weight. It would actually mean something.

And somehow, that prospect terrifies him.

Below him, Mute’s breathing has evened out to a point where it’s becoming suspicious, so Smoke nudges him. “Hey. No sleeping yet.”

The response is a disgruntled hum he recognises as Mute’s universal sign for ‘leave me alone, I’m too tired’. His eyes are closed, his entire body devoid of tension. Yeah, he’s gonna be useless like this, they’d better postpone talking until the next morning.

Groaning in agony, Smoke rolls off the other man, stretching and bending parts of his body so they feel like his own again, and eventually manages to pull the blanket out from all the crap under which it’s still buried. If Mute doesn’t care enough to keep his bedroom clean, surely he won’t mind come stains on his sheets.

He looks peaceful like this, forehead smooth, long eyelashes fanned out on his reddened cheeks, chest rising and falling slowly. While Smoke watches, Mute turns away from him and then backs up until they’re spooning, melts into Smoke’s negative space and shoves him slightly to indicate he wants to cuddle proper, only stops once Smoke has wrapped an arm and a leg around him, pulling him close. It’s adorable. It’s so fucking adorable Smoke presses his nose into Mute’s hair and tries really hard not to tear up.

This is what he wanted. Above all, this is what he’s been wishing for – the sex is nice, sure… well, it’s phenomenal, but really he craves proximity, trust, shared comfort.

He hopes with every fibre of his being that they can clear up whatever went wrong tomorrow.

Despite sleeping like the dead, Smoke wakes up first, blinking at the unfamiliar ceiling and requiring a few heartbeats to orient himself. They’ve lost most of the blanket overnight, though it’s not like they needed it – Mute is a space heater, radiating comforting warmth like nobody’s business. He’s still pressed against Smoke and taking deep breaths, sleep uninterrupted.

Smoke decides against waking him for now in order to sort his own thoughts and slips out of bed, stumbling into the bathroom to take a leak and a well-deserved shower. The shower gel smells of nothing but Mute and it feels like blasphemy to surround himself with this scent, yet he can’t stop himself. While the too-hot water drums on his skull, he tries to come up with a plan, any sort of… idea of how to untangle this mess. Which questions to ask, which answers to demand. Which topics to avoid, maybe. Which apologies to give first.

It could be the early hour, or the residual tiredness, or the fact that thinking straight while wrapping himself in a towel that also smells like Mute is nigh impossible: his mind is utterly empty. All he can do is exist until Mute perceives him, and then the two of them can decide how to move forward. It feels like he’s stopped grieving for the time being without allowing himself any hope, and the result is vast emptiness. Gone is the dread overshadowing his entire life, but gone is also the pleasant afterglow from last night.

No hope. Not yet. He wouldn’t want the same thing to happen twice.

For a lack of better options, he puts his sweatpants and t-shirt back on, if only to feel vaguely human again, and moves the pile of boxes onto the windowsill so he can sit down on the only chair in the room, slightly behind the bed. He’s got a perfect view of Mute’s sleeping face like this, angelic and unguarded. Choosing not to take a picture with his phone is one of his better decisions, that’s for sure – if it all goes south, he wouldn’t want to be confronted with it again, neither now nor in the future. For various reasons. If this goes well, he’ll be blessed with the view again anyway.

If.

Before he can debate how to wake the sleeping beauty, Mute starts stirring by himself and rolls on his back to stretch, arms spreading and hands moving as if he’s looking for something – but before Smoke can draw attention to himself, Mute sits up abruptly, eyes wide. He glances down the opposite side of the bed from Smoke before hissing out a heartfelt fuck, and then he’s suddenly scrambling to get out of bed, half tripping over everything in the process. He rushes out of the room, still swearing under his breath, and leaves his dumbfounded guest behind.

Smoke blinks.

He can hear Mute race through the apartment, throwing doors open and uttering increasingly desperate curses, and it’s obvious what happened. He’s thinking Smoke left. He must’ve not seen him in his peripheral vision, checked for his clothes only to find them gone, and seems to be unsuccessful in his current search.

What in the world. Unexpected doesn’t cut it, this is bordering on concerning territory. It’s an intense reaction to finding Smoke missing, to say the least, and he has absolutely no idea what to do with it.

A soft vibration by his thigh prompts him to check his phone and, to nobody’s surprise (but everyone’s worry), it’s Mute texting him. And although it’s no more than three words, they reek of desperation, were likely typed with shaky fingers.

Call me, his display shows. Please.

Smoke draws a deep breath and puts his phone down on the bedside table before getting up. He finds Mute in the living room, still naked, kneeling on the floor and clutching his own device in his hands as if it allowed him to breathe. There are scratch marks on his body, love bites all over, his hair a complete mess. And despite knowing their origin, Smoke finds that it all makes Mute look wild, cornered. Hurt.

“What are you doing?”, he asks, making the poor lad nearly jump out of his skin. He stares at him, mouth open, then gets up, a whole bunch of different emotions visible in his expression: confusion, despair, distress, panic, shame. He even tries to hide his nakedness somehow, which serves as a sharp reminder that he must’ve been more intoxicated last night than Smoke realised. This is the Mute he knows, the one who turns into a skittish animal whenever honest feelings are involved, and not the suave fuckboy who doesn’t even ask for permission before ramming -

“Let’s get back to bed”, Smoke suggests, voice gentle, and holds out his hand. He thinks he can see moisture glistening in Mute’s eyes and wonders: what happened to you, darling.

To Mute’s credit, he accepts the offer and interlaces their fingers once more, trails awkwardly behind Smoke and takes the first opportunity to hide most of his body under the blanket. Attempting to even the playing field, Smoke undresses before joining him, though it somehow doesn’t quell the lad’s nervousness. “Please explain”, he demands and now Mute also tries to hide his face.

“Fuck”, he says, eloquently.

Silent, Smoke keeps on holding on to his hand while carding his fingers through Mute’s mane, hoping the gesture helps to slow both their heartbeats. Neither of them utters a word until Mute has ceased his trembling and there’s nothing left but vague horror on his face.

“I’m – oh god, this is awful. I’m awful. I’m such a bloody moron”, he eventually mutters, shaking his head. His ears are crimson: an indication of how incredibly uncomfortable he must be right now. Smoke still understands nothing. “I’m so sorry. James, you don’t understand, and you won’t understand, but I genuinely am sorry. I just – I didn’t know. I didn’t know what to do, and what not to do, and so I did everything wrong -”

“Babe”, Smoke interrupts him, “as much as I enjoy watching you grovel, maybe you should tell me what in all of the fucks is going on.”

All Mute produces in return is something Smoke can only call a pitiful squeak, which clears up exactly fuck all. Alright. Different strategy.

“Then I’ll start. Because I’m sorry too.”

This, at least, penetrates the aura of embarrassment Mute projects probably without realising. “What?!”, he goes, almost indignant, previous terror entirely forgotten.

“I… took advantage of you. You know, last time. Well, yesterday too. You were -”

“No you didn’t.” There’s anger colouring his words now. “Bollocks. I told you to stay that time, didn’t I? You gave me every opportunity – and I initiated. Both times! What are you – don’t tell me that’s actually what you thought.”

Smoke frowns. “You were not in a position to give informed consent.”

“You know, that makes it worse. That makes it so much worse”, Mute muses, sounding fatalistic.

“What makes what worse?”

“Everything.”

They still haven’t moved forward a single step. “Look, why don’t you just… start at the beginning. What happened, why did you start avoiding me, what happened yesterday?”

“Okay.” Mute nods, rubbing over his face likely in the hopes it’ll help him get his brain in order (it doesn’t, Smoke has tried many times himself) and heaves a deep sigh. “Yeah. I suppose. But don’t hate me after this. And don’t laugh! Promise you won’t laugh.”

At this point Smoke would’ve given several toes if it meant he’d get a straight answer out of this idiot in front of him. He’s getting the creeping suspicion that he worried a lot about nothing and that Mute is even worse at communicating than he thought. “Sure. I promise.”

“Alright. Yes. Okay. Well, as you know – of course, you were there – we, um, there was the terrorist lab, and during the mission, I got, uh -”

Jesus fucking Christ. If Smoke wasn’t this tense about finding out what went wrong between them, he’d be a lot more amused about Mute’s waffling, but right now he doesn’t have the nerve to listen to it. “Yeah, yeah, you enthusiastically pounded several loads into my holes. Go on.” Mute fixes him with a unique mix of reproach and embarrassment. His ears are bright red. “Babe, you’ve had your cock all the way down my throat and you can’t even say out loud that we had sex?”

“This is part of the problem”, Mute grits out, sounding strained.

“My filthy mouth?” Smoke suggested it as a joke and did not expect for Mute to answer with a slight nod. “What, seriously? What? How?”

Wordlessly, Mute lifts the blanket and allows Smoke full view of his glorious cock, well on the way towards fully erect and proud.

“Oh”, says Smoke.

Mute drops the blanket again.

They look at each other for a few seconds, unmoving.

Well. There’s only one thing to do, probably. Smoke purses his lips and offers a quiet: “… want me to take care of that?”

Five minutes later, after Smoke has wanked his lover to completion, sucked on his nipples and cradled his balls while Mute shuddered and moaned through it all, he finally gets some answers. Mute’s orgasm has tangibly relaxed him, and while he pets Smoke’s head in absent-minded affection, he comes clean.

“I got too much in my own head, I suppose. I’m not normally that… dominant – unless I’m drunk apparently –, and I was worried you’d expect it of me afterwards. And I was sure you’d be disappointed. And then I started wondering whether you even had any interest in me, or whether you just saw it as a one night stand and that was it. Or whether you’d just want me for sex, or whether you would think I would just want you for sex when I suddenly showed an interest after we did it. It was a whole mess, I had myself convinced that we were doomed to fail, that you would laugh at me the next time we slept together, or that rumours would spread, or… something equally stupid. It was stupid. I was stupid, and I knew it, and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“Moron”, replies Smoke, deadpan, startling a snort out of the other man.

“Yeah. I was. I am. It’s probably the only area in my life where I’m really self conscious.”

“You should be more self conscious about tidying your room.”

“Fuck off.” Despite the blunt reply, Smoke’s light banter has conveyed exactly what it meant to: it’s fine. I still like you. The pained expression on Mute’s face that showed as he talked about the sensitive topic had no time to solidify.

“And you’re aware you could’ve, you know, talked to me, right?”

“No! See? That’s the thing – I couldn’t!”, comes Mute’s emphatic response, and oh boy, this better be good. “I couldn’t talk to you. I tried. I almost did, once or twice, but it just… no.”

“Huh? Did I interrupt you? Or why?” Smoke seeks his gaze, confused, since he doesn’t remember the lad ever seeking him out for a serious conversation – sure, he’d looked at him a few times like he wanted to spill some beans, but nothing ever came out. And again, Mute gives him an almost accusatory stare before gesturing broadly in the direction of his own crotch.

“What?” He suddenly remembers Mute’s earlier remark as well as his… extreme reaction to Smoke’s dirty mouth, and the truth dawns on him. “… what.”

“Yes. I know. Tell me about it.” Mute seems genuinely upset. “I couldn’t. Every time I looked at you, I just remembered… god, it was so bloody hot that I couldn’t think about anything else while you were there. It’s like I suddenly had see-through-clothes-vision – which shouldn’t ever be called x-ray vision, thank you very much – because you might as well not have worn anything at all, ever, because I just… pictured you…”

Smoke’s mouth is wide open. He can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“And whenever you looked at me, it was even worse, it was like magnetic attraction or some shite. I couldn’t deal with it, not in public. I just couldn’t. You were too much. And acting on it would’ve been certifiably insane, we only saw each other at work which is an absolute no-go, especially after we’ve already done it on a mission – on a mission! – and the others were always around, and they’d know. Oh you know they’d know. So no chance. Nuh uh. Besides, you probably would’ve thought that all I wanted from you was sex which is not true, and therefore -”

“Wait. Wait, hold up.” It takes Mute several seconds to stop gabbing, he’s talked himself into a rage directed at himself and Smoke needs to take a huge fucking step back here. Because what the actual hell. “Mark. Are you actually telling me that the sole reason you ignored me for weeks, that the explanation for all the mental anguish I went through thinking you genuinely hated me, that I’d done something unforgivable to you, that I’d ruined a friendship and lost the love of my life, that all of that happened… because you got incurably horny around me and couldn’t deal with it like a grown adult?”

A long pause.

Smoke stares.

“I know, I know”, Mute is wincing now, face contorted in regret and shame, “there’s… no redemption there, I agree. But it was just… you called me babe once, I think on accident, and I had a boner for two hours – I had to hold a meeting in front of most of the others and I was adjusting my trousers the whole time, hoping nobody’s gonna say anythingand I know that doesn’t in any way compare to what you -”

“That”, Smoke cuts in, barely able to compose himself, “is so fucking funny.”

Mute blinks. Looks at him, bewildered. “What -”

He needs a moment before he can continue, eyes wide in disbelief and stomach clenching in suppressed amusement. “I – I promised not to laugh, so I’m not laughing. But if you think for even one second that I’d ever let you live this shite down, you’re sorely mistaken.” He can’t help the grin stealing onto his face, betraying the immense relief he feels – he’s giddy, his chest so light it feels like he could float away at any moment. God, what absolute idiots they both are, worrying about nothing when they’ve both wanted the same exact thing this whole time: each other. Hearing Mute say it (imply it, whatever, he said he wanted more than sex, which is good enough for him) leaves him dizzy and breathless and elated. “You can bet your pretty arse that I’ll be exploiting this for years to come. Oh, I’ll call you babe in public when you least expect it. Say goodbye to any kind of decency because I’ll -”

“Does that mean we’re good?”, comes the quiet, meek question which instantly disarms Smoke. His will to keep teasing his lover vanishes entirely, leaving nothing but fierce, helpless affection. Yeah, there’s no way he’s ever going to say no to anything Mute asks of him.

“Yeah. We’re good”, he confirms softly, kissing a dark purple spot on Mute’s shoulder before adding a grumbled: “Fucking gobshite.”

He earns a low chuckle and a tight embrace that feels like heaven. Like finally arriving after a long, arduous journey. Like a reunion at the airport. “I’m sorry”, says Mute again and Smoke has no doubt that he is.

Snuggling up to the light of his life, he mutters: “You do know that you owe me a variety of special favours now, right?”

And though he can’t see it, he’s positive Mute’s ears just turned a shade darker.

#rainbow six siege #fanfic #kac #smoke/mute #smoke #mute #these two absolutely haunt me and I'm ok with that #also mute you muppet #I thought about writing a bit of the in between events from his POV #because honestly that would've been hilarious

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