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blackiraven · 1 year

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I recently played “Vampire: TMB”, so it was born...

This rough sketch was written in a few nights when I had free time between writing my master's thesis. Therefore, I do not know if it is possible for this vampire au to continue.

The Bloody Kiss of a Nightmare.

Again, night slowly crept out from behind the distant horizon and pounced on the cramped city. Darkness filled all the small corners, swallowed the inaccessible tops of multi-storey buildings. The rays of the warm sun could no longer protect mortals, and therefore the creatures of evil once again broke out into the fresh, frosty air. Hunger and thirst with internecine strife pulled them, like a leash, on a new hunt.

And only in one place did darkness and gloom always live. A lair hidden from everyone underground, a real frozen crypt right under the city center. The perfect home for one of the most dangerous creatures. The stone walls absorbed all the noise of streets and houses coming from above. Several small rooms seemed endless because of the viscous blackness in which the interior items were drowned. The owner saw everything perfectly and was guided. But the light sources were still present here: a lot of burning candles lined up in long rows and illuminated the road. It was a small gesture of hospitality.

The sounds of light and calm footsteps resounded on all sides. The newly arrived guest knew perfectly well and realized where fate had brought him today. Riddler's cane was confidently knocking on the floor, creating a rhythm that relieves tension. All the short way he was carefully accompanied by a tall and nimble shadow, jumping from wall to wall. The twitching flame of the candles molded different images and different creatures from human nightmares out of the shadows. - You came to me... - Scarecrow whispered with satisfaction and even a little surprised when Riddler reached the library - a source of valuable knowledge about vampires, ancient magic and alchemy. This collection accumulated over decades is always proudly displayed to every visitor of the abode of fear. - Your invitation was too attractive.- a silk-gloved hand slipped noiselessly under the emerald jacket and took out a neatly opened envelope. This letter, written in the old-fashioned way, with pen and ink, was brought by the black raven, personally into the hands of Nygma. On paper Crane expressed his great desire to meet with him. And some lines were able to reach out and gently touch the strings of the soul and the curiosity of Riddler.

"Your image is stuck in my head. You collect paper birds from my thoughts and release them into free flight."

Thin threads of darkness intertwined in front of Edward into a viscous clot. From this mixture of whispers and barely perceptible screams of each victim, a tall and thin figure came out to him, covered with patches of black-brown leather sewn with large seams and wrapped with thick ropes. Long hair partially concealed a pale, sharp face. - Hello, Edward. I'm glad you decided to come here. You don't have to be afraid of me.- the hoarse voice tried to sound polite and restrained. The clawed hands slowly reached out to the warm human palm. Riddler did not resist and allowed Scarecrow to take off his glove and kiss the soft skin with thin icy lips.

"My job is to pick up a mask of horror for everyone, but I don't want my art to creep into your mind."

- Nice to meet you, Jonathan. Let me guess, a powerful vampire like you called me in order to... - feeling slight goosebumps caused by the dead cold, Edward smoothly pulled his hand back to stroke the monster standing in front of him on his sunken cheek.

- Yes... I want to taste you... drink you.- baring his long, thin fangs, Crane growled excitedly and buried his nose in the tender palm in order to enjoy the smell and warmth of the blood circulating in the vessels a little more. When ordinary people fall into the lair of a Scarecrow, they are doomed to cruel death and complete draining, but Riddler was special. The blood in his veins is unique, valuable. Bloody ambrosia, vampire wine, moon blood – there are many names, but the meaning is the same. This magnificent taste will bring any vampire to ecstasy and overwhelm with crushing power. Edward Nygma actively uses his peculiarity and quickly took a cozy place among the vampires of Gotham. There are only a few like him all over the world, and at the moment it is unknown how the owners of this blood appear. That is why Riddler was never afraid of vampires, but, on the contrary, tamed them and subdued them. The most obedient, loyal and dutiful are rewarded with a couple of sips of golden blood. Killing or incarcerating these precious people is punishable for any creature, so Eddie has long since exchanged human society for vampire society.

The invitation from Jonathan Crane is a great success, as he is a very strong, cruel and deadly vampire, sorcerer and scientist. And Nygma wished to have such a useful ally. - Oh, how straightforward. I like the openness of your kind. And how can fear satisfy a genius?- Riddler switched to a playful whisper, which pleased Scarecrow. The glove fell off the second hand and there was more pleasant warmth. These touches felt different and stirred up everything long dead inside. He came close to his guest and carefully examined the undistorted fear face. A sly smile, but not cutting the spine, a soft and full of life look. Soaked in dark magic, the body clearly caught every breath and heartbeat. A charming and alluring melody that will evoke memories of a past life for everyone and awaken echoes of faded human feelings.

"I began to be interested in the magic of dreams, as I would love to visit your dreams."

- The embodiment of fear will never encroach on you. I can come to you in dangerous moments - just think about me. Your best subordinates will be able to learn some useful things from me, if they can survive it, of course. In return, I want the opportunity to study your phenomenon and taste it. But don't flirt with my loyalty, Mr. Nygma, it can make me very angry...- in order to think soberly and not accidentally overdo it, John, reluctantly, was forced to stop the velvet touches. He is one of those who was able to break the bonds of his relatives and kill the one who turned him, take all strength for himself, and then also get and absorb the past generation.

At first it was only a scientific interest, a craving for study and discovery in a clouded offshoot. But after finding out the details about the first known owner of moon blood in Gotham, the vampire began to attract something to him. - Perfect. And you haven't seen how I play my games yet. You might like it.- but Edward was not at all afraid of Crane's well-known reputation, for him it was a new and large-scale game, a long and exciting round. Scarecrow's offers and patronage completely suited him. The figures were placed, the cards were distributed. The first move is to conclude a contract. Riddler defiantly loosened his green tie and unbuttoned the first buttons of his white shirt.

- Do you trust me with your neck? Will you let me leave a mark and make you mine?- Jonathan shook his head curiously. Straight claws carefully walked up the chest and straightened the ironed collar. The source of the holy blood opened to him like a flower awakened after winter, like a juicy fruit that is about to fall from a tree. The smell of this man captivated the vampire, intoxicated him and invited him. - Believe me, I am confident in myself. And in you, Professor Crane.- with a strong grip, Riddler grabbed Scarecrow's shoulders and brazenly pressed himself against an almost new ally so as not to lose his balance in the future. But Jonathan quickly joined in a short flirtation and picked him up, holding him by the waist and head. The bared fangs approached the skin, the nostrils inhaled an attractive smell again, the long tongue slowly licked the appropriate place. - Mmm... when is a human's blood ready for vampire consumption? When it boils up with anticipation…-

"Will you allow me to taste a piece of you and appropriate it for myself?"

Abruptly, like a beast, Crane clung to Nygma's neck, right into the cherished artery. For the first time, Scarecrow's bite was intentionally painless. Bloody ambrosia poured in large streams down his throat to his stopped heart. Riddler immediately tensed, stiffened, but after a second he went limp in his hands and began to moan loudly from the pleasure that a bite creates by mutual consent. Deep sighs and shudders awakened a vampire growl. It was indescribable, every sip gave a feeling of sweet oblivion and rebirth. It was as if there was no turning into a vampire. All the forgotten human pleasures are entwined in a single euphoria. The grains of good memories formed into rich and colorful pictures. The warm, spicy drink turned his head and carried far-far away that he could reach the moon. The blood he drank filled him with strength and new thoughts, reflections. The incessant human groans of bliss made the harsh vampire melt and drop a couple of unsalted tears. John will forever remember the scent of blood and the special rhythm of the heartbeat with breathing, by which he will be able to find Edward among the crowd, and even underground. This valuable life is in his hands and now he will not allow anyone to take his treasure. At the right moment, Scarecrow stopped and licked a deep bite mark. Riddler, still arriving in the semblance of an orgasm, lost consciousness due to blood loss and continued to breathe deeply. - Finally, you're mine... - Crane licked lips that had absorbed the blood and then kissed Nygma to grab a little more vital warmth. Now the embodiment of horror and nightmare protects the mortal prince of puzzles, who will cherish his tamed vampire. Perhaps this is the beginning of something more than just a union.

"I collect other people's screams, crying and pleas for mercy. But now my goal is your groan, which will rise above all the exhibits."

#if there are mistakes in the text then I sorry #yes I love romantic John #vampire au #fanfic #scriddler #riddlecrow #scarecrow #riddler #jonathan crane #edward nygma #Blacki's fanfiction #bad english

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wingsyliveblogs · 2 years

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Extremely important question:

What Owl House character would look best with a ponytail?!?!

This is, indeed, an extremely important question!

Hmmm. Depending on whether we’re talking canon designs only, or purely hypothetically, the answers could be pretty different.

Going by canon designs alone, I think the only major characters who would even be capable of wearing their hair in ponytails would be Amity (given her canon ponytail-adjacent hairdo) and Lilith (given a loose definition of “major character”, since Lilith doesn’t appear in the OP but I wanted to include her in my speculation). The other kids either have short hair or no hair at all, and I fear that Eda’s hair cannot be restrained by any mortal accessory.

Considering this question theoretically and assuming any character could have a ponytail by, say, wearing a wig or growing their hair out... I’ve discussed this one with my siblings, and we came to the conclusion that pretty much all of them would look good in a ponytail, depending on what type of ponytail it was! For example, I think Luz would wear a short little ponytail really well - it would look nice and it wouldn’t interfere too much with her preferred short hair aesthetic that she’s maintained for at least 7 years. (For that reason, though, I don’t think she’d want a ponytail.)

I’d say the same for Gus: I think Gus would look great with a baby ponytail. Amity too, I think, since her hairstyle is already pretty close. However, I think Willow’s cute little poofy hair looks better as is... if she had a ponytail, it’d have to be a bit longer to capture that poofiness. I think she might actually look better leaving her hair down if it were longer, sort of like Lilith. For Lilith herself, I think a ponytail would take away from her regal flowy hair aesthetic, which is probably why she made the questionable decision to not put her hair up while she was running around in the woods. If she had a ponytail, it would have to be fancy.

Of course, all this doesn’t answer the actual question you asked, and to that I have to say the character who I think would look best with a ponytail has to be Eda! As wonderful as her majestic mane looks in its canon form, if it were physically possible to pull all that into a proper ponytail, it would look great on her.

Also, while my siblings and I were discussing this we considered the idea that King could technically have a ponytail as well if he were to wear a wig, and now I have a mental image of King in one of those old fancy wigs that posh gentlemen used to wear that I feel compelled to share with all of you. That is all.

#wingsy liveblogs #ask #wingsy watches owl house #I think Luz with a ponytail would be very cute but her canon hairstyle is really good and I wouldn't want to change it #I don't think I've ever seen a protagonist who's a girl with hair cropped that short? it feels important #and it's definitely a Look #thanks for the ask!

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writtenbyancientghosts · 2 years

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Tag 10 people you’d like to know better

Thank you for tagging me @danceintheskies !!! I don't have very many friends on Tumblr but I will tag the few I have :0

Relationship status: I am very single!!! I have been really happy lately with my friends though, so I'm having a good time hanging out there!

Favorite color: My favorite color is this garishly bright red! Honestly it kind of burns my eyes to look at for too long, but something about it makes me very happy! It tastes like a Shirley Temple and feels like flour-dusted dough. It's the most tangible color of them all to me.

Favorite food: It is mapo tofu hands down. I went vegan semi-recently, which has really limited my food options! But mapo tofu is perhaps the best food ever, and it still fits in my diet!! It's very spicy and filling and tastes so good with the rice... Before I went vegan, an everything bagel with butter and an egg that was runny in the middle was my favorite food ever though. I had it every morning for breakfast!

Song stuck in your head: Diamond City Lights by LazuLight...... Iluna just debuted so I am feeling very VTuber OTL

Last thing you googled: "bright red" for the image!! LOL. Before that, frantic google mapping for the worldle.

Time: It is 1:37 AM! I should. Go to bed soon. (Update. finishing this at 9:41 PM a week later.)

Dream trip: Oh literally so many places... I'd love to go somewhere where I can speak the local language, though! So maybe somewhere Spanish speaking (after some more practice), and hopefully in a few years a place that speaks Mandarin! I also think New Zealand and Norway are really pretty...

Last book you enjoyed reading: The most recent book I read that really smacked me over the head as a fantastic read was The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo!! I went in knowing nothing, and that was really really good for this book specifically. Would recommend.

Last book you hated reading: It's been a long time since I've read a book I've genuinely hated. Maybe in middle school, the Matched series? When I was a kid, bad books made me feel actually a little sick to read, and this was one of them. I was sad this happened because YA dystopian romances were my jam back then.

Bonus:

Favorite thing to cook/bake: UM. Banana bread. Always a winner. (Once again with the vegan thing, banana bread is pretty easy to make vegan and still good.)

Favorite craft to do in your spare time: Probably writing!! I've always loved writing, like my whole life, and I've been meaning to etch out more time for it in my daily schedule!

Most niche dislike: This specific feeling. When you've had a bad day and your shoulders are SO tense and you want to splay out on your floor and watch a loud Youtube video, and you finally get back to your shared living space and your roommate is asleep so you have to quietly walk back to your bed and just lie on it in the dark. Like, when you want to fall apart loudly but you have to be restrained even in your living space as to not wake up your roommate. THE WORST EVER!

Opinion on circus(es) now and in history: Fascinating question. I honestly like the vibes of an old circus in history. Modern circuses ... aren't real? I've never heard of one ever. Oh, cirque du soleil. Scary, would rather go to a theater.

Do you have a sense of direction and if not what is the worst way you ever got lost: (This one's longer because i DO have a story.) After I have taken a route a few times my sense of direction gets cemented pretty solidly. Before that it's between god and google maps. This being said, one time I was on a two hour drive to my friend's house. I was dressed as Lemon Meringue from Strawberry Shortcake for important reasons. My phone (my entire nav system, my car was made in 1997), was at five percent, and I was running on FUMES on a massive road with an unnecessary number of lanes. I could not find a gas station for the life of me. I pulled into a town, and then what I think was a prison. Some very nice people directed me to a gas station, and I immediately took the wrong turn and ended up on the huge road again. It was 85 degrees. I finally made it to a gas station but BARELY, and then sat in the back of a CVS for thirty minutes to charge my phone. That was pretty embarrassing. My friends made me share my location with them so they could save me if my phone and car simultaneously died.

@ladyrainmaster @mintyfishuu I'm holding a gun to your heads, politely.

#long posts #chainmail #my posts

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putschki1969 · 7 years

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Translation of “Kalafina +1″ SPICE Interview

Original article

I really like this interview. I think it reveals a lot and it’s nice to hear Minami Sasuga’s thoughts as well. Big shout out to @kuroiyuki88 who helped me A LOT with this!! Thank you so much!

Disclaimer: As always, be aware that I am by NO MEANS fluent in Japanese, English is also not my first language (beware of random punctuation). I put a lot of effort into this but still, there will most likely be mistakes in my translations so please, take them with a grain of salt! I sometimes take certain liberties because I am just not a big fan of super literal translations. I think it can really interrupt my flow of reading. So yeah, I’ve tried to make it sound as natural as possible. But don’t worry, I am trying VERY hard to stay true to the original meaning.

Find my other translations HERE!!

Don’t repost this translation on other sites without my permisson!!

Please credit me (as well as @kuroiyuki88) when you use parts of these translations! => http://putschki1969.tumblr.com/

Now, please enjoy! (/^▽^)/

“Kalafina + 1” Interview - Minami Sasuga tells us of 「Kalafina’s potential to head towards a much wider world」

Kalafina and Minami Sasuga Photography=Kikuchi Takahiro

Kalafina’s 9th Anniversary Concert Tour 『Kalafina “9+ONE”�� will be held starting from April 15. SPICE got inspired by the title “9+ONE” and invited Kalafina as well as one more person who is closely related to them for a cross-talk interview. For the first time we have choreographer and director Minami Sasuga with us. I have invited Miss Minami who is managing Kalafina’s live productions so she could tell me about how she is planning to produce those 9th Anniversary lives, about her relationship with Kalafina and many more things. Please also enjoy Kalafina’s girl talk.

――This time, for 「Kalafina + 1」 I invited director Minami Sasuga-san for our cross-talk. The tour is gradually approaching, a while back you officially completed your 9th Anniversary Live, now you have taken the next step of starting your tour preparations, right?

Keiko: That’s right. The other day we had a fitting session for our outfits and we were going over our setlist and such, it feels like we have crossed the start line for each and every aspect.

――I’d like to ask Minami-san, how was your first encounter with Kalafina?

Minami: I joined at the time of 『Kalafina LIVE THE BEST 2015 “Red Day”』.

――What was your first impression of Kalafina?

Minami: When I first got told, I watched everything they had done so far and my first impression was 「they are doing freaking amazing!」. It was obvious that they had a lot of intention, with that in mind, I thought deeply about the reasons of why I was called upon to help. It’s not my job to judge and improve the things they are already capable of, no, my role is to urge the girls to add a little Plus One to the things they can already do. I joined with the understanding that I would take up the role of opening previously unopened doors to a variety of knowledge and experience for this group that is capable of doing so many more amazing things.

――From Kalafina’s point of view, what was your first impression of Minami-san?

Hikaru: I was very nervous. She had a great aura, for our first meeting we got together in a sort of conference room and when Minami-sensei walked in, I felt like the tension increased immediately. But once we started talking, my impression of the overall mood and her appearance changed completely since Minami-sensei was such a friendly lady.

Minami: Ah, I see. Being friendly is my selling point after all! *laughs*

Hikaru: So I wasn’t wrong about that “friendly” impression! *laughs*

Wakana: I was really surprised, to think there was a person in the room that looked like an enormous flower. First of all, her glasses were very impressive, she can really wear all kinds of glasses, can’t she? At that time I was like WOW!!! Such a cool person, I immediately wanted to talk to her. I also agree with Hikaru, she was incredibly friendly while talking to us, I was happy that she listened to our stories and also talked about herself. I was excited from the first day we met.

Keiko: I remember everyone being rigid and frozen into place *laughs*. Amazing, it was like people of the business world had come together. It felt like everyone had turned into stone.

Minami: It really was like that! No one was looking me in the eye *laughs*.

Wakana: No one was able to talk *laughs*.

Hikaru: Everyone was a little perplexed since we were wondering how to break the ice without being rude or anything, we wondered what way would be best to start the conversation.

――It’s a relationship that started out with tension and embarrassment?

Minami: Oh yes, I was pretty much the only one who was being all friendly. It’s because my first thought was how I could convey my spirit to them.

――As a director in charge of their lives, what was your first approach like?

Minami: It was at the time of their first Budokan live, I came in when most of the content had already been roughly decided, it was my priority to focus on their wishes, Budokan was solely devoted to bringing out the best of all the things they wanted to do. As a result, I think it was a starting point for many things but we couldn’t accomplish everything. Therefore I had hoped that over the course of a longer time, I’d be able to build up something great together with the girls.

――It shouldn’t just be a one-time thing, you wished for a continuous relationship?

Minami: That’s right. It felt like we had started to have a mutual understanding of each other, for me, that’s the most important thing ever. That’s why they became my top priority artists.

――To be honest, I think there must have been quite a bit of surprise regarding this match-up when Minami-san first joined. 「Can we do this together?」 I’ve got this hunch that it must have somewhat felt like that at first.

Minami: I was actually expecting that, I was waiting for it!

――I see.

Minami: If you build up a new world, it often happens that your well-meaning manner will betray your intentions and concerns. For that reason I think it’s fine if there’s some opposition in the beginning as well.

――So you kicked it off starting at a Minus?

Minami: I love starting from Minus!

Keiko: We started out from a point where Sasuga-san asked us, 「I think your style is totally fine as it is, but how about other stuff, you wanna do that?」 It’s because she felt like there were so many different presentation techniques which we could use for our live performances and tours. 「The base is already there!」, that’s what she told us.

Minami: That’s right. Something like that.

Keiko: We’ve never before met such a director, so there was this moment where it felt like fate that we had met Sasuga-san.

Photography=Kikuchi Takahiro

――When watching Kalafina’s recent lives, there are some songs that have been produced in a very dramatic and theatrical fashion, is there a meaning behind all of this?

Minami: I do have some strong feelings about this deep in my heart but it’s something that all the fans have to find out for themselves, within themselves and with the utmost care. I am sure all of them feel something like this as well. I didn’t imagine Kalafina like that but it’s amazing! It should be something like that. I am constantly racking my brains, trying to find ways of how to make people feel like there’s a Plus added to everything. Kalafina’s songs have amazing world views, therefore I work with the consciousness that even though you should be getting a glimpse of them, you shouldn’t be getting too close.

――Do you mean that [your interpretation] shouldn’t be too attached to the song and its lyrics?

Minami: Yeah, I guess I also mean it like this. Getting close but not too close. It should be something you prefer but it shouldn’t be given top priority. I want to open a new door for everyone. After all, the girls have been doing fine up until now so if it ain’t broke, why fix it? Kalafina have been great up until now. But it’s just that I want to present Kalafina in ways you have never seen them before.

――Ah, I definitely felt that way while watching.

Minami: It’s because they were flawless. Kalafina, I mean. Truth is, I had been going to their events even before I was working with them, only a handful of staff members knew about it, I told the official people that I wanted to work together with Kalafina.

Keiko: Oh really? I didn’t know that!

Minami: I had been aware of you for many years before we officially met. However, I didn’t have a way to get in contact with you, it didn’t happen for a long time so I honestly thought that ship had sailed.

Wakana: Hahaha *laughs*

Minami: I am too late! It kinda felt like that *laughs*. Then I saw you about two years before our first proper meetup. At Budokan.

Keiko: If that’s the case...that should have been our 2013 『Lisani! LIVE-3』...?

Minami: Yes, at that time I was in charge of a different artist and when I saw your performance I was like 「What’s this? Who are those people?!」 *laughs*. One day, I wanna try working with them! That’s what I told the official staff members who immediately remembered me. Oh, it’s Minami Sasuga again, the one who really wants to work with Kalafina. They must have thought something like this...

――How is it to receive such a heartfelt request?

Wakana: It makes me very happy. Right from the beginning, she has told us so many interesting and intriguing things, I am grateful for that as well. We are not just doing band-style concerts anymore, acoustic lives have also become an established practice, it makes us capable of performing at various venues, all of that is thanks to Sensei who has kicked open all these doors for us, she has let me see new sceneries as well. I was so glad that right from the get-go we received positive feedback for everything we had achieved already.

Minami: They can sing and dance, their producer Kajiura Yuki-san is awesome too. Even though I have already been in charge of hundreds of artists, I feel a much bigger sense of excitement when it comes to Kalafina, they can head towards a much wider world!!

Photography=Kikuchi Takahiro

――Well now I’d like to hear your impression of each of the girls if that’s all right?

Minami: That’s a bit difficult to talk about, isn’t it?

――From the view of a director that is *laughs*

Minami: I don’t know how the girls themselves feel about this but I think there is a very becoming and nice balance between them. It’s because they are very aware of each other’s strengths and shortcomings. The three of them are creating this balance by skillfully supporting each other. Among them, it is Keiko who is always saying that she feels like we are closely related.

――Like a daughter?

Minami: More or less, maybe my child, maybe my little brother?

Keiko: Little brother? *laughs*

Minami: Not little sister, definitely little brother. Somehow there are many occasions when our intuition is very similar, it is a little scary actually.

Keiko: Yes *laughs*

Minami: The other day we had a briefing session together. Everyone brought a little supply of snacks with them, Keiko and I bought the exact same thing.

Keiko: Ehhhhhhhh!! No way!!!

Minami: That’s why I never handed them out. The wafers.

Wakana: That’s crazy! *laughs*

Keiko: It’s because we are so very much alike.

Minami: At least once every other day there will be something that I want to convey to them but she will beat me to it and say the exact same thing 「I think of it like that...」. Even during rehearsals Keiko and I will convey our shared ideas and feelings to the other two, we often work in that sort of manner. Including all of that, the beauty of Keiko is that she takes on risks. She will deliberately throw herself at challenges. I love that.

――I get the impression that you certainly share this sort of sporting spirit, this spirit of competition?

Minami: We’re alike because I’m also the sporty type. I think she is a clever girl, she has a clear goal in sight so she can guide everyone, for the sake of the group, her own self and the future of Kalafina, for all these things she will take every step that's necessary.

――What do you think, Keiko-san?

Keiko: How should I say it, Sasuga-san exposes everything related to Kalafina. I feel nervous when she analyzes me because it is beyond embarrassing to reveal certain things to others *laughs*. As Sasuga-san has mentioned, I’ve often felt like we shared the same sentiment. Amongst the things I have to do there are so many aspects where I am still lacking, I still got a long way to go.

――Then, what about Hikaru-san?

Minami: Hikaru is the calmest. You’re supervising a bit, aren’t you? Keiko and I are the type who apply our passion, feelings and imagination as well as our dreams and ideals in real life, but Hikaru knocked us straight out of the ring by relying solely on her strength, it feels so much like she guides those who stray away to go straight ahead. Even as we are drifting, Hikaru’s presence tames us with her calmness a little bit. Also, if she thinks there’s not enough material, she will properly write it down, and share it with everyone. What’s with that kindness! *laughs*

Hikaru: Kindness *laughs*

Minami: It’s not something an artist should do, you know. It’s the staff’s job. It’s amazing that she can do so.

Keiko: It’s like she’s a secretary, isn’t it? She will sit quietly beside us and put anything I, or Sasuga-san, say enthusiastically in order.

Minami: She does. Moreover, she has neat handwriting!

Keiko: Her memory is impressive too.

Wakana: She memorizes a lot!

Keiko: For example, she has vivid memories of what I did in a concert from two years ago. It’s amazing.

Minami: But you know, I believe Hikaru is the artist with the most undiscovered talents slumbering within her. That’s why she’s such a delicious subject for me. She still has so many great potentials I have yet to draw out. She is made up of many versatile elements.

――How does the person herself think of this?

Hikaru: Thank you. I’m the type who’s poor at proposing new ideas, so I memorize everyone’s ideas. I want to be the person who submits general opinions. I want to at least save the information even if I don’t voice my opinion vigorously. Like what’s the best thing to do in order to properly implement everyone’s proposals. Since I rarely initiate ideas, I wanna try to consider ways of how to develop them.

Minami: You are able to analyze yourself as well.

――And lastly, Wakana-san.

Minami: Wakana has wonderful imagination, like, she is very in touch with her creative side. However, there are many things that only she can understand. She’s poor at explaining *laughs*. I have many moments of going “Oh!” when I talk with Wakana. She also has other skills, such as drawing pictures. I consider Wakana’s talents, which she doesn’t reveal to the public and keeps to herself, very important to Kalafina hereafter. Still, Wakana has been speaking out recently. She can be interesting just by saying a single word.

――You can tell how interesting she is.

Minami: The “interesting” factor is important to Kalafina. If I had to tell you why, I’d be hard-pressed, they are not considered a group that needs to be interesting, are they?

――I guess so.

Minami: However, still, when you come to like an artist, you really follow their every step, at that point you are shown everything. It’s not only their looks, or their work you are also shown their weaknesses. Wakana is the one who really stands out in that regard. She will be fine wherever she goes. She stays true to herself even if her company is an auntie or an elderly man she just met for the first time. It’s a wonderful talent, I want its merits to return. Moreover, there are lots of glittering and bright ideas within her. In Kalafina, Keiko’s talents come out fully. And she keeps improving day after day. As for Hikaru, there are still parts she keeps to herself. I want to bring out Wakana’s hidden talents. I guess my current challenge is to find out how I can stimulate these two.

――Indeed, I guess there are certain moments when you get that sense while watching a live. Hikaru-san’s potential, and Wakana-san’s awakening.

Minami: The three of them have always been amazing since the first time we met, you know. Yet, they believe they’re still lacking in achieving the perfection they strive for. I have to lend them a hand a little longer, such is the challenge.

Wakana: Giving input is my forte, but I have difficulties with the output. Then again, I talk for like 7 hours straight during a long phone call. Things that can only be told to a particular person. Like how I call my family, and talk to my mother for about 2 hours, and 3 hours with my father. I’m that kind of person. That’s why, I don’t really understand it either, the things I can do, so I want to sort that out.

Minami: I think you can do many things.

Wakana: Somehow, I’ll do it when I am told to do so. When I try to do those things, I’ll appreciate and understand them. It made me think of how there are so many things that I am not yet aware of, I want to seek out and explore many more of them.

Photography=Kikuchi Takahiro

――Now, we should talk about the tour 『Kalafina “9+ONE”』. I wonder, is there a certain image in Sensei’s head, do you want to do it in a certain manner?

Minami: I do, but let’s hear from the girls first, because it will make me look uncool if my answer differs from theirs *laughs*.

Keiko: We already talked about 『Kalafina “9+ONE”』 during our previous interview which we did for our 9th Anniversary concert, at that time we said 「We wanna make a tour by listening to the audience’s voices as much as we possibly can」, it’s been about a month since then. However, I think that alone is not enough. I feel like we are not going to achieve the kind of performance we are aiming for in regards to the surprise and entertainment factor by simply listening to the audience’s voices, by simply showing the ideals and imaginations of the fans. Of course it is our main wish to have a performance for the fans. But since it is for the fans, we really wanna do something that they couldn’t have imagined…..recently we have all been thinking about that a lot.

Minami: Yes, there’s this thing that one must not forget, that we must not lose track of, let’s try not to forget that this is just for the sake of the audience. However, we wanna do something that goes beyond the audience’s wildest imagination, it would make me happy if that were something they miraculously wished for. Therefore, we have to think deeply about it in order to create that. Besides, there is also the awesome 10th Anniversary milestone coming up.

――Indeed.

Minami: I wanna make their 10th Anniversary the most spectacular thing ever so because of that I wanna lay great emphasis on their 9th Anniversary as well. I feel like by doing that we’ll be able to make the 10th Anniversary have an even heavier impact, so for this 9th year I wanna pull out all the stops. I wish for this tour to end on a lovely note, you should feel satisfied, like you have a full belly. However, we have to finish by leaving the satisfied fans with an appetite for more, they should get the faint scent of something they still want to eat. We need to create an earth-shattering ardor so people won’t be thinking, oh, I’ve had enough, bye bye Kalafina!

――For the 10th Anniversary I was expecting it of course. I think it’s fascinating how you are putting so much effort into your 9th as well.

Minami: We gotta do something fun and intriguing, otherwise there is no point of me being here. I guess there are some people out there who doubt the compatibility between Kalafina and Minami Sasuga. But the girls have great ambition, confidence as well as an amazing imagination. That is why we have reached an agreement and we are now going to head towards that direction. This time I got the chance to talk to SPICE so I thought it would be a great opportunity to let you know of all the things we are creating with the utmost care. I want all of the fans to know that we are all working and talking together in order to create this performance. With all our confidence we want to make you feel like 「Oh wow!! I never thought of this kind of expression!! That’s amazing!!」, that is our challenge. Right here for one time only, I want to organise this compilation of nine years worth of Kalafina, even though I have only been working together with them for two years. Perhaps that way we are awaiting an unimaginable evolution on the 10th Anniversary? I want you to get excited. Now I ended up saying way too much, that’s not wise *laughs*

Keiko: That’s all right!

――Do you have anything you wanna add to that?

Keiko: There’s a distinct difference to before, that is a lot of fun. Ever since we’ve met Sasuga-san it really feels like our motivation towards live performances is getting stronger and stronger. Kalafina is made up of three people so we each have this feeling that we have to put our heads together with all our different characteristics and features.

――Put your heads together you say?

Keiko: Yes. Since Kalafina has always had a certain image, it seemed like we had to do things in a particular manner, the pressure always weighed on us to convey a good image. Meeting Sasuga-san has made us believe that we ourselves are also capable of constructing that Kalafina image. For example, we are considered to be a group that has a classical component because Wakana’s voice is part of Kalafina, we really wanna work on expressing more things like that, we want to expand on that charm. Hikaru and I would also like to approach the things that Wakana is expressing with her singing, instead of approaching it within the framework of Kalafina, we wanna get closer to Wakana’s expression. And then there’s Hikaru who has been acting in plays ever since she was teeny tiny girl, she is great at creating entire worlds for songs in her mind. Therefore her vocals are ever-changing. In the old days when it came to singing Kalafina’s songs she ended up entering those worlds all by herself. I think that at that time Hikaru must surely have been quite troubled. That is why today if Hikaru wants to express something in a certain way, Wakana and I also wanna familiarise ourselves with those things, we want to incorporate all the things she wants to show.

――I see…...

Keiko: The world you see changes in accordance with the song, therefore we wanna try many different expressions. There is difficulty in that and there are also aspects that have been completely ignored so far. It took us a while but ever since we’ve met Sasuga-san we have been able to create our very own Kalafina image by means of cultivation and pioneering.

――You were really impressive right before your Arena Tour. Even though I got the chance to see your rehearsals, it felt like, oh wow, this is the result!

Minami: 「Magia」 felt like it was all about using Hikaru’s very distinctive features to their fullest potential. As for 「red moon」 right before that, the focus should lie solely on Wakana’s voice, I kinda thought it would be nice if Wakana moved around as little as possible. Then there’s Keiko who is opening with her a-cappella singing. For the Arena Tour we picked out their respective charms.

――For this tour, you will add something that is beyond the audience’s imagination?

Minami: That’s right. There are times where it seems like the more briefing sessions we have, the more we realised that oh, we missed something there...like we could have done better, you know? Thinking back and forth about things and then presenting what we are gonna do next, it is a lot of fun. The creating period is the best time ever. It is a great delight and true blessing to be able to do the choreography and such for an entire production, to create all these little things together with a group that you really wanna work with. Practise is also not a hardship at all, it’s because our hearts and minds are miraculously very much in tune, they are nestled close to each other. As far as Kalafina and I are concerned, we have made this promise that we would challenge ourselves by sharing good as well as bad feedback with each other in order to improve. It takes effort to try new things but it’s so much more fun. I would like to unite everyone’s feelings. I would love for the fans, the staff as well as the girls, for everyone really, to get this sense of 「We are as one」. I want everyone to feel like they are important. I wanna make it a good team. For each of you there is a door that has yet to be opened!!! I feel like for Kalafina’s sake I want you to show this! I think if we can do this it’s just a small step till we can challenge the entire world. Seriously!

Interview・Text: Kato Takeshi Photography=Kikuchi Takahiro

#kalafina #SPICE interview #my translations #this took longer than expected #as always XD #sorry to all mobile users in case the read more thingy doesn't work >_<#ahhh #I really love the relationship between Kalafina and Minami Sasuga #I am so happy that she was able to encourage the girls this much #and I love that they finally get the chance to create their very own Kalafina image #YAY for more classical Kalafina #YAY for more theatrical Kalafina #I hope this will silence some of the haters who have been complaining non stop about Kalafina's more dramatic stage productions #it is not something that's being forced upon them by Minami Sasuga #it's just the girls being true to themselves and doing what they want to do #if you can't be bothered with who the girls really are then you've got no business calling yourself their fan #their old image as nice as it was is no longer restraining them #Minami really had an impact on them #it's also obvious in the little details like their outfit choices #to see them wear outfits that they love and are comfortable in makes me happy #like Hikaru's pants or Wakana's wide and long dresses #also #that final part by Minami Sasuga #is that a hint?#world tour maybe?#sorry for all these tags :P #can you tell I am passionate about this?

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yanderecrazysie · 3 years

Note

what about a yandere farmer boy kita/ushijima who takes an unwilling housewife for themselves? 😳 maybe she's just a city girl who went to the province just for a lil nice get-away but farmer boi may have gotten too attached. i really love your work btw! came here from quotev

YES! A Quotev-ian! Quotev was the first place I started writing, so I have such a strong nostalgic love for it! Thank you so much for your support and this is such a fun idea! I’m going to try Ushijima, since I haven’t written a one shot for him yet!

I’m sorry it’s so late, I try my best to put a lot of effort in my fics and they always end up so much longer than I expect- >3< I hope it’s worth the wait!

Part 2 is here

Title: Confine

Pairings: Ushijima x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, swearing, a bit of misogyny, Ushijima is lowkey creepy

Summary: Ushijima would like to extend your trip to the countryside from a couple months to forever. He’d also like you by his side. Unfortunately, your preferences aren’t necessary.

confine

/verb/

restrain or forbid someone from leaving (a place).

It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy the city, it was more that you needed a little break from the hustle and bustle.

When you and your boyfriend broke up, you were left scrambling to find a new apartment. The best place you could afford was in very poor condition and in a shady neighborhood, and even that sapped more of your resources than it should.

The last straw that broke the camel’s back was the retail company you worked at laying you off. You weren’t fired or anything, you just weren’t essential enough for them to keep you when they downsized for cost-cutting reasons.

As you looked at your puffy eyes in the yellowing, stained mirror, and tried to ignore the shouting of the other people in your building, you made your decision.

“Fuck it,” you muttered, walking back into your bedroom and pulling out your suitcase.

“Are you sure you don’t want to settle down here for a longer period of time? I know we don’t have any apartments here, but you could find a small house for pretty cheap.”

You smiled fondly at the woman in the driver’s seat beside you, “I’m sure, mom. I’ll only be here for two months. Maybe three. I’m a city gal, not a country gal.”

“Fine, fine,” Your mother laughed, recognizing the hint of exasperation in your voice, “Well, you are welcome to stay with us as long as you need. I talked to Okashi, my friend that works in that cute little diner, and she’d love to give you a job as a server there!”

“Just like that?” Your eyes widened. You planned to get a job, save up your earnings along with the little you had before hopping on the bus to the Miyagi Prefecture, then move back to the city, but to get a job right off the bat like this was more than surprising.

“Of course, dear, she adores you” Your mother smiled, “You met Okashi a year or two back, remember? You were surprised to see a lady my age with bright pink hair.”

A mental image of a middle-aged woman with bubblegum-colored curls, shining blue eyes, and an enthusiastic way of talking. Last time you’d seen her, you were fresh out of college, and yet she’d cooed over you like you were starting your first day of school. Somehow, it wasn’t too annoying, the way she did it. She was more like one of those old aunties from the movies that just want to shower you with kisses.

“If there’s anything I can do to help around the-”

“Stop that talk right now!” Your mother cut you off sternly, “I already told you we’re happy to have you. There’s no need to work for us, it’ll be a pleasure for your father and I to be able to see you.”

You smiled gratefully at her before turning to look out the passenger-side window. In place of the familiar busy streets were acres of land growing a variety of crops, fences encompassing horses and cows, and little country roads. Towering skyscrapers were replaced with thick forests and fruit-filled orchards.

The countryside was like an entirely different world than the city was and, even if you preferred the city life, you could picture living here too.

But you always planned to return to the city when your two months were up.

“I can’t thank you enough for letting me work for you,” You said to the peppy woman facing you.

Okashi waved away your worries with a hand shining with a new coat of bright red polish on her long fingernails. Her lipstick was just-as-intensely red as her nails and her cheeks were dusted with a pink nearly the same color as her curly hair.

“No problem at all, darling! Not many new folks around here looking for work, and you’re gonna need a place to earn money if you’re gonna be saving up for only a few months, darling!”

You smiled up at her, your heart warming with gratitude, “When would you like me to get started? I’m free at just about any time- it’s not like I have anything to be doing while here.”

Okashi’s response was a huge grin and a bundle of clothing being shoved into your arms enthusiastically. You returned her smile and hurried to the bathroom to change into what must be your new uniform.

Sure enough, it was a pink and white outfit, one that reminded you of one of those old retro diners. A white apron and simple light-pink dress. It was cute, in its own way, you supposed, but it definitely not something you would consider wearing outside of the diner.

You’d barely walked out of the bathroom when the light tinkling of a bell sounded throughout the tiny building. You weren’t exactly sure if the diner you worked at was popular or not, but a glance at your watch told you the place had literally just opened. And, yet, there was a long stream of people happily chatting their way inside.

The majority of the customers were elderly people, like you mostly expected, but plenty were people around your age- college students, young adults, new couples, etc.

Okashi flitted around the store, talking to everyone with familiarity, seeming to know every person that entered the diner. It wasn’t the first time you’d been a server, not by any means, but you were a little nervous to be in a place where outsiders weren’t very common.

Soon, Okashi was pushing you towards a table, handing off your current one to another server, and saying “You don’t have a boyfriend, right? Why don’t you help out that table? Plenty of handsome boys your age!”

Clearly Okashi was playing cupid, but you humored her and walked over to the table. You had no intention whatsoever of dating anyone out here, since you’d be leaving them behind soon enough.

“Hello, my name is (Y/n) and I will be your server today! What can I get you started with?”

The tall red-haired boy at the table ordered first, then helpfully told you what his giant of a friend wanted. The man next to him was tall, intimidating, bulky, and angry-looking. From what you could tell, his peeved expression seemed more like a default one. Like he always looked so serious and imposing.

The other two males at the table, a gray-haired man with a smirk on his face and a darker-skinned man who smiled kindly at you, gave you their order and you scuttled off to grab the group’s drinks, sweating under the intense gaze of the largest man at the table.

He scared you. You weren’t sure exactly why, but he did. Maybe it was his size or his expression. Or maybe it was the aura you got from him or the way his eyes pierced through you and refused to even blink as you handed him his drink.

“Do you all know what you would like to order or do you need more time?”

The redhead spoke up first again, “No, we know what we’d like.” He put in his order once more but, when he started to order for his larger friend once more, a deep, rumbling voice cut through his.

“What do you recommend?” The large man was staring at you, his deep voice washing over you.

His friends looked flabbergasted, even more than you were sure you did. You blinked owlishly before offering your input.

“I recommend the burgers, to be honest. I know it’s a pretty generic option, but I tried one and they seem really good.” You were embarrassed to be put on the spot like that, but you really did remember liking the burgers back when your mom brought you to the diner a few years back.

“I will have a burger then,” The large man said, expression betraying nothing.

You nodded shyly and took the other two orders before heading back to the kitchen and relaying the information to the chef. Your cheeks burned when you heard the large man being teased by his friends, catching the redhead’s comment on how he “must really like the pretty server”.

When their food finished, you brought it back to their table and asked if they’d be wanting dessert. The redhead nodded, asked for a chocolate cake, then nudged the giant man sitting next to him.

Instead of asking for dessert, the man said, “I am Ushijima Wakatoshi. It is nice to meet you (Y/n).”

How were you supposed to respond to that? You nodded awkwardly, “It’s nice to meet you too. Would you like dessert?”

“No.” A blunt response, but not a mean one. You honestly weren’t sure what to think of the man and you were left wondering if he was perhaps just bad at socialization.

The group left as soon as they were finished, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was staring at you the entire walk out. He unnerved you, and maybe that was rude of you to judge him so harshly without knowing him, but you couldn’t help but think there were red flags popping up in the corner of your mind’s eye.

Ushijima showed up in the diner every day, sometimes staying for hours at a time, reading or typing away on a laptop. Despite how busy he seemed, you could always feel his eyes on you.

You worried, at first, that you were just being paranoid, but Okashi brought it up to you after a few days.

“Is he your boyfriend yet? If not, you should really ask him out, he’s probably too shy to ask you if he hasn’t already! It’s sooo obvious he likes you!”

If Okashi wasn’t in her 50s you would have mistaken her voice for a high school girl’s. You blushed, turning your face away in embarrassment, “There’s no point in dating when I’m leaving in a month.”

Then, it happened. You didn’t think you’d been talking too loud, although you do admit the diner was a bit quiet, but it was loud enough.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Ushijima’s form stiffen and his eyes widen. He didn’t bother to hide his staring this time, but his expression didn’t change. Somehow… you could tell… he was upset about your revelation.

Why should I care? It’s not like I returned any feelings he might have for me.

Still, it felt weird when he didn’t come into the diner for the rest of the week.

On the following Monday, Ushijima showed up at the diner again. He never glanced up at you, not even once, leaving you to wonder why he was there. Okashi had mentioned in passing that he rarely visited before you started working there.

As much as you wanted to believe he just started liking the food, the fact that he told the server he “didn’t want anything yet” worried you.

Why didn’t he order anything? If he isn’t hungry, why is he here?

Something felt very, very wrong. And you weren’t sure what it was… but it scared you.

Ushijima left just a few minutes before the diner closed, but the weight wasn’t lifted from your chest. If anything, the feeling worsened. You locked up the store with a heavy heart and hurried out the door, bidding goodbye to Okashi.

It wasn’t too dark, not with the street lights shining their pale light down on the main road. But the path to your parents house had far fewer lights and denser trees. Your heart caught in your throat as you went through the woods, the darkness washing over you until you felt as though you were choking in it.

You were so on edge that the scream barely took a second to escape your mouth when a muscular arm wrapped around your waist. Your shriek of terror was quickly cut off by a large hand cupping your mouth.

“Stop.” The deep, rumpling voice frightened you into submission, tears leaping to your eyes when you placed the familiarity. How could you even be surprised by who it was, when he was acting so strangely since the moment you met him?

Ushijima scooped you up effortlessly in his arms, fingers still pressed tightly into your cheeks. “Don’t know what you’re going on about, wanting to leave town… We just met and you’re already trying to leave me. After two people fall in love, it’s not right to just leave the other behind right away.”

Even if the large man’s calloused palms weren't clapped tightly to your lips, you wouldn’t have been able to say a word. You were entirely dumbfounded by his delusions. Did you somehow lead him on? You can’t imagine you did, not on purpose at least.

For the love of God you only talked when you took his order. How the hell did he get it in his head that you were some sort of lovestruck Romeo and Juliet couple? What the hell was wrong with this guy?

“You shouldn’t be going into the city and working there. It’s dangerous for a woman. You should be working in the home for your husband.”

The words caused anger to rise inside of you and you delivered your best kick to his chest, despite the awkward angle you were in. It was like you hadn’t done anything at all. He didn’t flinch or falter in his steps in even the smallest bit.

“It will be fine (Y/n). I will be your husband and keep you where you belong. In the country. In the house. With me.”

You couldn’t even comprehend why he was doing this to you, but there was one thing you knew for sure. Something that froze the blood in your veins and renewed your fighting spirit.

The house you were heading straight for wasn’t your parents’.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere ushijima #yandere haikyuu #yandere one shot #one shot #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #ushijima wakatoshi

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moonctzeny · 3 years

Text

love to hate me

request: celebrity! jaehyun + enemies to lovers + “don’t you want to know how i feel?”

pairing: friends to enemies to lovers! jaehyun x female reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff... this fic has it all folks

word count: 7.514k

warnings: toxic behaviour, public sex, light restraining, jaehyun pulls a ‘white boy punching the wall’ at some point

summary: “You and Jaehyun meet as SM trainees, developing a friendship until he debuts and you deicde to leave the company and pursue a solo career. When you reunite again in a music show and he acts like he barely knows you, you stubbornly begin a series of hate-brimmed sex rendez-vous. Your touch-and-go relationship continues on, until a song collaboration will force you both to deal with all your repressed feelings for each other”

a/n: this is the longest it has ever taken me to finish a fic.. I have a love-hate relationship with this (no pun intended XD). I hope whoever requested this likes it!

------------------------------------------------

Of-fucking-course you had to bump into him out of all people at the vending machine. All you wanted was a drink to refresh you before you got up on stage, and now you have to deal with Mr. Too Good For This World and his relentless teasing. His eyes, lit up by an amusement that was also evident in his smirk, stayed glued on your body, raking up and down at it for a second too long. Not that you didn’t like it.

“Stare much?”, you bark at him in hopes of snapping him out of his trance, and push through him to punch in the code of your favorite drink. But alas, he always had a comeback ready on the edge of his lips.

“You look ridiculous”, he states and you have to admit that your outfit, though fitting for the Halloween special of today’s music show, was way different than anything else he had ever seen you in. Reincarnated as Dorothy Gale for the night, your stylists had chosen a short, light blue checkered dress, with red stilettos that gave a sexy twist to the character’s ruby slippers. Hair neatly braided in two pigtails, decorated by ribbons and topped off by glittery pink makeup. The image of innocence. Jaehyun had to laugh.

“Says the man dressed up as Woody”

It was unfair, you admitted, how good he looked in that stupid outfit. His hair was gelled back, a few strands framing his handsome face strategically. The yellow shirt fitted him like a glove, its bright colour lighting him up as well. And those jeans, tight in all the right places, just melted over the muscles of his thighs. The ones that you’ve come undone on one too many times.

“So”, he lilts, giving you a once over before lowering both the volume and pitch of his voice, “want a ride?”

You scoff, sparing him an incredulous look, “on what horse, cowboy?”

He doesn’t reply, only points with his eyes to his crotch that is undeniably sporting a visible tent, and you gasp when you see the outline of his dick twitching under your stare.

“Jesus Christ, Jaehyun”, you mutter with a disgusted look on your face before picking up the almost forgotten beverage that the vending machine had barfed out for you. The boy mentioned, however, was unfazed.

“They don’t call me Woody for nothing”

Almost choking at the drink that was supposed to calm you down, you catch his eyes rolling at you through your third cough. Well, that ruins one of your favourite childhood movies. “Don’t pretend to be a prude. Now are we going to fuck before you get on stage of not?”

You can clearly remember the first time you met Jung Jaehyun alone. You always spotted him somewhere in the SM buildings, joking around with his future bandmates, barely ever without company. As a fellow vocal trainee, he introduced himself to you as Yoonoh, filling up the awkward silence while your vocal teacher prepared the music sheets for the both of you to rehearse.

You were thankful the two of you always got paired up together. Jaehyun was charming, easy to be around, funny. He was a model SM trainee with the otherworldly looks he possessed, almost impossible for anyone’s eyes not to follow him when he entered a room. Radiant porcelain skin, soft brown locks, and a dimpled smile that made your heart melt in seconds.

You can also clearly remember the first time you had the privilege of hearing him sing. Jaehyun had a beautiful baritone voice, one that contradicted his flower boy image but matched his manly personality perfectly. The four walls of the small practice room resonated with his sound, that was stable and smooth like honey. The lessons were challenging but Jaehyun made them bearable through spending time with him. Maybe it was your shared struggles, or how you were always tired and vulnerable when you saw him. Maybe it was those damned dimples, but your heart always beat faster when you were around him.

“Sometimes I get discouraged”, he confides in you in that same room, hours later, early into the morning now. The vocal lesson stretched on longer than expected, leaving you two sitting on the floor, sharing a cup of lemon-honey tea to soothe your vocal chords. You let your head rest to the leather couch behind you as you stare into his handsome features one by one. What time was it? Shouldn’t you be back at your dorms by now? It didn’t matter, this was one of those moments when time seems to stop and life seems unreal. When the only thing that you care about is the person standing next to you, and whatever it is they have to tell you.

“I fear that I will never get to debut. There’s handsome guys all over the company. I just don’t know if my skills are enough.”

You thought he was crazy for thinking that way, wanted to scream at him that he’s just perfect and more than enough for the company, or for anything in this world for that matter. But Jaehyun was reserved, the type to always mask his true feelings behind a smile and you were more than glad that he finally opened up to you, that he saw you as someone trustworthy. You didn’t want to dismiss his feelings, so you just pet his hair while you listened to his concerns.

As you mindlessly gaze at the rainy weather outside, a couple of droplets following their own path down the froggy window remind you that time does run by. Even if every day seemed the same, following the same routine, going to the same classes over and over again.

Jaehyun had this sad look that contorted his pretty face and you hated it, reaching up to massage away the wrinkles between his eyebrows. You don’t know which godly creature made the hourglass of time freeze this moment, nor did you know why Jaehyun leaned forward to capture your lips into a kiss. Maybe it was his way of saying thank you for keeping your ears and heart open for him, for listening to him when he needed it most.

It felt so lovely while it lasted, two young people leaning on each other during an uncertainty that anchored them far away from their emotional shoreline. But life as a trainee isn’t a fairytale and falling in love can have serious ramifications. So you promise to each other that this will be a one time thing, and then you never speak of this night ever again.

Unsurprisingly enough, Jaehyun got to successfully debut, yet you didn’t have the same luck. The company had plans of focusing on their new boy group, thus postponing your debut for an uncertain amount of time. It was hard for you to decide to switch labels, to throw away the years of hope and dedication you had pinned on this company but the faith you placed on yourself was stronger.

It’s years later when you finally get to promote as a solo artist in a different company, and you are happy to say that the decision you made all those years ago was the right one. The exposure you got wasn’t the same as being in a Big 3 company, however leaving SM entertainment has its pros. Flexible schedule, less scrutiny, great creative freedom over your work.

This wasn’t the first time you have come across your old trainee buddy. Jaehyun had multiple comebacks in a year, so it was only natural that his group’s and your promotions would sometimes overlap. You were only a rookie, and NCT turned out to become pretty popular, so of course the wins were always tied to their names.

The first time you walked past him in the hallways, dark makeup and professional styling making you both almost unrecognizable, you expected a wave, small talk, maybe some reminiscing of the old times. Instead, you got a cold stare or at best, an arrogant smirk coupled with a “Do better next time”. It was shocking to you how much Yoonoh, the boy with the shy smile and awkward social skills, would turn into such a stranger.

How you always ended up sneaking out with him to have a quickie in one of the ready rooms, was beyond you. He rushed you inside before checking both sides of the hallway, cautious to hide from any curious eyes. The coast was clear and Jaehyun doesn’t like to waste time, so he pins you against the door he just closed behind him, face dipped in your neck. You can feel his fingers dancing on the skin of your thighs, eager to explore what is hidden under your frilly skirt, and their delicacy in contrast to his feverish kisses sends a shiver down your spine.

One pretty whine from your lips, then two, three and you can feel Jaehyun smile deviously against your neck. The softness is too enticing for him to resist, so he nips at it skillfully, trying to get a reaction out of you. He recognizes that you have plenty of talent as a singer, yet the symphonies you sing out for him in those little sessions seem to be his favorite.

“Jaehyun, cut it out. I’m going on stage in like, 20 minutes”

“Turn me on then”

Wasn’t he the one that basically flashed you in the middle of the cafeteria for just existing? Isn’t it his hard on that digs against your lower stomach? The demand made you mad, and you wanted nothing more than to entice him with a nice blowjob, only to take a big, strong bite off that cock of his. But see, you had a full face of makeup on and your career is way more important than a fuckboy, so you’ll have to get creative.

Flipping him around so that he’s the one trapped between you and the door, you start to suck on his collarbones , then nibble at the tender flesh. He seems distracted enough by it so that you open the button of his jeans and fully remove his belt from their loops with no objections. Palming him over his boxers to keep him entranced, you manage to bring his wrists together, wrapping the leather around them, then lastly fastening them in place.

His eyes widen in shock when he realizes that he’s too late, wiggling his hands in a futile attempt to free himself. Your laugh is sadistic, making the hairs on his arms stand on edge and you gloat in the effect you have on him.

Giving your palm a good lick, you form a ring with your fingers, wrapping them around the base of his member. He hisses and drops his head back, thudding loudly against the wall. His cock enlarges and reddens as you move your hand up and down, changing the pressure according to his reactions. Jaehyun isn’t one to express himself freely but there is not much he can do to stop the low moans leaving his lips. Not when you rub circles over his tip with the soft skin of your palm.

He looks so fucking good, all squirmy and desperate and trying to hold himself from saying ‘please’. You almost want to keep going, squeeze him more until he whines and begs to cum, and admire the white beads dripping from his slit and covering your hand. Almost.

You halt your movements with a last strong stroke, crossing your arms over your chest as you stare back at him. Jaehyun tentatively opens one eye to see why you have stopped, only to come across that bratty smile that he loves as much as he hates.

“You should have dressed up as a siren. Seducing people before they realize you are a man eating bitch”

“If you want someone to jerk you off you can go ask one of your little fangirls. I want to get fucked.”

“Let me go then. And you’ll wish you never did”

You scoff at his cockiness, nonchalantly freeing him from his constraints, and the way he immediately has a hold of your jaw reminds you of a predator eyeing its prey. His eyes have a crazy look in them, moving frantically over every part of your body like he can’t decide what to grab onto first. He decides on your hips, bending you over a table full of snacks and makeup tools and flyers of today’s schedule.

“You think it’s funny to tease me like that?”, he asks you with a peremptory voice that signifies you’d better shut up.

You hear shuffling behind you and assume it’s him slipping on a condom, so you make yourself more comfortable on the wooden surface. A hard slap on your ass jolts you alert.

“I asked you a fucking question”, Jaehyun presses brusquely and flips your skirt fully over your ass, pulling your panties down until they’re bunched up right over your knees.

“It’s fun”, you moan out, breathless both from the pleasure and the stinging feeling on your right cheek, “What are you gonna do about it?”

Was the room occupied by one of the artists that have already been on stage? Or will they barge in at any moment to find you bent over and pussy dripping for Jaehyun to finally dive inside you? He chuckled at the sight of you, eyes feasting off your naked body, your ass up just the way he likes it. Not so innocent anymore, huh?

He doesn’t reply to you, aligning himself against your slit and bottoming out in one go instead. Involuntarily, you let out a small screech, the sudden stretch catching you off guard.

“You better stay quiet, siren. Or maybe you would like it if people found us like this? Saw how good you take my cock whenever I ask”

You wanted to bite back at him, but the only sound you could make was a guttural moan. It was embarrassingly loud, and you fall forward to bite your fist and force yourself to shut up. It was effective, yet Jaehyun had other plans for you, pulling your pigtails towards him in a strong grip that has you against his chest in seconds.

“Nuh, uh, uh, siren”, he hums in your ear, his panting making his voice sound huskier and smokier than ever, “How about trying to stay quiet by using your willpower alone? That way it’s more- how did you call it? Fun.”

He slows down his pace momentarily, as if he’s giving you time to answer him. But the moment you open your mouth to talk back at him, he thrusts particularly hard inside you, forcing a whimper out of your lips.

“Fuck you, Jaehyun”

“As you wish”

Jaehyun was conceited and cocky and a dick, but he was also a good fuck. He kept at it with what seemed like all the energy in the world, fucking you against that table until you came all over him, and your legs gave out. It ended how it always did, with him moaning how fucking sexy you look and how much he hates you, and you swallowing your pride as you swallow his cum. You’d tell each other to fuck off and never bother the other again, until you meet up at the next comeback, to do this shit all over again.

And that’s how things would stay if it wasn’t for that goddamn phone call from your manager.

“...so we thought what better way to promote your new song by recording a duet with NCT’s Jaehyun?”

No, no, no this can’t be happening. No way. Anyone but him.

“Are you sure this is the only way we can promote me? Can’t I just go to variety programs like every other idol out there?”

“y/n, duets by different group members are one of the most efficient methods of promoting there is! And with NCT’s latest song topping the charts this will be a great opportunity for you. Taemin and Sunmi did it. Suzy and Baekhyun, Chanyeol and Punch-“

“Alright, okay, I get it”

“Besides, since you used to be an SM trainee they specifically asked for you. The directors made some pretty big compliments on your work”

Isn’t it a little too late now? Not like they didn’t have the chance to debut you, right? That being said, there isn’t much to oppose to decline SM’s offer; your manager is right and you know it. Saying no to Lee Sooman and giving up a popularity push like that is basically career suicide. Nor could you let your manager know about your and Jaehyun’s little adventures, minutes before you have to go on stage.

“Just send me the schedule. I don’t have to record with him, right?”

“Oh no, they’ll record his part first and then they’ll send it to us. But there will be a music video of course”

Oh for fuck’s sake.

There was this little monster of worriedness that was screaming inside your head, refusing to shut up. This collaboration isn’t going to be easy, but you didn’t want to let Jaehyun’s pettiness get in the way of your career. Fumbling with your phone in your hands, you kept removing and reinserting its case compulsively, over and over again, until you mustered the courage to take matters into your own hands.You knew his number was buried somewhere in your contacts.

you [16:35]: hey it’s me, y/n

Jung Yoonoh [16:50]: y/n who??

you [16:55]: y/n y/l/n? the girl whose guts you were inside in last week? we have a song coming up 😒

Jung Yoonoh [16:57]: oh y/n right

Jung Yoonoh [16:58]: thought you’d have deleted my number

Well you sure have deleted mine, you murmur with your blood boiling, regretting reaching out to him in the first place.

you [16:59]: i always hoard peoples contacts

you [17:00]: old habits die hard i guess

Jung Yoonoh [17:00]: like the habit of me being inside your guts?

You gasp out after reading his last message, hands awkwardly juggling your phone until you’ve forced yourself to calm down. After waiting for a while, until your face has reached its previous temperature, you feel focused again, and type out your original intentions for this conversation.

you [17:05]: this isn’t what i texted you about.

you [17:07]: we have this project coming up and while I know we aren’t exactly on the best terms, this comeback is very important for me

you [17:08]: and i don’t want to fuck it up

Jung Yoonoh [17:10]: kitty cat, relax. maybe this is a brand new word for you but i know what professionalism is

you [17:10]: don’t you ever and i mean ever call me that again

you [17:11]: glad to see we are on the same page

You didn’t expect a message back, nor did you get one. All you could do from now on, was pray that the promotions would go smoothly and Jaehyun wouldn’t do anything stupid that would jeopardize your collaboration.

------------------------------------------------------

And the day you dreaded finally came. The first day of filming for the music video.

You had already finished recording the song, a bittersweet balad about two lovers who lost their way, only for their paths to cross again. When you listened to the demo for the first time, it only took three notes from Jaehyun’s pre-recorded verse to spread goosebumps on your skin. His voice was deeper and even more developed than you remember. Long forgotten memories, shoved deep inside your brain so as not to leave a bitter aftertaste in your mouth, came flooding up again. But things have changed since then.

The sky was crying rain and lightning, fitting to the storm inside your head. Normally you'd be excited to film a music video, bubbling with energy and unable to contain a smile. Today, all you could do was let your teeth abuse the cuticles of your left thumb, until little drops of blood ruined the fresh manicure you got for the shoot.

Following your manager inside the studio, you take a quick glance at all the props the creative directors have prepared. They were very intricate, filled with all different types of flowers everywhere. Some of the fake rooms looked like classrooms, two others were decorated like teenage bedrooms. It was a lot more than you have anticipated.

“The song will be part of a drama OST, that’s why the budget is higher than usual”, your manager tells you as if he was reading your mind.

He leads you to the changing room, where you try on different outfits your stylist has chosen for you, while simultaneously being briefed on the concept of the music video. It’s kinda cheesy and cute, with you and Jaehyun posing as high-school students falling in love. Certain scenes of the drama, whose plot matches the music video’s, will intercept in between.

You’re seated on the makeup chair, sunk in the uneasiness caused by your co-star. Jaehyun had arrived a few minutes after you, his bare face more handsome than you’ve ever looked in your most glamorous state and you can’t help but stare at him. He is all polite smiles and bows to the staff, and even gives you a formal greeting.

You’re not sure why you just can’t bring yourself to stop your legs from shaking as the makeup artist patiently tries to apply a rosy blush on your cheekbones. It’s like you’re scared that everyone will see right through the both of you, somehow enter your brain and find out that you’re replaying your last encounter with Jaehyun in the music show’s waiting room in your head. As you try to read through his expression, to see if he’s nearly as nervous as you are, you defeatedly can’t decode what’s going on inside his head. Not like you ever could.

You glance at both you and Jaehyun through the mirror, admiring the youthful makeup. Blushy cheeks and innocent eyes of two teenagers in love, masking the raw lust between two nemesi. It couldn’t stray any further from the truth.

A staff member leads both you and Jaehyun (who is refusing to spare even one look your way) back to the main set. The director is passionately explaining what he wants to see from you in your first scene, but you can barely focus with Jaehyun’s eyes burning holes through your school girl outfit. You block him out and walk inside the ‘classroom’, spotting the cameras and sitting on your designated seat, while you wait for your signal to start.

Of course, you had acted before. Yes, you had expected for the director to ask you for some more intimate moments with your co-star. But when Jaehyun passed you a “love note” from the desk in front of you, looking all blushy and shy and with his dimples showing, you felt that the role of crushing schoolgirl became a little too easy for you to act out.

And maybe, just maybe he was feeling the same way too. He looked pretty flustered when he saw you dancing across class, shifting restlessly in his seat when you bent forward to tie your shoelaces. Whether you did it on purpose or not, was a question your ego didn’t allow you to answer truthfully.

Most of the individual shots would be handled at a different shoot, so all you had to do was get over this one day with him. That’s what you repeated yourself over and over again. And you did pretty well, smiling charmingly at the camera, with the director praising you for your “innocent look”. You didn’t miss the scoff slipping from Jaehyun’s lips but you were good at ignoring it, focusing on getting through the different scenes in one-shot.

You were currently leaning your body against the wall, playing with your hair while Jaehyun glances down at you, like a boy that is ready to confess to his first love.

“y/n, I need you to give me something more shy, more bashful”, the director yells eagerly, but you can barely hear him, too focused on regulating your breathing. The look your co-star is giving you right now might seem loving and pure to the staff, but you know all too well the motives hidden behind his facade. It’s the calm before the storm, the silence he purposefully keeps to make you squirm, right before he whispers the most sinful propositions in your ears.

Reading him like an open book, you stand still as he leans closer, just enough so that no one besides you get to hear his words.

“Come on y/n, can’t you act bashful? Or is it impossible for you to get embarrassed after getting fucked against the window of a TV station’s building?”

Clearing your throat, you’re suddenly hyper aware of every single sound and movement in the room. Suffocating, even in the light clothes you were wearing, and desperately trying to mute out his words that bring you back to the day he was repenting.

“When you were pressed up against that glass, moaning my name, all exposed for anyone that simply looked up to see, you weren’t too shy, were you?”

You raise your palm to wipe a bead of sweat that has collected on your temple, and breathe deeply through your nose, as if a good pump of oxygen would cool off the sudden heat between your legs.

“Shut up Jaehyun”, you simply hiss through your front teeth, but he isn’t done yet.

“You know I can’t hold myself when I see you in skirts. So pretty. And you love to tease me in them too, I’ve noticed. Flashing me again and again until you get to suckle on my dick”

You were sure his voice was barely louder than a whisper, but the thought of anyone accidentally prying into your conversation had your whole body raising in temperature. The heat didn’t take long to reach your cheeks and you couldn’t remember the last time your legs felt like jelly, as they do now.

“Perfect y/n, that’s exactly what I’m looking for!”

You blinked back at Jaehyun a couple times, your mind trying to process that the director is cheering you on instead of scolding you to focus. The trembling hands, the fast-paced heartbeat, your big doe eyes. Though involuntarily, you had nailed the scene.

“You’re welcome”, Jaehyun mouths at you just as the staff announces a break. He scurries off to his dressing room without a word, as if he hadn’t just spewed his dirtiest of thoughts on set. It was almost as if he was daring you to follow him, but it’s not like he had left you a choice. You were fuming.

“Jaehyun”, you called out to him strictly but he didn’t acknowledge you, only walked further inside the small room with his name written neatly on the door. He was removing some of the heavier jewellery, rubbing the red lines they had left on his neck and wrist, momentarily catching your eyes on the mirror's reflection. They were misty, unreadable, and with how unpredictable you knew he could be, you decided to close the door behind you.

“Closing the door?”, he muses and in just a few long strides he has managed to trap you between his body and the wooden surface. It is reminiscent of your last meeting at the music show, and the memory of you tying him up doesn’t help with the organizing of your thoughts. “What are you planning on doing to me in here?”

You point one finger against his chest, not enough to create any real distance between you, but it comforts you nonetheless.

“What the fuck was that out there? What happened to professionalism?”

“Relax, kitty cat. I was just helping you act better”. His eyes stayed glued on your hips, once again making you all wound up and jumpy under his stare, “And it worked. You should be thanking me”

“I. Told. You.”, you started, tapping your finger on his sternum to emphasize each word, “Never call me that again. Today’s already hard as it is, why do you have to make it harder?”

He takes one more step towards you, his chest now touching yours and your hand that separated you lands involuntarily on his right peck. As if his presence wasn’t overwhelming enough, you feel a hardness pressing against your thigh, and for a moment you worry he can feel how wet you really are under your skirt. His voice is a low, a deep rumble.

“I don’t know. Why do you have to make everything so hard?”

“You are unbelievable”, you scowl at him and free yourself from his trap. You turn to the big mirror to avoid looking at him anymore, and you come to the embarrassing realization of how fucked out you look right now. You had to get out of there as soon as possible, before you do anything stupid and lose any trace of self control left in you. But not before you gave Jaehyun an earful.

“What I meant was that I am out there, being paid to be all lovey-dovey with you. This is not something easy for me you know. It’s basically prostitution.”

You catch Jaehyun’s eyes in his reflection, and for a fleeting moment they turn a colour that you hadn’t seen them in for a long time. Hurt? Disappointment? Whatever it was, it was gone in a second, replaced by that smile that made him both irresistibly smackable and fuckable at the same time.

“Did it cross your tiny brain that maybe someone could hear you? Staff leaks information all the time! If they found out we were fucking…”

“Were? Past tense?”

“Are. Will be. Whatever.” You sigh, defeated, hiding your eyes with your palms as you face him once again. “Like I said, this is important to me. So no more dirty talk on set. Okay?”

Jaehyun avoided your glance, from embarrassment or uninterest maybe. “Okay”

You continue to sit there silently, but your head is so occupied with a million thoughts that you don’t notice. How you will get through the rest of the shooting, whether your manager is looking for you or not, the coldness of the glass Jaehyun had pressed you against that day. The only thing that snapped you out of it, was him suddenly taking off his shirt.

“What are you doing?”, you ask panicking, but you can’t dismiss the pool of excitement in your belly.

“We have a wardrobe change after the break, remember? And since you refuse to leave my changing room..”

You clear your throat, trying your hardest to rip your eyes away from his abdomen, that you’ve so keenly marked with love bites before. His naked skin must have monopolized your attention way more than you realized, as you can’t remember when he slithered his way closer to you, towering over your height.

“Stare much?”, he almost growls, arousal dripping from his voice.

Every fiber of your being wanted to lurch forward, glide your fingers through his hair and start nibbling at those pretty lips of his. The sexual tension, amplified by the argument you just had, was filling the room like a thick liquid would fill a cup. One more drop, one more second of his staring and it would overflow. It felt so real, that you could feel that drop landing on your forehead. Then another one on your cheek, and that’s when you realized that what you felt was real.

“What the-?”, Jaehyun mumbles as he stares up at the ceiling, a big wet spot staining it and allowing the water drops to slowly wet his styled locks. As you start to put two and two together, someone knocks loudly on the door, making you both jump one feet away from the other.

“Get undressed”, a high-pitched male voice that you recognize as Jaehyun’s manager calls through the door, “the rain is ruining the set. It’s a wrap for today”

———————————————————————

A soft touch on your lower back, an even softer breath making your ears tingle. A tentative kiss on your neck that’s full of purpose and makes you shiver.

And then another touch, this time more south on your body. Fingertips grazing over your sensitive clit. Easily moving through your wetness and finally dipping inside of you. That baritone voice.

“This pussy is mine, isn’t it, kitty cat?”

You look up to meet the face of the familiar voice, only to meet Jaehyun’s baby brown eyes. The pleasure was enough to make you ignore the despised nickname, flowing intensely through your body. You let out a desperate moan, gripping his arms to keep your balance. His fingers are now dragging through your walls and you clench around them instinctively, confused but enamored by his touch. You are falling apart.

“Jaehyun? What are you doing?”

“I want to make love to you”

“Love? But you hate me”

He plants another kiss on the slope of your neck, his hands picking up in pace and making you feel like you’re floating on air.

“Love. Hate. Is there really any difference when I’m here, ready to please you? Willing to make you feel things you have never felt before?”

“You already do”, you admit, only seconds away from your orgasm. The bliss is so close you can almost taste it, but for now you choose to taste his lips. They are so soft and warm that you realize you haven’t kissed Jaehyun since that night at the practice room. How you miss him. Not the group visual, not the idol, not even Jaehyun. Yoonoh.

“Yoonoh”, you moan out against his lips as the pleasure overtakes you, a low buzz humming in your ears, “mmm yes, Yoonoh”

“Who the fuck is Yoonoh?”

You finally wake up, your manager shaking you awake being the first thing you see. The sun’s morning rays are peeking through your blinds, warming your skin in lines. Your phone’s ignored alarm clock is still buzzing on top of your nightstand.

“No one. I’m awake, thanks”

Fuck. That makes it what? The fourth night in a row you dreamt about him?

“Get, up. Quickly. We’re late”

You groaned at the banging of your head that was caused by you getting up so fast. It was early into the morning, as you had to get ready for the mv’s second shooting day. The heavy rainfall wouldn’t allow for the filming to continue for another week, yet aided your growing anxiety of having to encounter Yoon- Jaehyun again.

You felt a little stupid, like a kid that goes to middle school for the first time, anxious but full of butterflies in your stomach in the thought of seeing him again. You weren’t sure who the anger, that came with the inability to control the fresh feelings bubbling from your dream, should be directed at. Your manager for booking you this job? Jaehyun for making it his goal to have you dripping wet on set? You, for letting it all affect you so much?

You decide on the former, giving your poor manager the cold shower for forcing you to deal with the problems you’ve caused yourself. Checking your phone, you realise that you are, indeed, late, and wonder how quick you’re going to have to make your morning shower.

“Is Jaehyun and his team there already?”, you ask your manager as nonchalantly as you could, feigning mildly interested in his answer.

“Oh, they didn’t tell you? The other team asked for the shootings to continue separately”. You felt your stomach drop all the way down to your condo’s basement. And the icing on the cake: “Jung Jaehyun’s request”

Maybe your manager wasn’t as clueless to your electricity, or maybe it was your sudden impulse to pluck every loose thread of the pyjama top you were wearing that made him sense the discomfort following what he’d just said. He plops next to you on your bed, boards creaking in the silent room and you feel his rough hands patting you on the back.

“I’m sure he had an overlap in schedules and needed a break, nothing to do with you”

But you knew better, and you knew your palms wouldn’t stop itching unless you picked up your fucking phone and sent him a message.

you [06:30]: i heard you can’t make it to set today. everything ok?

You wish you never did. The radio silence from his number was way worse than any insult, any form of teasing he could give you on set. You even tried calling him, desperate for an answer, a closure even. Maybe he was busy. Maybe the shooting took longer than expected. Maybe he wasn’t avoiding you; one of his managers uploaded his latest story on his instagram, not him. Maybe at the end of the week he would get back to you.

------------------------------------------------------

Going to his dorm unannounced was not a good idea. Waiting for someone to open the door for you, you hope his members will recognise you from your trainee days, or those rare nights Jaehyun sneaked you in when you were both lonely and in need of a… well, whatever you two were.

You’re starting to worry that whoever saw you from the peephole thought you were a sasaeng and called security, when Mark opens the door. His eyes are wide open behind his glasses, clearly not expecting you and immediately yelling for his ‘Jaehyun hyung’.

Soon, the called male arrives at the apartment’s entrance, annoyed for being interrupted from whatever it was he was doing. “What is it, me and Jungwoo are watching the season fina-“

As if Mark suddenly turned invisible, Jaehyun walks right past him, grabbing you by the wrist and dragging you to his room without another word.

Jungwoo, engrossed with the aforementioned show’s season finale on his computer screen, tries to cover up his naked torso in panic when he notices you.

“Get out.”, Jaehyun orders him, and the younger man knows that his tone is not one to be argued with. It triggers the cold sweat that makes your clothes stick closer to your skin and forces your heartbeat to quicken, pumping blood all over your body. The door closes, leaving you both alone with only the sound of Jungwoo’s laptop still playing in the background. A lighthearted scene that is too oxymoronic against the tension that is just palpable at this point. What the hell were you thinking coming here?

“What the hell were you thinking coming here?”, Jaehyun speaks your thoughts out loud, and you wince at how empty your head is with excuses.

“Are you ignoring me?”

“What?”, he asks dumbly, hoping you would avoid asking again.

“Was it that hard to text me back? Am I such a waste of your time?”

Jaehyun seems angry at your confrontation, his bad mood escalating with every word that is leaving your mouth. He still avoids to look at you, toying with some plushies and decorations next to his bedpost. You realize you never had time to really notice them, barely recognizing them. You always entered the room blindly, pressed up against Jaehyun’s body and with his lips all over your neck, then left as soon as the sex was over. His apathy was infuriating.

One by one, you start to remove all of your outerwear, dropping your clothes on the floor until you’re left in only your bra and jeans. Jaehyun stares at you incredulously, then at the pile of clothes on the floor, unable to make out the reasoning behind your impromptu stripping.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting naked. Seems to be the only time you can actually pay attention to me.”

You reach for the buttons of your jeans, only able to unzip it halfway before Jaehyun has you pinned against the wall behind you, his fingers cool and pressing lightly against your neck.

“I-I fucking hate you!”, he cries, punching the surface to release some of the steam, and lets go of the hold on your neck almost completely. How tempted he is, to just fuck your right against that wall, pour out his anger by pouring out his cum inside you, then ignore each other like you always do.

It’s the easy thing to do, keeping the toxic circle going. All barking and fucking and no real problem gets resolved in the end. He wouldn’t even call a cab for you, preferring to be hated for something he wasn’t than to be rejected for showing the real him. You would still have no idea about his feelings towards you, going around saying how awful he was while asking for a round two. But Jaehyun was tired.

“Can’t you tell that I am trying to distance myself from you?”, he sighs and it’s the first time you’ve ever heard him sound so emotionally exhausted.

“Why do you dislike me so much? We used to be friends and then one day you-“

“Friends? Just friends?”, he interrupts you with a chuckle and a sarcastic puff through his nose, and you shake your head.

“If you also think that what we had was more special than a common friendship then why act like you don’t know me?”

“You were the one who wanted to ‘forget about anything happening and never telling a soul about it’, remember?”

“I thought we came to a mutual agreement! I was just trying to save our careers and it worked Jaehyun, you got to debut and I-“

“And you just threw away everything we had like it was the easiest thing to do! Do you ever want to know how I feel, y/n? First you want nothing to do with me, left the company without even saying goodbye. Then I try to forget about you, become an asshole to keep you out of my life and suddenly you want to jump my bones. One day you just play blind to everything, asking for professionalism and now I’m the one ignoring you? What the fuck do you want? A fuck buddy? A professional? A friend?”

“I want you, Yoonoh. Fuck, I just want you”

You’re not sure which one of you initiates the kiss. His lips are as plump and kissed as hard as you recalled, a couple of tears staining your cheeks that you didn’t realize you were holding back. It felt so right, the way his head pushed and pulled away from yours, always inviting you back to him. One hand was situated over the dimples of your waist, the other lost between your hair, untangling it gently. You decided to lay yours over his heart, feeling its tempo and calming yourself down.

You kiss for what seems like an eternity, so drunk in bliss that you can’t remember how you made it through life without Jaehyun’s taste all over your tongue. When he pulls away from your lips, you almost whine, but his fingertips dabbing at the soft skin of your cheeks feel just as comforting.

“I don’t want us to be like this anymore”, you whisper to him and he nods encouragingly, holding you even closer. “I’m sorry for not reaching out to you all these years ago, I just thought ‘What would a brand new idol want to do with a failed trainee like me’-“

Jaehyun brings your fingers to his lips, kissing all your knuckles one by one and you think you’re gonna burst at the seams. “You weren’t a failure, you were the best thing to happen to me back then”. His voice is so sincere that you don’t dare question the veracity of what he’s saying and you let him continue. “When I saw you again I was so bitter, I decided to turn off my feelings. I think I get too comfortable in that role. I put it on for me, my members, my fans even”, he stops then, laughing sadly, “it’s how I finally got you”

It was your turn to open up his eyes to the truth, holding his face between your hands and admiring its beauty.

“That’s not true. I kept staying because I knew what was hidden behind all that armor. I guess, the sex was the only way to get closer to you”

“Not because I’m good?”, he jokes, wiggling his eyebrows and you can feel his dimples forming under your fingers.

“Eh, you’re pretty good too”

He starts pecking your neck, his smile obvious in his kisses and you squeal when he lifts you to his bed. Bouncing on the hard mattress, you let him lay his body weight over yours as he gives you a million traces of his love.

“So, I’m guessing this means we start over?”, he asks reluctantly as he emerges from your half naked body and you hold back from cooing at him.

“I thought you loved to hate me?”

“I think I hate it, but I love you”

#neosmutcollective #Jaehyun #jung jaehyun #jaehyun smut #nct smut #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun angst #nct scenarios #nct 127 #nct angst #jaehyun fluff #nct

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kiribakuhappiness · 3 years

Note

Prompt- someone in class 1A bodyswaps with kirishima. For some reason they don't/can't tell their class. Whoever is in kiri body (your choice) has to deal with soft baku who either is about to confess or is already secretly dating kirishima

(Kiribaku Drabble Prompt) OH MY GOD. I AM DEAD. JUST TAKE IT. with love.

The alarm went off (supposedly) at exactly six o’clock in the morning just like it did every other morning from what felt like the beginning of time. But the tune that drifted over into his ears sounded a bit strange today, and the sheets felt a bit scratchier and heavier than he remembered them being, and - probably most importantly to note - Izuku hadn’t even needed to twitch a single muscle that morning before the blaring noise was being cut off again on its own and the room was plunged back into stifling silence.

Which all lead to the objectively horrifying conclusion that there was someone else in this bed with him.

Izuku tried not to notice how frantically his heart was pattering away inside his chest, and he kept his eyes closed to maybe continue to give off the absolutely false pretense of still being asleep, but it was no use.

He was effectively freaking out.

Why did this kind of stuff keep happening to him? First it was Aoyama leaving him cheese outside on his balcony and now this? Should he be telling somebody about these incidents? It was starting to feel like maybe it was time for him to tell somebody. All Might, maybe? Principal Nedzu? His mom?

But… that alarm… it hadn’t been set to the sound he was used to.

And these bed sheets... they were so familiar somehow...

Izuku swallowed down his rattled nerves as quietly as possible before he unfurled one of his shaking fists to touch more prominently at the heavy comforter currently all tangled up around his limbs that felt too warm, so very careful to avoid shifting too obviously or accidentally bumping into whoever the hell was next to him.

No... Izuku knew these sheets. The way that the material caught on the pads of his fingers and pulled at long forgotten memories too blurry in his adrenaline-filled state to properly see them, and that smell! He took in a deep, slow breath through his nose, and he recognized all of them. His brain prodded him with useless bombardments of dismembered images. A pillow. A blanket. A couch. A kitchen. A color. A voice.

Oh. No.

This was Kacchan’s room.

Why the hell was Izuku in Kacchan’s room?!

Why the hell was he in Kacchan’s bed?!?!

These were the exact same sheets, the same rough texture, the same familiar smell of a subtle bleach and a smoldering stack of firewood that had been ingrained into his memories since before he was old enough to even be fully self-aware of such significant sights and sounds and sensory triggers.

But this hand...

Izuku wiggled his fingers as carefully as he dared to, but it all felt wrong. The wrist was too wide, the tendons in his forearm were too strong and sturdy, like they’d never been strained or bruised before in their entire lives, fresh and limber and toned.

No. None of this was right.

“Oi, we fuckin’ gettin’ up or what?” Kacchan’s hoarse, early-morning voice cracked somewhere beside him before an equally rough palm smacked hard into his bare shoulder and startled Izuku’s eyes wide open with a chaotic lurch in the opposite direction as he rushed to sit up and put as much distance between them as possible.

Oh wow. Yeah. This was Kacchan’s room alright.

That poster used to be in his bedroom back at his parent’s place, and that snowboard leaning against the dresser in the corner had his signature orange stripe down a solid black background, and this was definitely the same navy-blue comforter that Izuku had always hated the feeling of ever since he was old enough to hate the way that things felt, and - holy cow - there was Kacchan.

Sleep torn and shirtless with his wayward spikes all pressed down flat on one side while he lifted a broad hand up to rub his battle-scarred knuckles into one of his blurry eyes. His lips tucked down into a petulant scowl and his eyebrows furrowed in the middle of his forehead the longer that Izuku continued to sit and stare at him with an open mouth as though he had just watched him grow another head.

Kacchan hasn’t tried to explode him yet.

Why hasn’t Kacchan tried to explode him yet?

“The fuck are you lookin’ at me like that for?” Kacchan griped in a moody manner as he reached out for a second time and pushed at his shoulder again, lighter, and with fingers that tried to linger for far too long. Izuku jumped at the unexpected contact and tried to back completely out of his reach, but the bed was much too small, and suddenly he was tumbling off onto the floor with a resounding groan of pain that sounded nothing like his own.

“Oi! Kirishima! The fuck is the matter with you?” Kacchan snapped in clear agitation as he glared over the edge of the bed down at Izuku’s rumpled figure lying in a heap on the floor.

Did he just say Kirishima?

Okay. Something really crazy must have happened last night. Something quirk related. Definitely something quirk related.

Izuku righted himself on the ground before he held up his hands in front of his face and gazed at the strong, muscular vein protruding on his right forearm that was most definitely not his own, and yeah, okay, he was in Kirishima’s body right now. That’s what this was – they had switched bodies. Which meant that Kirishima was probably in Izuku’s room, waking up as him and - aw man - that meant that Kirishima was going to see all of the new posters and action figures that he’d been adding to his collection since the first time when everyone had forced their way into his room and -

HOLY CRAP - Kirishima was sleeping in Kacchan’s room?! Since when??

“Did you wake up feelin’ even more dumb today or what?! If you don’t answer me right fucking now -”

It was the familiar sound of Kacchan’s explosions popping in the center of his palms that finally jarred Izuku back to the present; back to the reality of this very hazardous situation that he seemed to have found himself in. There was no way that he could tell Kacchan who he really was right now. He would kill him. He would murder him in cold blood. He would blast him to death until there was nothing left of him and then he would blast away all of the rest of his pieces just for fun.

Nope. Kacchan could not find out about this. It was just out of the question.

“Sorry!” And okay, his voice did sound a lot like Kirishima’s, that was good. Lower and scratchier with an adolescent edge in the process of dropping a few more octaves before reaching full maturity someday. He could work with that. “I was just having a dream. You startled me… d-dude!”

Kacchan frowned down at him with a suspicious, squinted gaze and Izuku tried to look as innocent as possible as he slowly lumbered back up onto his feet that felt foreign and unsteady under his new weight.

Wow. Izuku was tall. It might have only been a few more centimeters, but the height difference was already astounding. It would have been kind of nice if he had swapped places with someone who happened to be taller than Kacchan, though… oh well.

Speaking of Kacchan, he tracked Izuku’s movements with a laser-light precision while Izuku tried to remember how it was that people normally stood (because he seemed to have forgotten how to) before Kacchan suddenly tch’ed and slumped back down into his pillow with a careless arm thrown up and under his head. He smacked the empty space where Izuku had just been laying with his other free hand and glared expectantly.

“C’m back,” he demanded in a decidedly less than threatening manner.

Wow. This was really weird. Kirishima slept in Kacchan’s bed and Kacchan was okay with it? How often did this happen? How did they even get to this point where it had become so natural for them to share a bed like this? To wake up together like this? When did –

Kacchan’s lip twitched impatiently and he raised his hand up in a slow, dramatic arch as though to catch his eye and make sure that Izuku couldn’t miss how obviously the gesture was being directed at him.

“Eijirou,” Kacchan grunted out, with an incredibly uncomfortable amount of eye contact, and then he smacked the empty space beside him again.

Oh… my god. It was a summons. Izuku could not do that. He could not handle just… getting back into bed with him?! Not when he’d finally managed to escape from it. There had to be an excuse. He had to find an excuse.

“I have to pee –”

“I could not care less,” Kacchan snarked back before his strong fingers gripped bunches of the comforter into a tight hold as though he were physically restraining himself from doing something that Izuku didn’t want to know what it could possibly be.

“I-I’ll just be a minute,” Izuku tried to stumble out as nonchalantly as possible as he took a hurried step in the direction of the bathroom.

A loud creak echoing from the other side of the room halted him dead in his tracks, and he whipped around to spot Kacchan as he rolled up onto his knees in one swift movement and leaned forward, reaching out and grasping the end of the bed with two strong hands and looking ready to leap off the mattress and block Izuku from continuing.

“You really gonna make me chase after you?” Kacchan snorted an amused sort of sound under his breath as his biceps flexed dangerously and he readied himself to pounce.

Oh no. Not chase after. Never ever chase after.

“N-no!” Izuku managed to stammer out, but it was far too late. Kacchan had already made the decision to end him.

Izuku scrambled back as quickly as possible in an attempt to keep some distance between them, but it closed before he even had the chance to register that it was gone and then Kacchan was just there, far too close far too quickly, leaning into his space and wow, Izuku was so uncomfortable right now that he couldn’t even pretend to keep making eye contact anymore as he fidgeted restlessly in his new cornered position.

“You’re bein’ weirder than usual,” Kacchan stated firmly, but he had finally stopped trying to come closer which was all-in-all a very good thing.

“Sorry,” Izuku squeaked out again, clenching and unclenching Kirishima’s hands over and over as he desperately tried to pull himself together. He couldn’t help feeling so incredibly blind-sided by all of this. He had so many questions and no way to ask them – no way to understand, to know.

How long would it take for Kirishima to wake up and try to come and find him? Surely he would understand the significance of how much Izuku was finding out about right now that clearly nobody was ever meant to find out about.

Holy crap, and if Kacchan knew that it was Izuku of all people who had been the first one to find out about it?! To have seen it all unfold up close and personal like this? Oh man, it was all so very bad.

“Stop apologizin’ to me, that’s what’s so fucking weird,” Kacchan grumbled out in the same bitter tone, and Izuku tried not to stiffen when he raised a hand and pressed it into the bookshelf next to his head, leaning his weight onto it and squinting down at him like they might share an extraordinary telepathic moment.

Izuku opened his mouth, ready to apologize again completely on instinct, but any noise that was about to come out got strangled and lodged in his throat when Kacchan’s other hand came up and his thumb promptly hooked under his jaw and clamped his mouth shut before a dangerous palm slid into place and covered his mouth completely. Izuku’s heart started to race in this unfamiliar chest and his eyes widened as he waited with vein-twisting anxiety for Kacchan to blow his entire face away with a single blast.

But… he never did.

“Seriously fucking stop, Kirishima. ’S pissin’ me off,” Kacchan demanded again; stern and final. “There ain’t nothin’ to apologize for, understand?”

Izuku tried to calm his labored breathing as he watched Kacchan watch him back for a long moment, and the fingers around his jaw tightened in an unfamiliar manner before they were suddenly gone again. Kacchan pushed himself away from the bookshelf and started towards the bathroom with a loud, gruff yawn.

“Better fuckin’ hurry up, cause I ain’t savin’ you any hot water for a second shower,” Kacchan warned without looking back as he turned on the light and ducked inside the other room.

Izuku’s entire body jolted back to life at the sound of the water in the shower turning on, and when it finally clicked in his head what that thinly veiled threat entailed, he tore off in the direction of the hallway at top speeds, practically sprinting out of the room and absolutely refusing to look back even when he could hear Kacchan shouting incredulously after him.

He so did not have the mental capacity to even try and unpack any of what he had just gone through. His one and only objective was to find Kirishima and switch their bodies back as soon as possible so that he could go on with the rest of his life and pretend like none of that had ever even happened in the first place.

Yeah… that sounded nice.

For once – Izuku just really, really didn’t want to know any more details.

--- full fic out now ---

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34034215

#kiribaku #kiribaku fic #kiribaku drabble #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #midoriya izuku #drabble prompts #bakushima #bakushima fic #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfic #mha fanfic #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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sassycassie-s-writing · 3 years

Text

My Favorite Smile

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): DC/BatFam - Jason Todd/Red Hood

Rating: PG-11/T- (this one has a couple ✨swear words✨ in it lol. I don’t usually write them out, but sometimes you just gotta say what you mean)

Original Idea: X (Obsessed with this channel right now)

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) 2,182 words... it’s a longer one again. I casually wrote this in, like, two hours. @welovegroot @jason-redhood @jason-todd-squad

^^^^^

Holding his coffee and croissant, Jason looked around the crowded café for a place to sit. Every table was occupied by at least one person, and the rules of personal space in public said the couches were full, with one person sitting on either end.

His eyes fell on a table with a single occupant.

His heart stuttered to a stop. Wait… is that her? Damn, she looks good this time. He scoffed at himself. Who am I kidding? She looks good every time. Should I talk to her? Should I tell her? She didn’t believe me last time… and I don’t know if I can stand another lifetime without her… but last life we didn’t meet till I was almost fifty. I really wasn’t expecting to find her this early.

He straightened up and strode over to her table. “Excuse me, is it alright if I sit here? The café’s pretty crowded and the other tables are full.”

She looked up and Jason’s brain stopped working as she met his eyes. She was just as incredible as she always was. Thousands upon thousands of years, and he still never got over how beautiful she was. “Sure, go ahead,” she said with a smile before going back to her phone.

—

“I’m Jason, by the way,” the man said, sitting down.

I glanced back up and gave him my name in return.

He smiled. He had a handsome smile. Just looking at him… something tugged in the back of my mind. “That’s a pretty name,” he said.

My ears warmed and I looked away. “Thanks,” I muttered. I looked back at him. “Sorry if this sounds… weird—but have we met before?” I cringed but smiled. If we had…oh it’d be so embarrassing if I’d forgotten him. And a man as handsome as him—how could I have forgotten?

But a look of delight crossed his face, before being replaced by one of neutrality. “Not in this lifetime,” he replied.

“Kind of an odd way to word it,” I remarked before I could overthink whether that sounded really rude or not.

Jason’s ears turned red. “Well… yeah I guess so. Sorry.” He looked down at his coffee cup and croissant and chose to take a sip of his drink. After swallowing, he looked back up at me. “This is probably gonna sound really creepy, but please just hear me out for a few minutes. Do you believe in soulmates?”

I reached up and scratched an itch just behind my ear. “I mean… kind of? I think maybe they exist for some people, and other people could be matched equally well with multiple potential partners,” I said.

His shoulders slouched with a sigh of what might have been relief. “Thank goodness,” he said. He met my eyes. “Because… we’re soulmates. You and I. Sometimes—very rarely—two people are so destined to be together, that they’re reborn over and over to stay together throughout thousands of years’ worth of lifetimes. Sometimes we both remember, sometimes only one of us does. I don’t think there’s ever been a lifetime where neither of us remember. Besides the first, I guess. Back when we didn’t know we’d be reborn. We never look the same twice—different bodies, different backgrounds. But we always have the same soul.”

A reasonable person would have thought he was making up a really long, bad pickup line. But I stared at him with rapt attention. Like some missing puzzle piece I’d been looking for my entire life fell into place. It just sounded… right.

“How do we find each other, if we look different every time?”

He took a deep breath. “Well… when one or both of us remember, we can… kind of sense it? Kind of see it? Like, right now, I see you, but I also see every face of yours that I’ve seen across every lifetime.” He cleared his throat. “Sometimes we don’t. Find each other, I mean. The distance between where we’re born or the timing of our rebirths keep us apart. But there’s only been… three of those, if I remember right.” He laughed. “So glad you believed me this time. It would have sucked if you got a restraining order—because those are a thing now—and I had to spend this life without you.”

I leaned forward, shoving my phone in my pocket. “Tell me more,” I said.

“Where do you want me to start?”

“Um… I don’t know. The beginning? Our first life?”

He nodded. “Ancient Greece,” he said. “Like, really early in Ancient Greece’s history. The gods blessed us. Bound our souls for eternity. Your hair is actually the same color now as it was back then. Kind of a… nostalgic favorite of mine. You’re absolutely stunning every time I see you, but I have some favorites. You do too.”

I snickered. “Oh really? Like what?”

“Well… I always think you’re adorable with dimples or freckles. Green eyes are a favorite of mine too. And your current hair color is my favorite. There were also a few times where you were a little taller than me. Those were nice. You’re most comfortable to hug that way. But, without fail, every single lifetime I see your smile and I think, ‘That one. That one’s my new favorite.’” He chuckled. “As for you, you’ve told me that you like me best with brown eyes—even though you don’t like brown eyes normally. Um… you also like it when my hair is curly.” He gestured to his black hair, slightly curled, with two white curls arcing down the center of his forehead. “You told me… seven lifetimes ago? That you like me best with piercings and tattoos, but when I brought it up last lifetime you said even when I have them I still look like, and I quote, a ‘giant nerd.’”

We both laughed. Jason sighed and shook his head.

“Then again, you said that was your favorite during our pirate lifetime. And I can also say hot damn you looked good with tattoos and a big hat.”

I gasped out a laugh. “We were pirates?”

He laughed too. “Yeah. Well, you were. To start with, anyway. You and your crew were visiting my town and you, absolutely drunk, stumbled into my house. I was a carpenter that time. Thank the gods we both remembered that lifetime or I probably would have shot you. You spent half the night drunkenly blathering about how much you hated my hair when it was long the way it was and that you’d cut it off if I didn’t. The next morning, when you’d sobered up, you apologized. And I’d said it was fine. And… you asked me to come with you. I’ve spent dozens of lifetimes endlessly in love with you. So, like the lovesick fool I am and was, I said yes.

“It… was not a long lifetime. Pirates rarely made it to old age. We were both killed when a Royal Navy ship attacked us. I went down first. You told me in our next lifetime that you single-handedly killed half of that crew’s sailors in revenge even though you knew you’d see me again—because you’d been having so much fun that life and they ruined it. Eventually their captain killed you himself.” He took a bite of his croissant.

It was certainly a lot to take in. But everything he said was so vivid… I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination coming up with the images or… memories that had merely been locked away somewhere deep inside. The sea. The deck of a ship. An octopus tattoo on my left forearm, tentacles reaching to the back of my hand, a similar one on his tanned, scarred neck. Curly auburn hair, a scruffy beard. Brown leather coat and blood under his nails. Pierced ear and eyebrow. A tattoo of a mermaid with a face and wild hair that I knew must have been mine on his right thigh as we found alone time together in my cabin—a pile of leather clothes in a heap on the floor, topped by a big hat with a big feather.

I met his eyes again. “Tell me about another one.”

He smiled. “Well… there was another time I was a soldier. You remembered. I didn’t. I passed through your town on my way to report for duty, and the weather got bad. Your family owned a tavern that doubled as an inn. So, that was where I stayed. You didn’t tell me. I fell in love with you anyway. You would tell me stories and sing for me and make me food in private. When the weather improved, I went off to war and, miraculously, I survived. Even though I spent most of my time that fight thinking about you. I came back to your inn and asked you to marry me. You said yes. We were married soon after. I had to leave a lot. Fighting battles I didn’t care about. Eventually, I came home injured and dying. You held my hand and promised you’d see me soon. I thought you meant heaven or just said it to comfort me. You never told me we were endlessly-reborn soulmates.

“When I was about fifteen my next lifetime, all my memories came back. We both remembered that time, actually. When we ran into each other again we got into such a big argument about you not telling me. Literally picked up right where we left off. Two twenty-year-olds bickering like the old married couple we were. The life after I don’t remember is always a bit of a wild ride as all my memories come back. I imagine it’s similar for you. It’ll be similar for you.”

He reached across the table and took my hand. I squeezed his fingers. Our hands fit together perfectly. I wondered why I’d told him I liked him best with brown eyes when his blue eyes were absolutely gorgeous. “So… what now?” I asked.

He made a face. “Beginnings are always hard when one of us doesn’t remember. Because I have thousands of years of love for you, and you don’t even know me.” His fingers tightened around mine. “I’d like to take you out on a date, if you’ll let me.”

“Does it count as a first date?”

He smiled. It was a sad smile. “It can. It does for this life.”

“Have we… ever had children? Together?”

Jason regarded me thoughtfully. “We have,” he said. “But our bloodlines never last long. Usually we’re lucky to get great-grandchildren. We’re blessed to be together forever, but our families die off quickly. You speculated once that it’s the blessing’s attempt to make sure we’re not reborn into our own bloodline.”

“So we have no living descendants.”

“No. It’d be a little weird if we did. Like ‘Hey, kiddo, you’re our great-great-great-grandson! I know we’re younger than you but trust us!’” Jason laughed.

I could get drunk on that laugh. “I’d… I’d like to go on that date.”

He looked elated—and relieved. “Me too. I’d like to get to know you again.” He glanced around the crowded café. “What do you say we get out of here and go somewhere quiet and I can tell you more stories about our lives? You’ve always been the far superior storyteller, but I learned from the best.”

I smiled. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here. I want to hear everything.”

He helped me to my feet. I gathered my jacket, cup, and phone. “Great. I can’t wait to tell you about the time I was a magician.”

I giggled. “My place or yours?”

“Mine. I have a memento from our most recent past life that I tracked down. I’d like you to have it.”

“What is it?”

Jason didn’t answer immediately. Just held my hand as we left the café. Gotham’s overcast autumn sky was chilly. “I… I want it to be a surprise but I’m also too excited to tell you.” He bit his lower lip, staring at me. “Gah. Fine. It’s your wedding ring. I found it at an antique shop not far from where our oldest niece lived. We didn’t have any kids, last life. We didn’t meet till I was forty-nine and you were forty-three. We both decided it was too late for kids. But I had a few nieces and nephews. Our oldest niece was in charge of our estate. We died in the eighties. But I found your ring. You can use it again, eventually, if you want. Or we can get you a new one.” His face reddened. “I don’t mean to presume. But I don’t know if I can live without you this lifetime after having you for such a short time last life.”

I squeezed his hand. “Let’s try that first date first. I feel this pull toward you I can’t explain, but we’ll build up to the soulmate thing. Okay?” I smiled at him.

—

Jason couldn’t help but stare at her. Those eyes, that stunning face. This one, he thought. This smile is my favorite.

#My Favorite Smile #Jason Todd #jason todd imagine #jason todd fanfiction #Red Hood #red hood imagine #red hood fanfiction #DC #DC imagine #dc fanfiction #BatFam #batfam imagine #batfam fanfiction

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anika-ann · 4 years

Text

Stockings (S.R.)

Type: Modern-college-professor AU - part of Attached series or a standalone

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 3000

Summary: You just wanted to decorate the apartment for a bit, you swear.

It wasn’t your fault that it was impossible to stay with your mind out of the gutter for longer than five minutes whenever Steve was around.

A/N: No knowledge of Attached needed I think 😉 Feel free to read as a standalone, you’ll find it in my masterlist as both.

A/N 2: For @wonderlandmind4 ‘s challenge. Congrats on your follower count and for coming up with this awesome challenge!

Prompt: “Those - weren’t the kind of stockings I had in mind-“ (bold in text)

Warnings: suggestive themes, implied smut with tiny bit of action so 18+, nsfw, language (always), and one (1) trope that has definitely been used before

Series masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

When the idea of decorating first flashed through your mind, it was, honest to God, completely innocent.

Due to loads of schoolwork, Halloween somehow passed by and you barely noticed, the most festive thing you had done being the indulgent orders of pumpkin spiced lattés and hogging some of the candy for your exam time stress-eating. Candy which just happened to be shaped like spiders, snakes, witches and other lovely stuff.

But that was it and with ditching the spooky holiday and the Thanksgiving which no one in your apartment was allowed to talk about, you itched to celebrate at least one of the holidays in peace and with everything that belonged with it.

Gifts, obviously.

Baking, perhaps.

Decorations, absolutely.

Last year, you and Penny had gone a bit overboard, fully affected by the holiday madness, and bought half the store (well, as much as your financial situation allowed anyway). Your dorm room looked as if Santa puked there, as Penny elaborately put it, but you both adored it.

Now, with Steve, you knew you had to be considerably more restrained.

Not that he would notice if your apartment turned into a damn Santa village, because he was too preoccupied with grading midterm papers. Non-stop, it seemed. The pile never ever appeared to be reducing.

However, you and Steve had set a rule that even if you were both crazy busy, you’d make time for at least one or two evenings together – simply to take few moments to fully appreciate each other’s company.

That night, Steve’s mind wandered despite trying to stay focused on you, you could tell. You felt for him, you truly did… but you missed him. Your time together, truly together, became so rare lately and--- you didn’t want to end up like the couple that kisses goodnight and good-morning just because they share quarters and a bed, and ignores one another for the rest of the day.

Rather than letting the gloomy thoughts consume you though, you tried a different approach; humour.

After all, that was how your relationship had started, along with loads of awkwardness.

“Penny says hi, by the way,” you said casually, practically feeling Steve’s absence despite his body engulfing you as you cuddled on the couch, movie on your laptop playing in the background which neither of you were watching.

Steve hummed, his fingers never ceasing the comforting strokes on your arm.

You adored him, you did – which really was the reason why you couldn’t but mess with him, tease him for his mental trip to the far-away lands.

“She and Bucky hooked up again.”

“Mm.”

“She still claims he was the best she ever had.”

“Oh, that’s interesting,” Steve muttered, almost as if he was actually listening to you.

“I’m meeting them tomorrow both, because they offered me a threesome.”

“That’s nice.”

The corners of your lips twitched. God, Steve was lucky to have you to take his mind off his job sometimes, otherwise he would work himself into the ground with how much of his brain space was filled with university matters. He was so detached from life sometimes…

“Bucky asked if he could film it, do you think I should say yes?”

“Whatever you think—wait WHAT?!” he cried out, sitting up straight, hence pushing you up too since you had been nestled on his chest.

Giggles erupted from your throat as you watched his perplexed and scandalized face, realization slowly dawning on him as he probably went over the last few sentences that left your mouth – and his expression gradually melted into an apologetic one, blending into exhaustion as he ran his hand down his face.

You cupped his cheeks then, leaning in to plant a kiss on his forehead – you would swear it was a fraction hotter than normal, his poor brain overheating – and stifled the aww threatening to spill when Steve closed his eyes contentedly, a hum vibrating in his chest.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered, kissing your lips chastely before wrapping his arms around you to hold you close again, face nuzzling your hair. “I’m listening now.”

You curled into his warmth, much more welcoming than the comforter wrapped around you.

“It’s okay, Stevie. I know you’re tired. We’ll just call it a night.”

“But you wanted to talk about something?” he protested softly, earning a hum in affirmation.

“Just wanted to ask if you’d be okay with me decorating the apartment? Just a bit, to bring a piece of the Christmas spirit in here?”

You could feel his smile against your scalp as his thumb caressed your shoulders blades, his large form shifting for a bit.

“We both live here, sweetheart,” he reminded you and you made a tiny sound of protest. Yes, he was correct, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t consult him on stuff before messing with the interior, even if it was with the best intentions. Duh. “But I appreciate you asking. Decorations, huh?”

You withdrew, meeting his tired eyes with a barely-there twinkle. You smiled at up at him innocently, showing him a tiny space between your thumb and index finger.

“Just a little bit. Just the basics…”

“Uh-huh. The basics. So that’s what? Christmas lights, stockings, mistletoe, a tree?” he mused, his thumb moving to your chin, to your lower lip, brushing it tenderly as you nodded minutely with a smile. His irises lit up a fraction with that image he must have painted in his mind and you felt familiar warmth around your heart at the sight. “I guess we’ll have to talk about getting a tree then. But it sounds nice, babygirl. The mistletoe in particular.”

He proceeded to capture that lips with his, lazy but indulgent kiss that sent pleasant sparkles down your spine and yet made you sleepy as it was soothing, feeling like home.

“Yeah. Sounds nice,” you echoed dreamily, meeting his lips again in a short kiss before nudging him to stand up so you could begin to move to bed.

Only later it occurred to you just how nice you could do with the stuff Steve had mentioned if you tried – and you fell asleep in his arms, a menacing grin that would make Grinch green with envy on your lips.

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Carrying the box after hanging one mistletoe branchlet in the kitchen along with very few fairy lights in the window, you were ready to move onto the bedroom, where Steve was, again, working.

Not for long, you hoped – after all, you put notable effort into your appearance.

With a small smirk on your lips, you knocked on the separating wall, peeking from behind it, trying your best not reveal too much.

Steve didn’t even bother looking up, a semi-loud hum the only sign of him acknowledging your presence.

“I’m gonna decorate this room… you mind me messing around for a bit?” you asked, attempting to sound compassionate about his workload, which you were, and perfectly innocent, which you were not.

That got him eye you briefly, an unconvincing smile passing his lips.

“Sure, go ahead,” he encouraged you softly. He turned his gaze back to the papers on his desk and started writing notes before you could even respond – hence missing your victorious smile.

“Thanks!”

You gleefully walked in, steps soundless against the floor thanks to the thin fabric covering your soles, and placed the box on your own desk.

The rustle of papers and the sudden lack of scribbling sound had you biting your cheek so you wouldn’t burst out laughing.

Steve cleared his throat loudly; when you looked at him over your shoulder however, he went back to reading his damn papers.

You swallowed your disappointment, trying not to think much of it – Steve could be very patient when he wanted to be – or very impulsive. And sometimes, he was both at the same time.

So you pressed your lips together and removed the other branchlet of mistletoe from the top of the box, following with Christmas lights, putting whatever you needed on the desk.

“Sweetheart…” Steve’s voice sounded from his seat, partly amused, partly… hoarse, affected, and you had to bite your lips so the giggles wouldn’t spill out. “What are you wearing?”

You turned to him, making a show of checking your outfit, letting your palms sprawl over your barely covered thighs and slowly moving them up, the hem of Steve’s loose ivory sweater hiking up an inch and revealing the lace of your thigh-high crimson stockings; perhaps even offering a peek of the straps holding them in place due to the garter belt.

“Your old sweater… and stockings,” you offered with a one-shoulder shrug, cool as cucumber in December – or as yourself teasing your loveable boyfriend at the end of November – on the outside, giddy on the inside as his gaze trailed all over your figure, wavering at the lace and the patch of skin on display, before focusing on your face.

“Those-- those weren’t the kind of stockings I had in mind-- when I, uhm, talked about decorating this place,” he explained.

He sounded almost patient, as if it wasn’t clear as day. His irises, however, were not clear – a cloud of desire covered them, turning them a shade darker, hungrier.

It sent a pleasant shiver up your spine, heat pooling in your belly, satisfaction at inching closer to your goal causing your chest nearly puff with pride.

“Oh, my bad!” you exclaimed, chuckling self-depreciatingly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you eyed Steve from under your eyelashes, picture perfect of innocence… not. “Silly me! I’m sorry, I know how much you hate me in stockings…”

“Babygirl…”

His voice resembled a growl, a low warning not to toy with him – which was exactly what you did want to do, teasing him shamelessly when having added emphasis on him not liking your attire.

Stockings and/or his clothes on you got your boyfriend going in fact, sometimes for hours even, thank you very much.

“Yes, Steve?”

“This isn’t going to work, you know. I really have to finish these,” he stated and you most definitely didn’t imagine the impatience and his dislike towards his task sneaking into his voice.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. These are just…” you bit gently on your lower lip, sliding your palms up and down your thighs, Steve’s gaze following the motion instinctively, pupils dilating with the craving to replace your hands with his own, “…comfy, just like your sweater. You never minded when I borrowed it before—you know I love stealing it. It just… it smells like you and it’s warm. It’s like you’re all over me. It’s perfect.”

His glare zeroed on your mouth, slightly accented by a natural, yet visible shade of your lipstick. Steve didn’t say a word, simply staring – and shifting slightly in his seat, much to your glee, which hopefully didn’t show too much – and grumbling an unidentifiable noise.

You felt for him, you truly did – god knew that sometimes, you were overwhelmed with schoolwork too – but that didn’t stop you from smiling at him sweetly now, adding an apologetic tone to your next words.

“Sorry. I talk too much. Don’t let me disturb you. You have work to do and so do I. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.”

Then you spun on your heels and went back to continue your previous activity, laying out decorations on your desk.

Steve only grunted behind you, but you could hear him as he started going through the papers again, probably trying – and hopefully failing – to ignore your presence.

It wasn’t that you wanted to be mean, there was no single drop of malice in your plan; Steve needed to get his head off his work for a bit, even if he wasn’t aware of it. The way he was overworking himself was beginning to threaten to his sanity.

You simply wanted to help and this was just the way that had crossed your mind first; it was entirely on Steve and his stupidly perfect everything that you couldn’t seem to get your head out of the gutter sometimes when in his presence.

You wished nothing more than for him to turn off his brain… and to relax and enjoy himself.

Clearly, he was enjoying the view indeed.

You caught his sharp inhale when you accidentally dropped a tacky plastic Santa and proceeded to bend over to pick it up… offering Steve a perfect view of your rear and revealing the smart garter belt you wore; with nothing as much as a thong, leaving your most intimate areas bare.

You heard him shuffling in the chair and had to smirk, mentally counting down the time until his resolve broke.

He was holding up quite bravely – nearly long enough to make you doubt your ability to seduce him. Except the shuffle of papers that followed sounded as if he was trying to make a point and you knew that the breaking point was on horizon.

So when the time came to set in motion what you assumed would be the final strike – pushing the chair from your desk to the middle of the room to get ready to put your stockings on display right in his natural line of vision – you delicately took the branchlet of mistletoe with you, climbing up and carefully tying it to the lamp.

Steve’s pen hit the desk with a click and you quickly shot him a glance, meeting his stern and yet rather amused eyes. He sighed at your ridiculously unsubtle antics, but one corner of his lips rose anyway.

“Alright, that’s it. Get down here, you little minx,” he huffed.

Oh, sweet victory.

Mirroring his expression, you retorted cheekily: “Come get me.”

There was no missing the dangerous glint in is eye as he rose to his feet and stalked to your chair, a smirk playing on his lips, every movement purposeful and precise as if he was a predator chasing his prey to the corner.

Your breathing picked up as he neared, your heart pounding, chest heaving quickly – fuck, wasn’t it an erotic sight, Steve’s figure cladded in plain t-shirt and sweats, looking up at you as if he was about to eat you alive.

Maybe it was the expression on his face, somewhere between aroused, amused, cocky and predatory at the same time. Maybe it was the outline of his semi-hard dick on his sweatpants. But shit, you knew you were in trouble, you loved it, and you might have been this close to drooling. You were glad for forgoing underwear, because it would be absolutely useless and soaked through in an instant.

And Steve hadn’t even started yet.

Stopping right in front of you, craning his neck only a bit to face you (the tall bastard), his wide palms sprawled over your calves, their heat warming you from inside out.

An appreciative hum rumbled in his chest as his touch trailed up at torturously slow pace, drinking in the sight of your ragged breaths, indulging in every inch he laid his hands on. You couldn’t withhold the shudder running through your whole body and his grin widened.

“You’re such a fucking tease….” he whispered, licking his lips as his gaze fell lower again, following the movements of his hands, clasping the back of your thighs now, inching toward their inner part, fingers brushing the hem of your stockings.

“Is it-“ You had to clear your throat against the lump that grew there, your body buzzing with anticipation, the smart remark growing heavy on your tongue. “Is it teasing when you can just take what you want?”

He chuckled, a delicious dark sound, bringing more slickness between your legs, much to his apparent satisfaction as he set eyes on his prize.

“Downright naughty…”

His mouth landed softly on the inside of your right calf, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs to nudge them few inches apart to make space for him.

“Does that… uhm, does that mean I won’t be getting any presents from Santa this year?”

You had genuinely no clue how you managed to form a sentence through the fog of arousal around your brain, only growing thicker when Steve’s teeth grazed the skin above your knee, his fingertips brushing an extremely sensitive spot so close to your core.

“You could come down now, be a very good girl and I might put in a good word for you,” he muttered, biting down some more, drawing a mewl from your lips, another one escaping you when he snapped one of the strings holding your stockings in place.

The sharp gentle pain was enough to make words roll off your tongue.

“You think that would work?”

“Oh sweetheart…” Steve chuckled again, a huff of breath warming your thighs, before his eyes, wide-blown and hungry, met yours. “If it doesn’t… you can be damn sure I’m gonna give you fucking everything I have.”

You yelped when his grip on the back of your thighs tightened and he tugged you forward, your hands instantly going to his shoulders to maintain balance as you found yourself with no surface under your feet all of sudden.

He grinned up at you – the show-off, but by God, wasn’t the demonstration of strength setting your body on fire, rendering you speechless – and slowly lowered you to the ground, half-lidded eyes zeroed on your lips. He made damn sure that you felt his erection against your body at all time as he always loosened his grip and tightened it a second later, until your feet touched the ground – and yet you felt your legs shaking, unsteady with the need to feel more of him.

It dawned to you how crazy he managed to drive you, your roles reversed, your plan backfiring. But was it? Backfiring? Because you couldn’t wait to see how it would unfold--

His hands slipped under the sweater you stole from him, one grasping your hip to hold you tight against his body, fingers of the other diving into the pool of slick between your legs, causing you to jerk forward into his hand.

He leaned down to nip at the skin of your neck right under your ear, forefinger circling your clit for a good measure, drawing a needy moan from you.

“And I bet you’re gonna take it…” he hummed into your ear, satisfied smile audible in his hoarse voice, “and thank me for it like the good girl you are.”

You barely forced the words out, heavy with desire but any less true.

“Yes, Professor Rogers. I think I will.”

“Damn right.”

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S.R. masterlist

Attached masterlist

The One Word (next in timeline)

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I really wanted to come up with an original title… and failed. Also, it was supposed to be a drabble, but you know that I tend to babble… and rhyme, apparently.

Thank you for reading and for any kind of feedback :-*

187 notes · View notes

last-operator-standing · 3 years

Text

Toll of the Bell

Chapter 2 - Tempestuous

> Ao3

> Chapter 1 (tumblr)

> Chapter 3 (tumblr)

Summary: What now? He could roll over and accept the fate thrust upon him and die as Adler intended. Starting a new life away from it all couldn't be that bad either. Or…

Or he could finish the mission.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: None apply this chapter

Words: 3.4k (5.4k total)

A/N: This took me a little longer than I wanted but I have the next few chapters thought out now, so hopefully I'll be able to get them done and shared soon!

It's bright and early when Lazar shuffles in and startles Bell awake. He offers a sheepish smile and holds up the tray in his hand as peace offering. "Thought you might be hungry."

Bell stares down at the tray Lazar sets across his lap. There's a small bowl of noodles in broth and a pack of unopened saltines along with a bottle of water. "You've been out for a while. Figured you should start with something light." A soft jingle fills the silence and draws Bell's attention. There's a gentle pressure at his left wrist and he tries to peer curiously at what Lazar's doing.

"Can't eat without hands, eh?" He playfully waves Bell's now free hand about. Bell can't resist the small smile that makes its way across his face. It falls quickly when he waits expectantly for his other arm to be released only for Lazar to awkwardly avoid his eyes.

"Eat up." The atmosphere turns tense and awkward. "We can, uh… Talk when you're done." It sounds more like a question than a statement. Lazar makes a quick retreat, leaving Bell alone with his bland breakfast.

Bell sits in silence. The meal remains untouched and he stares unblinking into the cooling bowl. His previous anxieties start to resurface, leaving him nervous and uncertain once more. One question in particular forces itself to the front of his mind.

What now?

Lazar wouldn't save him just to turn around and execute him, right? He must want something. More intel? Perhaps he and Park were starting a separate investigation into Perseus.

"I just.. I feel like I owe you, Bell."

Bell heaves a heavy sigh. All this thinking was giving him a headache. He finally relents and reaches his free hand for the saltines, bringing them to his still restrained hand to pull the package open. The plastic is stubborn at first and refuses to part. No amount of tugging or prying can pull the traitorous material apart. Bell is seconds away from gnawing the damn thing off when it finally gives, showering him in crumbs and scattering perfectly good crackers to the floor.

The dramatic groan and loud Russian cursing is well justified, Bell decides. He angrily stuffs a saltine into his mouth and crunches it with a vengeance. The door is abruptly thrown wide, nearly causing him to choke in surprise.

"Bell, are you-"

Lazar pauses to take in the sight of the wide-eyed Bell and his mess of saltines.

"I can explain."

Lazar visibly relaxes and grins. "We thought someone was trying to kill you with all that yelling." From behind his shoulder, Park peers in, calculating eyes scanning the room. They both step inside. Lazar takes a seat on the edge of the bed and snatches a cracker from the open pack. Park remains at the door, leaning against the frame. Bell doesn't miss the way she discreetly holsters her gun.

"So, Bell." It's Park who speaks this time, catching his attention. "What do you remember?" Something about her tone feels familiar. Almost.. unsettling.

"So close to Perseus."

"I, uh.. Well.."

The room is dark. The overhead lamp is the only thing to illuminate the space. Lazar stands nearby. He faces Bell, but his expression is twisted in something akin to discomfort. "The CIA reinvented you, Bell." Adler stands directly beside the gurney he's strapped to, demanding all of Bell's attention. "If you believed you were someone else, we could lead you to a place where you'd give it all up."

"Fuck this," he hears his voice waver with fear. It's the wrong thing to say. "I don't think so." Adler practically launches himself forward and roughly grabs the front of Bell's vest. "One way or another, Bell, we're gonna get it out of you."

"I mean, I remember up to Solovetsky."

The bitter wind feels good against his face. It brings a sense of serenity to Bell's turbulent thoughts despite the tense atmosphere with Adler.

"It was never personal."

Bell chews on his lip as the memories resurface. "And when Adler.. shot me. But nothing new with Perseus." Park's eyes narrow a fraction, further unsettling him. There's something else on his mind that's been bothering him since the first moment he saw Park.

"Ah, well, give it time," Park offers without much conviction. She opens her mouth to speak again but Bell cuts her off.

"I'm sorry," he blurts. The apology seems to catch Park by surprise. "I should have been faster. If only I had been faster, I could have saved you, too…" Park suddenly looks uncomfortable.

"It's alright, Bell. It.. It wasn't your fault."

"How are you..?"

"Alive?" Park's expansion finally softens. "After the skyhook pulled you two off, I knew I only had seconds left before I was dead. I managed to stumble back inside and take cover in an empty room. Luckily, Perseus didn't seem interested in checking if the building was clear."

Bell gets the feeling there's more to her story but he opts not to pry. A silence falls over the three. Lazar keeps picking at the abandoned pack of crackers while Park keeps a steady watchful gaze on Bell. Before Solovetsky, he would have matched her with his own unyielding stare. Back then he had no reason to doubt or fear her. But now he's not so sure.

"So kid, what will you do now?" Bell looks away from Park and over to Lazar. He's sitting casually beside Bell like he's unbothered by the tension but his easy smile doesn't quite reach his sharp eyes. It isn't lost on Bell that his words up to now have all been for show.

They don't trust me.

He shifts uncomfortably, careful not to make a bigger mess of crackers and soup, and clears his throat before he speaks up. "Perseus is still out there," he starts slowly. Park's expression flashes and Bell tries not to flinch. Lazar simply watches and listens closely. "Someone needs to stop him. I want to stop him. He still has the codes to Greenlight, right? All he needs is a new location to activate."

"Why?" Lazar is casual about his question but his eyes tell a different story. He wants to believe what Bell is saying.

"Because it isn't right." It seems so obvious to Bell that he's almost surprised by the question. "This is bigger than me. Millions of lives are at risk. I don't know who I was before, but.. I know who I am now ." Bell does his best to sell it, and to his relief they seem to buy it.

The truth is, the Russian doesn't know what else to do. He can't remember his life before MK-Ultra. Right now, the mission is all he has; stop Perseus. Without that, he has… nothing.

"I just want to stop Perseus before he causes a nuclear war."

And maybe punch those damn shades off Adler's face , but he leaves that part to himself.

Lazar hums thoughtfully and Park starts to relax. They don't seem quite at ease yet, but it's a start.

Over the next few days, Bell heals and collects himself. After their talk, Park eventually gave in to Lazar's pressuring and agreed to allow Bell some freedom. Stretching his legs feels nice and the fresh air certainly helps him collect his thoughts. This safehouse was undoubtedly cleaner than the last, with actual rooms and furniture rather than a dingy warehouse.

"What about Adler?"

Lazar and Bell are sitting peacefully at the kitchen table, Lazar with a bagel and an open file, Bell with a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Lazar looks up at the question. "You sound like you're ready to fight him." The Russian huffs with indignance at his amused tone. "He shot me," he complains loudly. "Just one good punch, Lazar. Please ?"

"You'll have to get in line," Park grunts as she joins them in the kitchen, gravitating towards the coffee machine. "I think we'd all like to give that bastard a good punch."

Lazar grins. "I think you should avoid throwing punches for now, Bell, least he shoots you a second time." Bell pouts. Lazar flicks bagel crumbs at him. "Jokes aside, if you're serious about taking down Perseus, it's probably best if the rest of the team doesn't know you're still alive. For now, anyway. It'll only cause more problems and distractions, not to mention Adler probably wouldn't hesitate to kill you for real."

Bell sighs dramatically. "Alright, alright, fine . But I'm definitely getting a swing in once Perseus is six feet under." He throws his head back and downs the rest of his coffee. "So where do we start?"

Park leans against the counter with her mug of coffee. "Well, if you can remember anything about Perseus or his associates.."

That tone is back again but Bell forces himself to not bristle at it. "I'm sorry. Nothing new has come to kind yet." Park gives a slow nod. "You were our most successful subject. Any old memories will be buried behind weeks of.. reprogramming. Now that the drugs are filtering out of your system, it should only be a matter of time."

"Is there any way to speed it up?" Park squints suspiciously so Bell is quick to add, "Maybe if I can remember something, we'll know where to head next."

An idea pops into Lazar's head. "Bell, do you recognize any of them?" He pulls something from the folder in front of him and slides it across so Bell can see. Park steps closer to watch curiously. "They're POIs we think are working for Perseus."

It's a group of photos. Bell sets aside his mug to spread them out and study them closely. The first three are men, but he doesn't recognize them. The next two are women and he feels discouraged when their images fail to spark any memories, too. There's one last one. He slides it close and is about to push it away when something scratches at the back of his mind.

The pub was lively tonight. Loud and rowdy with cheering, swearing, and the clanking of glass on glass. Bell too embraced the vibes; His spirit was high and he was most certainly past tipsy. He was sitting at the bar with his comrades, a still-full shot glass in hand.

"Aww, c'mon, give us the details!" The man to his left nudged him roughly. He grinned wickedly and despite the sunglasses covering his face, Bell still caught him wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Did he kiss you? Did you kiss him ?" Bell felt his face flush and he shoved back. No way in hell he was going to answer that. "I don't kiss and tell, Vang."

"Bell?"

"Aww, you did !" Bell huffed and threw back his glass as an excuse not to answer. He did his best to ignore how hot his face was. "No, wait. He definitely kissed you, didn't he?" Bell choked on the shot. The man grinned wider.

"Leave the poor kid alone." Another familiar voice called out, not bothering to hide their amusement. "Now get over here so I can beat your ass. Loser pays the tab." Bell turned to look at his savior. Their figure is too blurry to make out, but he's so sure he knows them.

"Oooh bro, you're going down !"

"Bell?" Lazar tries again, shaking his shoulder and startling him from the memory. "You alright there? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I.." The Russian glances between Park and Lazar before he stares back down at the picture. The person's face is completely covered, but the glasses make him unmistakable. Naga.

"Kapano Vang," Bell offers quietly and taps the photograph. "They call him Naga." Lazar watches him a moment longer before pulling the picture back over. "You know him?"

The memory implied Bell more than just knew him. A feeling in his gut tells him so too. They were.. friends, perhaps. "Yeah.. We are- We were friends. I think."

Park remains silent as she observes. Lazar offers a slow nod. A gentle push and the picture lands back in front of Bell. "Do you remember anything else about him?"

Bell stares. The shades are so painfully familiar. He can't quite shake the sense he's seen them a lot. This shit is stressful. I need a cigarette. Something in his mind clicks.

"New shipment's ready." The nicotine filled Bell's lungs with a pleasant burn. He turned and offered the cigarette to Naga with a hum of acknowledgement. "Got a little extra if you're interested. On the house." The Laotian accepted the cigarette, taking a grateful drag while his free hand slipped into a vest pocket and produced a small package. He held it up to between his fingers and offered it to Bell with a small flourish. "Rest of it's headed out to some of my buyers, so don't get hooked."

Bell hesitated. "I'm not so sure.." Naga pressed it into his hands anyway. "Hey, hey, it's quality stuff. How do you think my lines stay in business? Your boyfriend will certainly thank me."

" Not my boyfriend , man." Naga cackles. "Sure, bro, sure."

A shaky sigh escapes Bell. The memories are blurry and incomplete, but there's enough there to put some pieces of the puzzle together. "He's.. a smuggler."

"For Perseus?"

Bell gives a small shrug. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so." Right now, Bell can't be sure about anything.

"I'll make some calls and check with MI6." Park sets her empty mug in the sink. "We have a name now. That's a good start."

Not wasting any time, Bell muses as he watches Park leave. That's fine with him. The less time to dwell on his past transgressions, the less time he'll have to deal with the impending existential crisis.

"Meanwhile, I'll check in on the team." Gathering the papers and photos back into the folder, Lazar stands. "What about me?" Lazar barely even pauses to acknowledge Bell. "Stay put. Read a book. Do a puzzle. Embrace day drinking. Do whatever you want, just stay put ."

"But I-"

" No , Bell. Water's too hot right now. Just lay low, let it cool. You'll get your turn but not yet. Just enjoy being dead while it lasts." Lazar's wink is met by Bell's deadpan face.

By noon, the Russian's already run out of things to do. He's showered, washed the dishes, and cleaned the space lent to him. Now he sits at the table once more, impatient tapping the surface and bouncing his leg. He briefly considers snooping but the last thing he wants to do is give Park a reason to confine him to a bed again.

Time creeps by. Boredom is barely kept at bay by the pen and paper Bell found discarded on the end table beside the couch. The doodles are nothing to write to home about, but it provides temporary amusement. When he gets tired of that, he abandons them at the kitchen table and opts for a nap.

It feels like he's barely just closed his eyes before he's woken by an insistent shaking.

"Bell. Get up. Bell ."

Bell groans. It's dark now so he has to squint to make out the figure kneeling next to him. "Lazar? What, man, I was sleeping ."

"We need to go. Now. C'mon." A hand wraps under Bell's arm and pulls, forcing the Russian to his feet. Lazar's voice was calm, but the firm grip on his arm made Bell nervous. "What's going on?" He has no choice but to allow himself to be guided towards the back door.

"Here, wear this." Something is shoved into his hands and he fumbles to grab it. Looking down, it's a thin black coat. Inside rests a matching beanie hat and vibrant blue scarf. "What's going on," he tries again. "You're kinda freaking me out."

"Look, just put the shit on and I'll explain on the way. There's no time right now."

Lazar snatches the hat and scarf from the pile and Bell flips the coat around to slide his arms in. He grunts when the hat is forced over his blonde curls and the scarf is wrapped high around his neck and face. Once the coat is zipped and all curls tucked messily under the hat, Lazar practically shoves Bell out the back door and follows close behind.

The air is bitter and cold but Bell hardly notices past the adrenaline. A brisk pace is set. Squealing tires catch his attention but an arm around his shoulders stops him from turning to look.

"Park tipped off MI6."

The statement is unexpected.

"She called to warn me. Apparently, she

told them she was harboring a loose CIA asset with potentially valuable information that needed to be relocated immediately for proper interrogation. How they got an extraction team on a Soviet island, I'll never know." Lazar heaves a groan as they turn the corner and dip out of sight. "She's going to kill me once she figures out we ran."

First Adler, now Park. I'm getting tired of proving myself. Bell sighs lightly. For all he knows, Lazar is just leading him to a CIA trap. Who gets the broken toy first, MI6 or the CIA? They walk in silence for some time, occasionally cutting through small alleyways and doubling back around others.

"Why are you helping me?" Bell finally speaks up. "Look, if you're just going to take me back to Adler, do me a favor and kill me now." I refuse to be shot by him a second time.

"Don't be so dramatic." Lazar gives him a rough pat on the back. "There's another safehouse not much further ahead. I got it sorted out on the way here. Told them I had a potential lead I needed to follow up on and that's all they needed to hear."

"As for why? Well, I personally think when it comes to catching Perseus, there's nobody more qualified than you. I trust you, Bell."

A quiet clank-clank-clank fills the silence. Bell's eyes were wide in shock. He wasn't sure he heard right. There were other, more experienced agents who would certainly make a better second-in-command than him. "But sir, surely there's somebody else who-"

"Nonsense!" Perseus stood from his desk and marched to Bell's side. He swept his coat back and planted firm hands onto Bell's shoulders. "There's nobody more qualified than you. I trust you, comrade." Bell swelled with pride and childlike enthusiasm. "Of course, sir. I won't let you down."

The memory hits Bell like a slap to the face but he remains nonchalant despite the rising dread. He almost misses Lazar that stopped and narrowly avoids colliding into the back of him. "Right, here we are."

Bell finds it odd that the safehouse is nestled in the middle of a public street but he's too tired and too cold to question it. Keys jingle as Lazar frees them from his pocket and unlocks the door. They hurry inside and lock it behind them. "Home away from home."

It's smaller than the MI6 house. It's just as neat and organized, though, so Bell can't complain.

"Kitchen's here. Bathroom is the first door on the left. Your room will be the second on the left, and I'll be across from you." Lazar gestures as he speaks. "Help yourself to anything you find. I, for one, need some sleep. We can talk about everything in the morning." He disappears down the hall.

"What about Naga?" The Russian calls. 'Did you find anything out about him?"

" Tomorrow, Bell." A door snaps closed.

Bell clicks his tongue in annoyance but relents. The coat, scarf, and hat are left discarded on the back of the couch on his way toward his designated room.

Damn it all. As he lays tangled in the sheets and nursing his aching wound, Bell struggles to recall anything else about Naga or Perseus, but he comes up blank. Memories seem to be coming and going at their own discretion and it's infuriating . Now his mind is buzzing too much to sleep. Between Adler and Park and his renewed quest to stop Perseus, he doesn't know what to think. He can only hope Lazar has something to share in the morning to shed some light on it all.

#black ops cold war #russell adler #cod bell #lazar azoulay #male bell #kapano naga vang #helen park #cod bocw #bocw #fanfic

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epiphany-of-a-madwoman · 4 years

Text

Cardigan | Jon Snow

Pairing: Jon Snow x Reader

Genre: Angst with fluff at the end

Warnings: —

Words: ~3k

Prompt: Based on Cardigan by Taylor Swift. I’m not sure if that translates, but it’s all I listened to when writing this so there’s that.

Note: Want to be tagged in my future works when I post?? Link is in my Bio! ♡ Also, I like -- love Jon a lot...?? And I want more content, so feel free to request more Jon content.

Winterfell was always unbearably cold, something you never got used to, despite living in the North your whole life. But despite the biting cold that left you feeling like you were seconds away from frostbite and minutes away from turning in a statue of ice, you loved it. You were enraptured by snowflakes that lazily glided down the sky, nearly iridescent when the faint rays of the sun would hit them. They’d land in your hands, melting within an instant, turning to small water droplets that would slip through your fingers. Your dark hair was a startling contrast to the white blanket surrounding you, your pale skin glowing in the light, making you look otherworldly.

As a child you’d run through it, as wild as the direwolves north of The Wall, running through fields covered in ice, no rhyme or reason. A ferocious yell leaving your mouth just because you felt like it, not restrained by the obsession of being civil and proper. But you were older now, no longer that wide eyed naive girl, instead of running freely, you kept it hidden deep inside you, only visible in a glint in your eyes.

You still often find yourself as far from Winter Town as you could, hiding away in the depths of the Godswood. However, instead of chasing imaginary battles against dragons, you chased shadows that were just as distant as your dreams. Their hair so dark it could be mistaken for black, but you’ve seen the sunlight hit it just right, exposing the soft and wild curls as a dark brown. Deep brown eyes bore into your soul, seeing right through every layer that surrounded you and hid your true feelings and ambitions. And his voice was deep, the Northern brogue only enhancing how hoarse it could sound, and sometimes when he spoke, you swore your whole body would tremble. He’d deny it over and over again, but standing in the Godswood, the crimson red leaves dancing around him and crowned by snowflakes, he looked beautiful.

Some days you danced around each other, mimicking the movements of the Lords and Ladies in lavish balls neither of you would ever be let into. You moved towards him and he took two steps back, making declarations about how unhappy you’d be with him, how he’d never give you what you needed. But by the end of the night, when the sun was completely gone, the woods around you plunged into darkness, he’d crack. He’d stop fighting, if only for a moment, and allow himself to drown in you. He’d pull you so close to him that two blended into one. Your lips would meet in soft and slow kisses, stars clouding your eyes. And when you burned from the cold, ice numbing your whole body, he’d pull you even closer, if that was possible, lighting you on fire with a single smile.

And it was nice, sneaking away from your parents and all the noise that surrounded you. Every stolen moment with Jon was built under a delusion that the outside world wasn’t real, an illusion that one day you could be more than an illicit affair. And each time you met, you told yourself that it was the last time, but you lied. Despite knowing everything the two of you built; every quiet moment under the stars, each second tucked away in the Godswood, and every secret glance would crumble until it was nothing but a ruin.

Even with that knowledge, the day you watched Jon leave for The Night’s Watch stung more than ice ever could, burnt you more than dragon fire would have. And as you stood hidden away, watching him with tears threatening to pour down your face, you swore your chest was hollow. He gave you one last look, filled with longing, sorrow, and all sorts of other emotions. You wanted to be furious at him, scream and yell until everyone knew that he was leaving you behind. But you couldn’t. You’d seen the sad look in his eyes, the scars covering his body from the mental and emotional lashing Lady Catelyn gave him with just a glance. How beat down he really was, truly believing he couldn’t be anything more than a bastard. And despite how many times you drew stars around his scars, no matter how permanent the ink was, nor how many you drew, they would bleed again the second you two departed.

So instead of making a scene, you just smiled sadly, wiping away any stray tears as you waved him farewell. To this day, your mother still doesn’t know why you cried so much that day.

Shortly after Jon left, Lord Stark was imprisoned in King’s Landing, accused of committing treason against Joffrey Baratheon. And before you could register what happened, Robb Stark became King of the North and marched off to war. Then Theon came back, declaring that Winterfell belonged to the Iron Islands, forcing Bran and Rickon out of Winterfell. And you wanted to go with if only to keep them safe for Jon, but they didn’t even know who you were. And each day, you regret your decision to stay when the news that Theon killed the Stark boys reached you. Your parents were horrified, your brothers and sisters mortified, and you soaked your pillow in tears that night, knowing the news would reach Castle Black and Jon would be devastated.

But then worst of all was when the Bolton’s came to Winterfell after murdering Robb Stark, Catelyn Stark, and any remaining Stark soldiers at The Red Wedding. They swept into the hold as if it was always House Bolton’s, quickly getting rid of any signs the wolves ever lived there. Statues were torn down, flags burned, and anything with a wolf destroyed. Then came Little Finger with Sansa Stark, marrying her off to Ramsey Bolton, who proved to be worse than his father in every way possible. And every time you saw the fear and desolation in her once sparkling blue eyes, you died a little on the inside. You wanted to help, but what could you do. So you just watched, millions of words caught in your throat.

But then the dark storm that drenched you in heavy rains that nearly swept you away, bringing lightning that nearly stuck you and thunder that frightened away all your sanity suddenly cleared. Warm and bright daylight washed over you, as bright and powerful as a Dornish sun. The sun burned out any signs of rain every being there, the intense heat drying out the water left behind. Suddenly the leaves grew back, more vibrant than ever, and wildflowers in every shade possible blossomed overnight.

Jon came back.

He came back with an army to reclaim Winterfell and the North for House Stark. And he won. Miraculously beating back Ramsay Bolton’s army with the help of the Knights of the Vale brought by Sansa after she escapes from Winterfell. After the battle was won and the dead collected to be buried or burned, the Lords and Ladies of the North gathered with the Wildlings that fought for Jon in the Main Hall. You’re not sure what happened, you weren’t allowed in, too busy trying to return to your old normal before you lived every day in fear.

But what you do know is Jon walked in that hall as a bastard and walked out a King.

You should’ve been elated, beaming so brightly you could’ve been mistaken for the sun. But you were petrified, petrified that you’d spent all these years missing Jon, only for him to have moved on. Scared that all those nights you flipped between crying, reminiscing, and cursing his name would’ve been wasted.

So you hid like a coward. You buried yourself in anything you possibly could, taking on any task no matter how big or small. And it worked for a while, the pain in your chest every time you saw his wild hair and deep brown eyes in your mind wasn’t as raw when you were elbow deep in dishes. But late at night, when you had nothing but your thoughts, he was there. Every second you’d lie awake because whenever you’d close your eyes, he was there, haunting you like a phantom.

So here you are now, the snow crunching softly beneath your boots as you approached the clearing in the Godswood. You moved towards the place you avoided for years, looking for the one person you wanted more than anything but could never have. Except maybe now you could. And maybe you were just sleep deprived, delirious in the brain from the lack of sleep, but you wanted nothing more than to see the face that’s haunted you for years, at least one more time. Because even if he sent you away, you could have a new image to see in your dreams.

Standing in the center of the clearing-- your clearing, it brought a twinge of hope, a warm feeling washing over your body as your heart raced, possibilities and what-ifs running through your head. He isn’t the shadow he was all those years ago, both there and not at the same time, no, he’s too real for that now. Standing in the center of the snow filled clearing, surrounded by barren trees and crunchy leaves that are scattered on the ground, he looks too regal to be compared to a shadow. The heavy fur cloak, similar to the one Lord Stark had worn, and Robb after him, looked good on him, framing his broad shoulders and strong posture. And maybe you were biased, but he wore it the best out of all the previous Lords and Kings of Winterfell.

You're at the edge now, unable to move any closer in fear of breaking the spell he cast on you. But then he turned and your eyes met, his gaze like flint, catching you on fire in an instant. His skin was paler than ever, cheeks flushed and rosy from the cold. Long unruly curls have been cut shorter than it had been all those years ago, contained by a small bun near the nape of his neck. He was older, more scars marring his visible flesh, but it was him and he was real.

You stare at him and he looks back, neither of you doing anything else.

And you swear the world paused, time standing still has you tried to comprehend that he was really here, and not a figment of your imagination. He wasn’t a delusion you created to cope with the lowest points of your life.

He was real.

You were running. And so was he. Within a second, you met in the middle, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you into him, lifting your smaller form off the ground as he spun you in circles. The heavy cloak was warmer than you’d initially thought, the expensive furs immediately warming up your frozen skin. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding on so tightly because you were afraid he'd slip through your fingers as he did all those years ago. The very tips of your fingers bury themselves into his hair, pulling it free from the leather cord that kept it back. And this moment was better than anything you could’ve envisioned, his smell: leather, sword polish, and something woody, more enthralling than you remembered.

He sets you back on the ground but doesn’t release you from his embrace and you didn’t pull away. A laugh bubbled out of your mouth, it was light and airy and happy, something you hadn’t been for years now. There was a glimmer in your eyes, the same one you’d seen reflected in Jon’s eyes so many times before. Your face hurt from the grin that was on your face the second you met in an embrace and he mirrored you, leaning his head down, resting his forehead against your own.

“You came back to me,” you whispered, moving your hands from his neck to hold his face in yours. As if to further convince yourself that he was here, with you at this moment. Thumbs trace his cheekbones, running over the scar that followed his right cheekbone.

“How could I not?” he replied, his raspy voice low and husky, much older than the boy of seventeen you said goodbye to.

“I hoped you would everyday, but I-- I couldn’t--” your voice trailed off, the words getting caught in your throat.

“But now I’m back.”

“And now you’re back,” you replied, looking up at him with a soft smile. The seconds tick by, silence swallowing you whole as you just bask in his presence, memorizing each new mark on his face.

“I missed you.” Your voice cut through the silence as your eyes grew wet, glistening tears that shined like ice in the sun falling down your face. Jon catches them as they fall, wiping them away with a single swipe of his thumb. And then the small distance that was left between the two of you closed as your lips met. And it was warm and soft and gentle and happy. Everything you missed from your life, returned in a single instant. And it’s like all the sleepless nights, the tear stained pillows, and the fear and horror you’d endured through the years that was muffled by the coming of daylight was completely washed away. The only thing on your mind was Jon and his lips on yours.

He pulled away, but only just enough that the tips of your lips would brush against each other’s and his breath fanned across your face. You kept your eyes closed, wanting to savor every second of this moment.

“You were always there with me, gods I could never get you out of my head,” he whispered, brushing his lips lightly against yours. A shiver overcame your body, starting from the very top of your head until it hit down to your toes. A good tingly sensation that disappeared with him, but also returned with him.

“Glad to know it wasn’t just me, Snow.” You leaned forward, pressing your lips against his in a sweet kiss. It was like drinking a sweet berry wine the Southerners were so fond of or having a sweet tart that you stole from the kitchen. The sensation was addicting. The world could crumble around you; Cersei Lannister could march her whole army on Winterfell and Daenerys Targaryen could swoop down with her dragons and burn everything to the ground. But it wouldn’t matter, it would never matter to you. Not if you had Jon.

“Marry me,” the words left his mouth nonchalantly like he hadn’t just proposed marriage. Your eyes snapped open, looking at him, shock and excitement mingling in your wide eyes.

“What?” Your voice was shaky and unsure, hiding the pounding of your heart and the nerves in your body.

“Marry me, be my wife, and rule the North with me!” he exclaimed, much more confident in his words as they echoed around you, forever imprinted in the trees in the Godswood. And you couldn’t help but compare him to the old Jon you knew, the one who would never dare utter those words to you. Not that you didn’t want him to.

“You're crazy,” you breathed out, laughter and disbelief lacing each word. And he laughed, it was loud and warm and made your stomach twist in the best ways possible.

“Maybe, but I’m crazy for you. Why should I wait when I’ve loved you since I was a boy who didn’t even know what love was,” he said, weaving his arms around your waist and pulling you as close as physically possible. And the scene was similar to all the previous times you stood in this spot, too intertwined in each other to care about the world. Except this time tragedy didn’t hang over you like a storm, this time there was nothing but bright skies and sunlight.

“Okay,” you whispered against his lips. “I’ll marry you.” A beaming smile overtook your face, banishing any negative emotion that lingered on your face. At that moment, Jon wore if anyone ever asked, he’d say he has been to the South. And it wouldn’t be a lie, because the smile on your face and the vibrancy in your gleaming eyes was brighter than the sun could ever be, warming him to the very core. You leaned forward, sealing your promise with a kiss as you got lost in him, over and over again.

And when I felt like an old cardigan, under someone’s bed, you put me on and said I was your favorite.

o0o0o0o

Tags:

@stuckupstucky

#jon snow imagine #jon snow one shot #jon snow x reader #jon snow #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones oneshot #a song of ice and feels

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juju-on-that-yeet · 3 years

Text

Overdue

Whumptober Day 30: Now Where Did That Come From? Prompt: Ignoring an Injury/Internal Organ Injury

Dr. Iplier has waited months to go out on a date with Host again, he’s not about to get sidelined by an injury from earlier in the day - even when that injury won’t go away.

Warnings: Blood, vomiting

Read on AO3 (Full Whumptober Series)

Enjoy!

It’s date night.

And Dr. Iplier’s stomach hurts.

Earlier that day, he’d been seeing an unruly patient. A man off his head on PCP, with a gash on his arm from some escapade he’d gotten into. It was nothing Dr. Iplier hadn’t seen before, and he hadn’t batted an eye as he paged Plus and waited for his help. The man was already restrained, but extra backup couldn’t hurt. And it was a good thing he’d done that, because the man managed to brute force his way out of the restraints shortly after. Dr. Iplier had tried to calm him, tried to give him a shot to sedate him, but the man had screamed and shoved the stretcher he’d just been lying on into Dr. Iplier with enough force to knock him down. The end of it had gone dead-on into Dr. Iplier’s gut and left him winded as Plus finally arrived and subdued the man. Once the man was sedated, Plus had offered to check on Dr. Iplier, but Dr. Iplier had waved him off. He was sore, sure, but he didn’t see any reason to be concerned. The stretcher was over a hundred pounds, of course his stomach was still sore. It would go away, he just had to walk it off.

But the soreness hadn’t gone away. It’s now a couple hours later, and Dr. Iplier can feel how swollen his gut has become, how much it hurts to touch, and the pain that spikes up his chest when he bends or twists. He should call Plus back and have him look things over.

But it’s date night.

Dr. Iplier and Host already see each other fairly often and spend a lot of time together, but their date nights are special. The pair will dress up and go out, away from the other egos and to fun places around LA. They’ll see a show or a movie, or go out to dinner, as they plan to tonight. They’ve been postponing date nights for ages since the pandemic started, so they’ve both been looking forward to tonight.

Like hell Dr. Iplier is going to let his injury ruin his first date with Host in months. It doesn’t matter if his wound protests when Dr. Iplier pulls on his dress pants and shoes, it doesn’t matter if he catches a glimpse of his stomach’s bruising as he buttons up his white dress shirt, it doesn’t matter if he has to pause while pulling on his navy sweater to keep down the pain in his gut. He ignores it all, adjusts his collar in the mirror, and brushes his hair. He even sprays on a little cologne that smells like a campfire, which he knows is Host’s favorite.

He leaves his room and heads to the library, passing a couple egos on the way. They do double-takes, not used to seeing Dr. Iplier dressed so nicely. He can’t help but grin to himself. His stomach aches worse if he tries to walk too fast, but he won’t let it ruin his mood. Once he reaches the library, he enters and goes to the very back of the room, where Host’s room is tucked into a corner, rather like how Dr. Iplier’s room is attached to his clinic. Dr. Iplier knocks on the Host’s door.

“Ready yet?” he asks.

“Just about,” Host replies from inside, “Come in, make sure I’m decent.”

Dr. Iplier laughs and enters.

Host looks great, of course; he always does to Dr. Iplier. But he’s outdone himself now, wearing a fitted black turtleneck and black-and-brown pinstripe pants under a knee-length caramel-colored coat he’s currently putting on, one a good bit nicer than his usual bloodstained trench coat. Also changed are his eye bandages, traded out for a pair of dark sunglasses. Underneath, Dr. Iplier knows, Host has squares of gauze taped over both eyes. They’ve learned that, so long as Host keeps his narration to a minimum, this should be enough to keep blood from dripping down his face for a few hours. If not, though, Dr. Iplier knows that Host has more gauze and tape in one of his coat pockets. His hair is slicked back like usual, but Host has clearly taken extra care to tame any flyaways and make sure his gold streak is clearly visible.

“Well?” Host says, “Anything off?”

“The knots on your shoes are pretty heinous,” Dr. Iplier chuckles. After years of being blind, neatly tying his shoes is the one thing Host has yet to master. “Want me to redo them?”

“Sure,” Host replies, “Can you grab my cane for me when you’re done?”

“So much work,” Dr. Iplier huffs jokingly, managing not to wince as he bends down to retie Host’s shoes. He suppresses another wince when he stands back up a few moments later. By then, Host’s shoes are tied into neat little bows. Luckily, grabbing Host’s white folding cane and handing it to him doesn’t aggravate his sore abdomen. Since Host can’t rely on his narration in public, his cane helps him navigate instead. As Host takes his cane, Dr. Iplier catches a familiar scent.

“You’re wearing your minty cologne, aren’t you?” Dr. Iplier asks, grinning. Mint’s his favorite scent, and Host definitely knows.

“Of course,” Host replies, grinning right back. “And you’re wearing your campfire one.”

“Well, it’s our first date in ages,” Dr. Iplier says, “I wanted to go all out.”

Host can’t resist sparing a few lines of narration to find out what Dr. Iplier looks like, and nearly chokes once he has a clear image. Dr. Iplier manages not to burst out laughing, though a few snickers do escape.

“So rude,” Host huffs, though he’s grinning again, “You can’t dress so nicely and make fun of me for liking it. I could’ve made fun of you for going speechless a minute ago, but I didn’t.”

“You sort of just did, though,” Dr. Iplier points out.

“Keep being a smartass and we might have to end this night early,” Host scolds, but there’s a note in his voice that suggests that that wouldn’t be much of a punishment.

The pair leave Ego Inc. arm in arm. The walk to the restaurant is uneventful, and the couple make it to the nice sushi restaurant they’ve reserved a table at easily. Dr. Iplier fights yet another wince as he sits down, but since Host isn’t narrating, he isn’t able to notice, which Dr. Iplier prefers. Sitting turns out to be pretty uncomfortable, and no matter how much he squirms, Dr. Iplier can’t figure out a way to sit that doesn’t cause pain. Host may be blind, but he’s not deaf, and that’s how he ends up noticing just after the waitress takes their orders.

“Are you alright?” Host asks, “You’re moving a lot, I can hear it.”

“Ugh, I’m fine,” Dr. Iplier sighs, “I just had a crazy encounter with a patient earlier.”

“Oh? What happened?”

“He was on drugs and broke out of his restraints. When I tried to sedate him he pushed his stretcher right into my gut.”

Host straightens to hear that, his expression goes dark.

“Did he now?” Host asks, angry and foreboding.

“Hey, no need for that,” Dr. Iplier tells him sternly, “Right after he did that Plus came in and helped me get the guy under control, nothing else happened. The guy’s already left the clinic, no sense trying to find him and get revenge now.”

“Fine,” Host grumbles, clearly disappointed, “But you’re still hurting? How long ago was that?”

“A few hours, but I’m not surprised it still hurts,” Dr. Iplier sighs, “Those stretchers are heavier than they look. I’m fine, I swear. I’m not gonna let it ruin my night, and you shouldn’t let it ruin yours, either.”

“If you insist,” Host says, managing a smile. “I will say, love, the weirdest things seem to happen in your clinic.”

“You’re telling me,” Dr. Iplier groans, “Did I ever tell you what happened last week, with the…”

Dr. Iplier shares strange tales from the clinic and Host tells him about bizarre stories he’s read as they wait for their food, and even as they’re eating. They laugh so much they both almost choke on their sushi, which only makes them laugh even harder. But despite how much fun he’s having, Dr. Iplier’s pain is becoming harder to ignore. What was once an ache that got sharper with certain movements is now a throbbing pulse getting sharper by the minute even when he’s still. Dr. Iplier tries to press down on it, but that only makes it hurt worse. He finds himself no longer eating, despite how good the sushi is and how his plate is only half-empty. Host’s words start to fade into the background noise of the restaurant’s other diners as Dr. Iplier tries not to let his agony show. But Host is sharp even without narration, and notices Dr. Iplier’s sudden silence.

“Edward?” he asks, “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine,” Dr. Iplier manages, through clenched teeth. “I just need the bathroom, I’ll be back in a minute.”

He gets out of his chair, and almost gasps at the pain that rushes up his chest when he stands. His walk to the bathroom is long and plodding as he tries not to aggravate his abdomen even more. Once he makes it into a stall, he pulls up his sweater and dress shirt to see his stomach, and swears to himself at the sight.

His abdomen is covered in awful purple and red bruises, deep and ugly and spanning where the stretcher hit and then some. It’s swollen too, hot and painful to touch. When Dr. Iplier tries to tuck his sweater and shirt back into his waistband, the agony is so terrible and blinding that it makes him gag. He only has a moment to turn toward the toilet beside him before he retches. When he opens his watery eyes, he expects to see the remains of his half-finished meal. Instead, dark red blood is floating in the toilet bowl.

“Oh, no,” Dr. Iplier gasps.

He’s a doctor, he knows what this means. The stretcher must’ve hurt him worse than he thought, caused a tear somewhere, and now blood is filling his gut. No, it’s been filling his gut for hours now. Not quickly, obviously, or he'd be dead already. But clearly steadily, continuously, because the blood he’s just vomited doesn’t look hours old. It looks fairly fresh.

Meaning Dr. Iplier is still actively bleeding, and needs medical attention now.

He’s cursing himself as he flushes the toilet and leaves the stall. He catches sight of himself in the bathroom mirror, takes in how pale and sweaty he looks. He wants to rinse his mouth out, but he doesn’t want to bend and make himself puke again. He settles for wiping his lips with a paper towel before beginning the walk back to his and Host’s table.

Now that he knows how bad off he is, everything feels ten times worse. The pain is deeper, the vomiting only made it worse. He walks even slower than before, but even the slightest movement makes the pain increase. One hand instinctively goes to hold his stomach, and he can feel the heat and swelling through his clothes. He starts panting, the pain making his walk exhausting. Host hears Dr. Iplier coming before he’s even reached the table, and stands to greet him, concern written all over his face.

“Edward, what’s going on?” he asks. “You look sick, are you alright?”

Dr. Iplier must not have done a good job of assuaging Host’s worry if he’s used his narration to see Dr. Iplier’s appearance. Dr. Iplier imagines he looks terrible, with his pale, sweaty face and his shirt and sweater still untucked.

“Isaac, I’m sorry, but we have to go home,” Dr. Iplier gasps.

“Of course, love,” Host says, stepping towards Dr. Iplier, “Sit down a minute first, get your breath back before we go.”

Dr. Iplier opens his mouth to tell Host that sitting down won’t help, and that they should just go before things get worse.

Instead, he throws up blood onto the restaurant floor, so violently that agony steals his strength and whites out his vision, and collapses.

He only half-hears Host’s shout of alarm and the cries of other restaurant patrons who saw him fall. He only half-feels Host catch him at the last second and hold him. His eyelids flutter to see Host’s face staring into his own, twisted in fear. He must’ve narrated to catch Dr. Iplier, because a trickle of blood slowly sneaks out from under his sunglasses down his cheek. Host says something, but Dr. Iplier can’t tell what. People start running over to help, but Dr. Iplier can’t tell how many. Everything is fuzzy, blurry, hard to keep track of. The only thing that’s clear is the unceasing agony of his abdomen. He feels like his stomach is going to explode, or like he’s going to puke again.

But, perhaps fortunately, all that happens is that he passes out.

~~~

When Dr. Iplier wakes up, he realizes immediately that he’s not in his clinic. The bed doesn’t feel like his clinic beds do, the light that he can sense through his closed eyes isn’t the same. Sure enough, when he does crack his eyes open, he’s in an unfamiliar hospital room, with IVs in his arm and thick bandages and stitches across his stomach. He doesn’t feel terribly sore – yet – but he’s still unhappy remembering what happened at the restaurant. He could kick himself for getting himself into this situation, for making such a scene and possibly exposing the egos to humans. When a nurse checks him over and approves him for visitors, Dr. Iplier braces himself for Dark coming in and scolding him harshly.

But no, it’s not Dark, but Host who walks in. He’s gone back to wearing his bandages, and while he’s not wearing his usual bloody trench coat, he’s no longer wearing the fancy one he had for his and Dr. Iplier’s date. It’s obvious he’s exhausted from worrying over Dr. Iplier, and Dr. Iplier can’t help but feel bad about it. Their date was supposed to be the most fun either of them had had for months, but instead it ended up here.

“I guess I have some explaining to do?” Dr. Iplier starts, sheepish.

“You told me you were fine, Edward,” Host says, voice tinged with sharpness, though the first thing he does upon approaching Dr. Iplier’s bed is grab his hand. “And I believed you, because why would you pretend you were okay when you weren’t? Especially when you scold me and everyone else for doing the same thing?”

“I know,” Dr. Iplier sighs, embarrassment growing. “At first I thought it’d be fine, but it got worse and worse, until, well, you know.”

“I do know,” Host grumbles, “And so does half the restaurant we were in.”

“Ah.” Dr. Iplier winces. “I imagine Dark’s not happy with me, either.”

“Definitely not,” Host tells him, “He’s got the Googles hunting down all the patrons who saw us, and once you’re well enough to be moved he’ll have to make sure no one remembers you here, either.”

As a group of people who look like Mark, often sound like Mark, and have the same fingerprints and DNA as Mark, the egos have to be excruciatingly careful to keep a low profile. That means no friendships or relationships with humans, no using special abilities in public where people can see, and no getting entered into the system. Granted, there are gray areas: Silver is allowed to be a hero so long as he stays out of hospitals and no one sees under his mask, Wilford is allowed to have as many one-night stands as his heart desires so long as no one gets his number or takes a photo of him, and Yandere can get into violent fights as long as the cops don’t catch him. Indeed, Dark most often has to do damage control for egos who get in trouble with the law, and that means expunging their arrest records and erasing the memories of the officers involved.

Rarer and more troublesome is when egos end up in a human hospital for one reason or another. Once the ego is removed from the hospital, every paramedic or EMT that brought them in, every doctor and nurse that worked on them, and every receptionist that signed their visitors in has to have their memory of that ego removed. Every record of the ego having been in the hospital must be destroyed. Even worse, every person who saw the ego get hurt and called for help has to be tracked down and get the experience erased from their mind before they can realize that the man they saw get hurt looked just like Markiplier. Some egos call it overkill, but Dr. Iplier can understand Dark’s fears. He remembers the time before the egos were so organized, and how he’d sometimes have to convince a patient that no, he wasn’t related to that popular YouTuber. Now that Mark’s popularity has gotten so much bigger, he can’t imagine how much harder it would be to stay secret without Dark’s strict rules.

That being said, it also means that the punishment for breaking those rules is often just as bad.

“I was expecting you to be Dark, to tell you the truth,” Dr. Iplier admits to Host, “I bet he can’t wait to yell at me.”

“You’re right,” Host says, “I had to convince him not to come in swinging at you and let me see you first, and you owe me for that, for the record. Among other things.”

Where the Author was brazenly unbothered by Dark’s anger, Host is wary of it to the point of fear. Dr. Iplier understands it, though, and he feels bad for putting Host through that on top of everything else.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, “I should’ve asked Plus to check me over and gotten our date moved, I just…” He squeezes Host’s hand. “I was looking forward to it so much, and I knew you were, too. It’s been so long since we got to do this, I was so excited, I just…I didn’t want anything to ruin it.”

“I know,” Host murmurs, laying his free hand on Dr. Iplier’s cheek, “But the best things about our dates are that they’re with you. Maybe it’s cliche to say so, but it’s the truth. I enjoyed going out with you – until you started coughing up blood, that is – but I would’ve loved sitting by you in the library or the clinic just as much.” His voice turns into a grumpy mumble. “I won’t be doing either of those things until you get better, now.”

“You always know what to say,” Dr. Iplier chuckles softly, even as he leans forward to kiss Host. Once they pull away, Dr. Iplier whispers against his lips. “I love you, Isaac.”

“I love you too, Edward,” Host replies, “Even when you collapse and almost die in the middle of a crowded restaurant.”

“I imagine Dark won’t let us go back there again, huh?” Dr. Iplier sighs.

“Most likely not,” Host agrees.

“Damn, their food was so good and I could hardly even enjoy it. Did you remember to get a doggy bag by any chance?”

“I was a bit preoccupied, if you can imagine.”

“Ah, shoot. I mean, I agree that hanging out with you is nice no matter what we’re doing, but I sure would prefer to hang out with you while eating nice sushi.”

“You should’ve thought about that before you puked blood everywhere.”

“Oh, you’re gonna be a jerk to the guy who almost just died? You’re so cruel.”

Host laughs, and the two continue to banter, offering playful jabs at each other for many minutes. But there’s love below it all, though, Dr. Iplier can hear it in Host’s voice and feel it in his own. Even if they can’t return to that specific restaurant, Dr. Iplier hopes he can make up the date to Host at some point in the future.

Once he’s good and healed, of course.

#dr. iplier #markiplier the host #markiplier fanfiction #fanfic #whumptober2020 #my writing #markiplier #kristin says stuff #press f for dochost's date night

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pangtasias-atelier · 4 years

Text

R&R: Reveling & Revolting

This was a commission done for @thattumtho of Ashiya aka Caster of Limbo indulging himself during Shimosa. It was a lot of fun writing for the trash man, cause I love those characters lol. And thanks again, so much!

__________________

“Hmmph,” In a positively foul mood, Caster of Limbo nearly storms down the old castle’s numerous stairs, a sneer plastered on his face. Muttering unintelligibly, the ominous creaks and groans each step cries out are nothing more than insects buzzing in the air to Caster. The design clearly not made for someone of his plush size, the banisters nearly frame his stomach, Caster’s overflowing stomach a few inches from grazing both sides of them. His forest green robe draping over the right half of his body, the silk fabric miraculously contains the right half of his gut, the bottom drape hugging his stomach as it ends right at the middle of Ashiya’s cavernous belly button. A garish red and green fabric attached to the draping — both of the clashing colors interspersed between black — the two once overly large fabrics cling to every bit of surface it can find on Caster’s overly plump body. Much surface to find on Caster, the drapery perfectly contours alongside his soft rolls, the outline of Caster’s love handle and double stomach visible. The left side of Caster’s torso unclothed, his pale, well-fed stomach drapes down his body much like the clothes adorning him. Free to exist in the view of all, the left portion of his stomach splays out, so much fat piled onto his frame. The bottom roll of his stomach juts out, the meaty roll too much for a single hand to handle. Another roll falling down to rest on the bottom one, said roll lies underneath the swell of Caster’s moob. His stomach a decadent three tiered cake, the bottom flab is melted frosting, the hefty roll of fat reaching halfway down to his large, engorged thighs.

His new large size insignificant, the added difficulty of descending the narrow staircase is lost on him. His gut wobbling back and forth and up and down, it bounces with each step, the large flab seemingly never getting a moment of rest as it presses against his plump thighs. His stomach pushes against the banister at times from its movement. Yet, a far more pressing task occupies the dangerous mind of Caster.

Assassin of Paraiso now defeated, just as Lancer of Purgatorio and Archer of Inferno had before, Assassin’s defeat at the hands of Chaldea now meant that three out of seven of the Heroic Spirit Swordmasters had been slain. Chaldea more of a threat than expected, Caster had been tasked to give out orders once more as per Amakusa’s orders. Following the pathetic Avenger’s orders, Caster’s own task completed the instant he encountered Shimosa, getting his own fill of fun in seeing Chaldea struggle at every turn is nothing but an extra reward upon having already fulfilled Satan’s command. Catching his mistake, Caster holds back his cacophonic laughter as he finally descends the last step. The creaking stairs no longer sound in his ears; instead, groaning floorboards replace the noise. Shrill whines come from the floorboards, the old wood even dipping where Caster steps. Caster retains his grin as he saunters into the next room.

The remaining Heroic Spirit Swordmasters already waiting for his command, Caster’s grin grows even wider, his chipmunk cheeks puffing out further. His Curse of Annihilation working wonders on the group meant that a little prodding here and there was sufficient in making them do whatever he wants.

Saber of Empireo rests with his back against the wall. Cloaked as always, the man’s true identity remains anonymous to all but Caster. Saber offering nothing but a glance at Caster of Limbo, Caster misses the scowl on Saber’s face as he turns his attention to the other two occupants in the room.

Berserker of Samghata Hell sips away at whatever alcohol piques her fancy at the time. Rider of Kalasutra Hell, meanwhile, keeps her distance. The two always at the ready to brawl, the two’s oni nature meant there was some innate resistance to Caster’s curse. But, that exact same blood running through them was enough to bring their killing side to the forefront.

“Ahh…” Gulping down a large swig of her alcohol, Berserker merrily drinks the remainder of it, zero drops spilled down the wide brim of her plate. Berserker’s violet eyes squint at Caster. “There’s no cute men around here,” A solemn sigh escaping her thin lips, Berserker brings herself closer, her feet seemingly making no contact with the floor. “You’d be a nice feast though,” She pokes a slender finger directly into Caster’s doughy gut, her index finger squishing and sinking into the warm flab.

Caster backing up, his hand is halfway raised by the time Berserker gets out of his reach. But not out of her own volition.

“Enough you insignificant insect,” Another’s hand firmly restraining Berserker’s wrist, Rider grips it. Rider’s free hand resting on the hilt of her sword, her face is marred by her clenched mouth, her sword hand twitching.

“Ah, what a wonderful scene,” Caster lauds internally. Controlling and forcing fated enemies into working with each other is nearly enough to satisfy the anger in Chaldea still surviving. “You two shall destroy Chaldea,” Oh if only he could catch the look of that damned master’s face as two of their servants, now twisted by his spell, attempt to utterly annihilate them. Running his tongue over the edges of his teeth, Caster savors the image, both Rider and Berserker utterly cruel enough to leave no remains on their master, or the childr-

“They’ve left,” Saber uttering his piece, he wastes no time just as Berserker and Rider. His sword concealed under his thick cloak, Saber rests a hand on the comforting extension of his hand. Berserker far too wild, he had caught her all knowing smirk as she left. The two of them destined to fail, the comfort of facing Chaldea’s swordswoman gives him solace. Whether he wins or loses is independent of such satisfaction. Leaving Caster to whatever the strange man does, Saber offers no other words, leaving as silent as a butterfly.

“Good riddance to them all,” Free of any useless minions, Caster heads off to his newfound favorite pastime. His lengthy overflowing hair bundles behind him. The perfectly separated strands of white and black hair reach down to the mound of fat that is Caster’s ass. His green robe servicing him sufficiently, his garish attire holds back the flab of fat. Two substantial piles of fat making up Caster’s ass, the upper heft of his round malleable butt suffer under the constraint of Caster’s robe, only a sliver of his right cheek visible. The rest of his ass under the confines of his clothes, the lower portion of his ass, more squarish than the top with the sizable portion of fat sagging down, puts as much strain on his outfit as the rest of his big bloated body. The lower ends of his robes stretched from his ass, the clothes jut out as well, the stretched fabric hiding Caster’s wide legs. Each leg alone larger than Caster’s previous waistline, his fine, undulated thighs weigh upon each other, the silky inner portions of Caster’s lardy thighs meld into one another. Fat all bunched up, the compacted fat reaches all the way down to Caster’s knees despite his wide stance. Ankles now proper cankles, even they jiggle along with the rest of his body with each confident step. Positively wide, Caster’s new gait is a bit more clunky than before, one wide thigh swinging past the other in a waddle somewhat resemblant of walking.

The floorboards creak as ominously as the stairs did. Caster’s ignoble grin remains plastered on his rounded face. Each wide waddle shifts his flab and clothes alike, stretched wrinkled fabric softening out in some areas only to wrinkle in others. The wrinkling especially bad in the edges due to his cumbersome midsection, the fabric remains ever taut. The left portion of Caster’s stomach free, the sagging mass of fat makes contact with his legs every so often, each step causing them to collide and squish before his stomach continues its perpetual jiggling. His plush chest jiggles just as his stomach does, the two soft pillows jiggling up and down with each waddle. Keeping one bingo-wingo arm resting on his overflowing love handles, the other dangles down, the creased flab bunched up against the side of his monumental gut.

Finding the closest room, all of them abandoned just like the rest of the castle, Caster ignores any sort of niceties and instead barges right through. He scoffs as the paper from the shoji rips and tears, the tattered patterned paper fluttering uselessly to the floor. An abandoned chair left against the side of the room, Caster ignores the rest of the adorned room. Heaving out a relaxed sigh as he sits, Caster comfortably adjusts himself, paying extra mind to the chair’s near splintering sound, wishing to add another thing to break. The seat a tight fit, the chair digs into his roly poly back, his back rolls squashing and resting against the material. The overly small armrests serve in only framing his prodigious love handles. They drape over the armrests while his plush chest splays onto his gut. Subsequently, his legs are crammed as close together as possible. The two column like thighs are indistinguishable from one another, the two seemingly stuck together with glue. An overly sized table formed from his thighs, his gut makes itself comfortable, the soft round mass of fat resting on the expanse of his thighs.

His work done for the day, a minimal self appointed task, Caster’s completion of his work calls for a celebration. His long wiry green nails still attached to his sausage fingers, Caster outstretches a hand. An intangible little ball forms in the air, Caster conjuring up a specter. The formless little wisp floating harmlessly in the air, the small specter violently shakes as Caster magically pulls it at the very edges. The incorporeal being gaining a shape, it sprouts gauntly red bone like legs. The figure touching the floor, the thin being grows mass, its entire figure hulking out as it grows armor. Caster all the while shaping the being, he grins to himself as it continues to grow: adding a few extra feet, likening the armor to that of a samurai, adjusting its red coloration to that of blood, anything that’ll scare the pathetic humans more makes the minimal effort worth it.

The overly sized hulking beast is complete. It’s head nearly reaches the height of the shoji despite it’s hunched state. As wide as Caster, the figure contains nothing but muscle; each angular curve is perfected to end whatever unlucky human crosses its path. A katana longer than the average human in its hand, the monstrous being awaits Caster’s orders.

“Go fetch me whatever food you can find. And destroy whatever gets in your way,” Relaxing back in the chair, Ashiya once again rests his hands on his stomach. The monster trudging along, Caster easily replicates the being, conjuring up enough to make a dozen total in an instant. The nearest town the unfortunate victim of Caster’s cruel whims, he simply bides his time, kneading his overflowing gut.

The gut of fat sinking under his busy hands, Caster pulls back on the drape of his robe. Hefting the mass that is his stomach, the soft undersides of his gut rest in his left palm. A few small grunts escape his lips as he struggles, his overtaxed clothes unwilling to budge much further as Caster pulls back on it. Freeing the rest of his stomach, Caster sighs with a small pat. His stomach jiggles all over from the single pat.

His current body simply a shikigami with his saint graph engraved onto it, Caster’s real body is far away from any actual danger. A body destroyed, simply wasting another body or dozen is purely a matter of energy. Indulging in hedonistic tendencies the same principle to Caster, reveling in excess meals is just as harmless. Long gone is the well built musculature on his tall frame, his outfit perfect for showing off a few of the goods while leaving some to the vivid imagination. Instead, the addicting soft plush fat adorns his body, Caster soaking up as much fun as he can.

Waiting expectantly, Caster plays around with his body, his new form intriguing. Testing the heft of his breasts, squishing his stomach as compactly as he can, shaking his bags for arms, each test merely elicits a wild grin before Caster precedes to focus on another body part. By the second time he tests the heft of his breasts, his mitt for hands unable to properly cup the entirety of his heavy breast, the returning monsters interrupt Caster.

Their harsh stomping the first to notify Caster of his monsters’ return, the savory scent of their food notifies him second. Smears of blood marring their clothes, Caster picks up the sweet dried scent of iron. Letting out a contented sigh, Caster commands the first monster to step forward. The crispy aroma of fried food assaulting his nose, Caster’s suddenly famished stomach emits a growl. The desperate sound reverberates across the room. His right hand sinks into the expanse of fat as he reassuringly pats his stomach. The first monster carrying several plates of takoyaki, the fried batter is still warm. Caster brings one to his nose. Sniffing it, the savory sauce coating it has him wasting no more time, Caster chomping into it. Still blazingly hot, the extreme heat from the fried octopus has no effect on him, Caster dropping the other half down his gullet. Conjuring up a small table, Caster commands the monster to place the food down. Plucking each and every takoyaki, Caster effortlessly drops them into his mouth. His sharp teeth eviscerates each one, a transcendent grin radiating from Caster as he stuffs himself. The proportions are different: some with more octopus, others with more onions, others with more sauce and so on, each one is a different experience. Caster keeps a hand placed on the crest of his belly, rubbing the plush hill of fat.

Caster returns the monster back into a spectral form. Calling another one forward, more fried goodness wafts to his nose. Caster has the monster hurriedly place the food down. Yakisoba brought, Caster leans to the side of his chair. His stomach painfully digs into the wood, Caster lazily extending an arm to reach the plate of food. A hand necessary to hold the plate, he deftly holds the chopsticks. Expertly wielding them, he grabs nearly half the plate of food with the chopsticks. Tilting his head back, unwilling to waste a single ounce of food, Caster opens his mouth wide, the sharp teeth lining his mouth visible, before shoving the fried noodles into his mouth. The pork still tender and juicy, the soft meat melts in his mouth as he tears into the crispy hot noodles. Bringing the chopsticks to the plate, Caster effortlessly twirls his chopsticks, the remaining half of the plate caught by them. Closing his eyes, his muffled groans sound out as he chews the rest.

Returning the other monster back into its spectral form before unsummoning it, Caster calls the next monster up. Plain white rice offered up onto the table, Caster eyes the multiple bowls. In one fell swing, he destroys the monster, zero trace left of it besides its smoldering ashes. “Next,” Caster sings, grinning as the next monster isn’t a failure like its deceased comrade.

Something sweet offered to him instead, bunches of yakiimo are placed on the table. Grabbing the baked sweet potato, Caster bites down on the chewy, sweet caramel like food. Mouth stuffed with food, bits of the potatoes lie on his puffed cheeks. Pleasantly warm unlike the prior extremely hot foods, Caster gobbles up the remains before plowing through the rest. Caster’s voracious appetite greedily chomps down on each potato, each one devoured seemingly in an instant.

Caster continuously calls monsters forward and devours their delectable treats. Each brings something different, the only dud being in the monster he already destroyed. Savory grilled corn, hot juicy squid, sweet baked treats, each alone brings a smile of joy to Caster’s face as he gobbles it all down. Each dish easily finds its way into his gullet, the mass of food resting heavily in his stomach. His soft plush gut slowly bloats out, a level of firmness filling it out.

Returning the last monster back into nothingness, Caster lets out a labored breath. Eyes hazy, he casts a hooded look at his taxed gut. The flab of his double chin melds into his doughy collarbone, Caster letting out a puff of air as he grabs the sides of his gut with his right hand. The fine display of unabashed hedonism on display, he laughs to himself. “To the victor, the spoils,” The very last treat in his left hand, Caster dangles the tiny imagawayaki in between his portly fingers. He greedily chomps down on the sweet dough, the red bean paste exploding in his mouth as he tears into it with his sharp teeth. Caster wasting no time, the hurriedly swallowed treat travels down his still famished gullet to join the rest of its fellow treats. A bit of gas bubbles in the recesses of his throat; Caster happily lets out his small burp, grinning afterwards with his hand on his stomach all the while.

His thighs tired from the taxing task of being pressed up against each other, Caster shifts a bit, his wide portly ass and stout back struggling to move much at all with the weak chair. The creaking never having left, the lack of enjoyment from munching away brings back his attention to his poor chair. “What’s one more village?” Pressing a portly finger against his chubby cheek, Caster taps it, as if contemplating the question. Wickedly grinning, Caster conjures up another dozen monsters, each as terrifyingly large as before. He shifts a hand to rest on the middle of his prodigious chest. “Go bring me some more food,” Electing to break the chair, human’s creations as weak as themselves, Caster cackles to himself, his iris’ expanding as his pupils dilate, matching the red of his monsters. Caster conjures up another dozen, the monsters marching off into another direction.

“So pathetically weak,” Caster whispers, baring his fangs. “Humans are so enjoyable,” Bringing a hand to his face, his chipmunk cheeks squish against the palm of his hand as he grins. The frailty of humans in this world so pathetic, staying in Shimosa seems worth the waste of time. An abundance of delectable food to go alongside it, Caster has all the time in the world as he finally decides to recline fully in his chair, Caster letting out a cackle.

#commission #my writing #fat!Ashiya Douman #Fat!Caster of Limbo #Fat Grand Order #ssbhm #male weight gain #male stuffing #mwg #weight gain fiction #weight gain story

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blessedxblight · 3 years

Text

𝐡𝐚𝐧 & @quiltedflames & gentlemxnthief // 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃: EIGHT YEARS LATER…

— “Look, she’s trying to force out some tears,” he whispered. A three year-old plunked onto the grass and lifted her arms overhead. She heaved loud, attention-seeking sobs and scrunched her face like a squeezed lemon. Noelle seemed to believe that if she kept puckering and squinting, she’d eventually juice out some convincing tears. His friends said that he coddled her too much, that he was too quick to place band-aids on invisible scrapes and sit with her until she felt better. Sometimes, he thought they were right. But he could never, ever say no to his little girl when she wanted to be held.

“Come here, my young con artist,” he said. “Let’s assess the damage.” Gil scooped her up like she weighed nothing. He deciphered her blubbering, something about a bump on her kneecap from when she’d tried running past Han and tripped over his shoes. “You’re fine,” he said. “Do you want to help daddy cook the burgers?” (Tofu burgers, of course, since his wife couldn’t bare to think about any suffering critters.)

Noelle buried her face against him. He felt her sharp nose – so unbelievably tiny, like the ridge of a precious button – dig into his fleshy shoulder. She smelled like sunblock, and the crown of her reddish-brown hair radiated heat from a summer sun. Gil thought she was the spitting image of her mother and had inherited all of her stubborn spirit, though her curiosity and mischief-making rivaled that of her father.

“What was I telling you about again, Simon? Was it something about work?” he asked. Gilbert had always had an auditory memory short as his bladder. That part of him hadn’t changed since the anklet had come off, at least. It was mind-boggling how the same, restless individual who’d once spent workdays building Rube Goldberg machines out of office supplies was a respected professional. He’d filled the awkward silence between him and his former handler with work-related small talk: presentations, contracts, some silly story about an eternally missing paper clip tray. Apparently, the former forger’s signature held enough weight to run an entire security consultation firm.

“Anyway, I can’t believe you still look the same – well, minus some fingers,” he said. He shot a pointed look at Simon’s shoes. “And probably toes.” His brown eyes still had their mischievous energy, even if surrounded by a few, newly spurred fine lines.

Much had changed throughout the time it took him, a man who used to insist he would never have kids, to have three of them. It was the little things: the sport of silver at his temples, the beachside tan, the faded glow of last week’s sunburn across his cheeks. His face was fuller underneath the new beard; he’d gained a touch of weight since leaving New England. For once in his life, he looked relaxed, well-rested, finally at peace with himself. He took well to a life of domestic bliss, having stayed out of trouble since his last workday at the FBI. In fact, he hadn’t seen Simon in person since the day he got his anklet cut.

It was like his life flourished the moment Agent Mulder was no longer in it.

“Han looks way older than me,” he teased, loud enough for the psychologist to hear. “Breathing in all that house mold causes premature aging.” Gil flipped the burgers over. His stomach growled; unlike anything Han would’ve prepared, these were actually appetizing. Just thinking about Han’s questionable, meat-related experiments was enough to make anyone sick. Gilbert and Jessica had been smart enough to supply their own meat (read: tofu) around Hanjae Song, that’s for sure.

“Jess, they’re almost ready!”

Han squeezed Simon’s hand a bit harder, trying to already pull out of this cook-out he hardly agreed to. he wanted to go home, their home, the home Simon had to take over while Han was busy paying his debt to society. the tables were completely turned after the long 8 years of meddling & gaslighting. now, for once, Han couldn’t enjoy Gilbert’s straight edge demeanor. he missed and wished for his old felon friend back, not the dad-bod, sunburnt, awkward fellow before him. families always ruin everything– Han’s family with Simon and Johanna, obviously aside.

“I’m allergic to tofu,” he lies. though the amount of questionable meats he had consumed and cooked for the past, nearing on decade, would likely cause a rebellion in his stomach. the flesh its used to would eat tofu for it’s own sustenance. his mouth is dry and parched from thinking of spongey burgers made from a propane tank. “I’ll break out in hives. It’s worse than my lemon allergy– I may combust, if I put that in my mouth.” again, he’s lying.

while Gilbert speaks to Honey, Han doesn’t offer anything of use to the conversation. Simon can and does speak for himself, and in all honesty, Han does owe it to the relationship of the two previous partners he single-handedly ruined. still, with his hand in Simon’s, Han must look like an overprotective puppy with his tail between his legs.

contrary to Gilbert’s words, mold hadn’t aged him, but two years without direct sunlight had poisoned the pores of Han Jae Song. the once flawless face of the ex-professor was now tarnished with not only age, but poor lighting in general. of the sixteen correctional facilities in Massachusetts, his home for the past couple of years was the Middlesex Jail and House of Correction. he’d served two grueling years, and almost in complete solitary for violating a restraining order the Mrs, had put on him. and despite him plainly stating the classes and work Han had put into his anger management, he could still feel her burning gaze upon him. it likely wasn’t helping any– the look on his face as he watched the young con-artist known by Gilbert as Peanut try and fool her father into attention. “Speaking of fingers– are Peanut’s clean? If she’s helping, it’d be unsanitary of her to touch Simon’s fake burgers without washing. He won’t be able to eat either. In fact, none of us would.” he doesn’t find her acts of duplicity charming. he finds the fact that Gilbert’s face had merged with Jessica’s abhorrent and still something hard to get used to…

𝐣𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 & 𝐡𝐚𝐧 & quiltedflames & @gentlemxnthief // 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃: EIGHT YEARS LATER…

It’s both strange and unsurprising to see Gilbert as a father. Simon hadn’t heard of Gil ever mention wanting to have children of his own. Then again, it isn’t a common topic he cares to bring up. When coworkers in the office care to show off their own newborns with large heads and wrinkled fingers, Simon offers them an obligatory smile and a brief ‘Cute’ and takes the next opportunity to return to work. No, he never pictured Gil as a father, but even as Simon stands there, he can see how the life suits him.

Better men might revel in the fact that their partners - especially a partner like Gilbert, a convicted felon, a con-man, a prisoner - had turned their life around, had settled down and started a family and made themselves happy. But the image doesn’t sit well for Simon. He watches Gilbert’s offspring press her little nose into his shoulder. Another baby is swaddled away.

The truth of the matter is that Gilbert’s life is far, far better without Simon. And for all of Gil’s…nuances, his lip-popping, sticky-fingers, his constantly-moving lips, and his knack for finding trouble regardless of where they were…Simon misses him.

He absently flexes his left hand which is most noticeably missing his ring finger. Willingly given. But it’s just among the list of things that Simon doesn’t speak of. Not in front of Gilbert. “Just a small accident,” Is the explanation he gives.

“Don’t listen to Han –” With his remaining fingers interlocked with Han’s, Simon scowls at him to at least behave. “He…isn’t one for plant-based alternatives. But we’ll both try something new,” When Simon squeezes Han’s hand, his own knuckles whiten against his forced smile. “Isn’t that right?”

Unaware of how to help…and unsure if his help is even wanted regarding the cooking and the food, he stands feeling awkward. What is there for him to say when he can see what Gilbert’s life without him looks like? Simon clears his throat. “You did mention work…what is it exactly you’re doing again? Security…something or other?” He asks as if he hasn’t tried to keep his own tabs on Gilbert. “Is that…cyber security? Home security systems? Locksmithing?” He leaves the obvious question of museum security out of it. “Whatever it is, it…seems to suit you.”

she deviled some eggs that are on the tray in her hands– though she’s bringing them out for the two new arrivals, her eyes are on Noelle, the little rascal she’d produced with Mr. Big Shot Tofu Burger flipper over there. she shakes her head at the fuss– she couldn’t really blame Gilbert for coddling the little girl in matching tiny pigtails– the five year old, nicknamed Noodle was at her side still insisting on carrying the tray. “Nicholas Gladestone, if you don’t settle down, you won’t be having any cookies for dessert.” she casts a warning mama gaze at her son as a coo emits from the swaddle carrier on her back. Holly, was, of sorts, mocking her brother– for his scowling. Nicholas pouts, though, Jessie offers a wink as if to say of course her little boy would always get cookies. she offers an alternative, “Now, go give Uncle Simon a nice tackle.”

she sets her tray of deviled eggs before the three men, and slowly eyeballs the two new ones. “Glad you finally showed up.” there isn’t much friendliness in her voice– but she’s trying. she knows how much this reunion means to Gilbert, especially after his and Simon’s brief falling out. she hardly casts a gaze to the recently free from incarceration, but she does supply the alternative, “He can load up on eggs, then.” there is no sympathy for the whining man.

she nods her head toward Simon, places her hands on her hips as she feels the movement in Holly’s carrier squirm once more. she was going to be the handful, regardless of Nick and Noelle’s hijinks “And you missy,” she’s talking to Peanut, “Mama didn’t raise a crybaby did she?” she knows it’s a moot point, but she tries putting her foot down, “You stop that fussin’ you hear?”

but to the grown up conversation, “It suits him just as much as that new apron I got him, don’t you agree?” she chuckles to herself as she casts a look down at the tofu burgers– they did look just about done, and despite the complaints and anti-vegetarians present, they looked crispy and juicy. “I figure we could eat at the picnic table–“ she points towards the end of the custom-built red outdoor furnishing ( it was as big as a sleigh for Santa to travel in ) where a pitcher of lemonade glistens in the sunlight next to some home brewed iced tea. “We got a couple of drinks over yonder– help yourselves.”

𝐡𝐚𝐧 & 𝐣𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 & @quiltedflames & gentlemxnthief:// 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃: EIGHT YEARS LATER…

— “Let me see if your hands are clean,” he said, speaking to the toddler in his arms. Noelle held out the tiny, chunky digits of a three year-old with a wide-eyed look. The little girl’s head tilted in confusion. Even a child that young thought that surely, she was nowhere near as dirty as the stinky man she’d tripped over earlier. He planted a swift kiss to his daughter’s hand. Noelle shrieked with a delighted giggle, pulling her hand away fast because her father’s beard always tickled. “Seems perfectly clean to me!” he concluded.

Gil may have become a father – something he truly hadn’t seen coming almost a decade ago – but, his mischief-seeking nature hadn’t changed a bit. There was still the look of a troublemaker in his brown eyes as he smirked at Han. To be honest, he wasn’t sure if he would call Han a friend anymore. But, he knew that the psychologist still needed at least one person willing to try and so he hadn’t completely given up on him.

(Yet.)

“Security consultation,” he said. Across his face, an already proud smile broadened. He’d come a long way, and it wouldn’t have been possible without both Jessica and Simon’s support. (So why, why hadn’t Simon even showed up to his wedding? They had been friends, hadn’t they? You didn’t try to capture someone for four years, worked with them for four more, and then felt nothing when they exited your life in the blink of an eye.) Either way, at least Simon agreed that it suited him well.

“I advise banks, galleries, museums, private companies – all the things that make the FBI breakout into a cold sweat when I’m around. It’s my full-time job when I’m not wearing a Kiss The Cook apron,” he teased, grinning at his wife. His chest puffed out with pride; he’d truly come a long way into carving out the life he never once believed that people like him deserved. He would’ve gladly prattled on, but he was interrupted by his son’s excitement.

“I HAVE AN UNCLE!” cheered Nicholas. The five year-old excitedly passed the tray to his mother, his duty as their family’s “head chef” paling in comparison to meeting a real uncle. He sprinted across the lawn, his light-up sneakers pounding against the grass until he flung himself at Simon’s leg in a giggly tackle. One hand was sticky with marshmallow from the Rice Krispy treats he’d “helped” his mother bake. The other was neon orange – thus, matching the crumbs all around his mouth – from sneaking into a bag of Cheetos that Gil had absentmindedly left within his reach. He latched onto Simon’s leg so tight, he may as well have been stuck there with Velcro.

Gil began loading up the tofu patties onto one of Jessica’s kitschy, reusable platters. He’d already loaded up lettuce, tomatoes, sautéed onions – all the little ingredients into platters, since he’d learned that the “serve yourself” model of burger building worked best for fussy toddlers. They were already laid out on the picnic table and judging by the lopsided tomatoes threatening to fall off the plate, Nick must’ve insisted on helping. “Wow, when did you have the time to squeeze all that lemonade?” he asked his wife. “I could probably drink a gallon of that.” Sometimes, it was like you could blink and she’d pull the buffet out of the oven like a magician of the kitchen. “Alright, everyone to the picnic table,” he said, mostly speaking to his two eldest children. “There’s plenty of food for everyone to eat.”

He shot Han a pointed look.

“Or starve, if the picky eaters would prefer.”

the sound of the kitschy woman’s voice was grating on his ears. the smell ( or lack of smell ) from the tofu burgers was making his stomach whine with even less hunger than he arrived with. the deviled eggs looked like gelatinous goo inside even gooier husks and perhaps if they were salted more or spiced more with chili flakes he may have taken the tray for himself to swallow in his own corner– sharing in the penitentiary was frowned upon even among the smallest of acquaintances. Han was not enjoying the time, as Simon suggested. still he tried for his partner. the squeeze in his hand attempts to curb his poor behavior, a grimace pulls his mouth into a grin as he comments, “Thank you, Mrs. Gladstone–” yes, he refuses to call her by her first name, and the title does make his skin itch speaking it. he would forever resent Yoko for breaking up the band.

the barreling five year old aiming for Simon’s kneecaps is what finally breaks Han’s grasp from that overt PDA they were showing. that was one problem Simon would be encountering alone. his nose crinkled and lip curled at the sight, Simon with a child attached to him. he was certain he couldn’t hate anything more in that damned world. even if their own Johanna were to bring a child of her own in the world ( she was smart enough not to ) Han wouldn’t ever feel comfortable with the sight. “Yes, Peanut’s hands are clean, but I should have asked about... Noodles’...” there is an ounce of vomit, Han feels trailing up his esophagus which is forced down by a gulp.

the mold uncle– the monstrous being could handle smoking indoors, mold spores growing on walls, natural fertilizer composted in splendorous flowers, and the ripe smell of piss transforming to ammonia, but Gil in turn kissing the unclean hands of his three year old were his breaking point, as well as the sticky marshmallow residue of the other child’s hands, and especially now that they were latched onto his Simon’s legs. he mutters, “I think I’ve lost my appetite.”

there is a wince in his face as he sways back, trying to avoid the threats of running tackles for himself, yet he’s ushered to the picnic table– joy. he, like a useless sailor leaves Simon with little to no lifejacket in a sea of five year old Nick Gladstone.

though he finds it important to shatter the hopes and dreams of the child, “Simon isn’t your uncle. Not by blood, which is what really matters. He’s technically only your godfather, which means, he’d become your real father if something happens to your parents....”

he chortles at his own dark sense of humor as he looks between Gilbert and Jessie. “Let’s hope nothing happens to them, unless you decide you like your–” he feels the nausea rise once more, “Uncle Simon.” a grin flashes to his partner, as if he is asking if this behavior was better than his made up allergies, speaking of which, “I’m allergic to lemonade. Can I have a bottle of water instead?”

𝐣𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 & 𝐡𝐚𝐧 & quiltedflames & @gentlemxnthief // 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃: EIGHT YEARS LATER…

Simon is unsurprised with the coldness in Jessie’s voice, but surprises himself with just how much it stings. A time did exist, not so long ago, where she had called him out of desperation, bleeding for Simon to miraculously save the man she loved. He’d asked Gilbert once, if Jessie was worth risking everything for, and earned a shiny black eye because of it. Evidently, Simon had been wrong. At least that is how he feels watching Gilbert and their wife dote on one another, coo at their children, and work in sync together.

“The picnic table is just fine. And so is lemonade,” He scowls back at Han with the hopes of reminding him to play nice. At least as nice as it is possible for him to.

For the briefest of moments, Simon wishes they could all go away. Jessie, Han, the food, the kids. He prefers to sit and pick Gilbert’s brain - what it is like advising for the security systems he once fought his way into. Did he still live for the thrill of being caught? Or had he, truthfully, decided to leave all that behind for the domestic bliss Simon sees unfolding in front of him? Does he miss the days it was just the two of them, with Gilbert sneaking out of bathroom windows and Simon following behind just a step too late? Or were the memories tainted with Simon’s own betrayal?

Maybe it’s for the best they’re all bound together by social obligations, at least for the time being. Simon’s not sure he wants an answer to that last question. And neither does he want the small boy, Nicholas, to remain attached to his leg. He can see the lines of Gilbert’s face in him, namely the signature elongated forehead. “Now, now…lets…er…go sit with your mother…Don’t listen to Han…” He pats the boy’s hair. Unsure if he should pry little Nicholas from his leg, or if that would earn him a scolding from Jessie, Simon waddles to the picnic table with the boy still attached to him.

He eyes the pitcher of lemonade with distrust, knowing what the drink would do to Gilbert and his infamously small bladder. “I hope there’s a bathroom nearby,” Although it’s muttered under his breath, Simon has a silent hope that it’s loud enough for both Gilbert and his offspring to hear. He clears his throat and continues on. “I’m…glad to hear that you’re enjoying what you do,” Which is a joke for Simon alone, for he is certainly lying through his teeth with the statement, as evident by the words laced with both jealousy and frustration over Gilbert’s improvements in life. “Though I may recommend looking into a better sunscreen…it looks like that hurts.”

the young sprout of Gilbert and Jessie Gladstone still at Simon’s legs turned to look at the mold uncle. an arm was still wrapped around one of the pant legs of Simon Maurice Mulder, clinging to his new favorite specimen. Nicholas just LOVED having an uncle. a dribble of a runny nose hung from his face, and with squinted eyes, Nick Gladstone held up his hand to show them both, “I’M FIVE.” it was very important information to tell them both. even more so was the importance of leaving an imprint of Doritos dust upon Simon’s pant legs to indicate his age– before sprinting back over to the lemonade corner.

Jessie doesn’t have to speak on Han’s words, nor how threatening they were. a raised eyebrow, instead counters the idea that neither her nor Gilbert were going anywhere, “Good thing one of us knows how to shoot a couple of knee caps should anything happen to the other.” she was speaking on experience, of course– with a hint of warning to Han Jae Song. Gilbert was to be left alone and intact, OR ELSE. but that was neither here nor there.

she knows, however, that this cook-out is most important for both Gilbert and Simon and chooses to ignore the attitude of Simon’s plus one. a gut in her stomach tells her that she should be a better host and accommodate for the plus one, but on the other hand she does take Simon’s words at their core. if anyone could curb the insane demeanor of the ex-con, it was Simon. it was a devotion between the two she still couldn’t understand– nor would she ever try to...

she speaks, Noelle, the other clinger is still in helping her daddy flip tofu burgers– “Come on peanut, let’s get you washed up before it’s time to eat, huh?” she doesn’t holds her arms out right away. not with Holly dangling– the cute socks upon her feet kicking and sprawling in their own tiny excitements. Jessie is expecting a fuss, given the fact Noelle’s favorite arms were far more thicker in muscle and warmth. ( it was something Jessie was biased towards and would never hold against the little tot ). Nick, the five year old is already trying to open the cooler of capri-suns, he hadn’t asked his mama’s permission for… yet everything seems as if it’s in his place, Han, excluded.

though she giggles at Simon’s astute observation– “It’s a miracle he puts any on at all. Always forgetting his sunblock and such–“ a playful roll of her eyes does remember she’s got some sunscreen inside– something to bring out once they’ve all settled in. “You know I couldn’t trick him into the ritual if I tried....”

#;; the snake: threads.#;; braids of action: threads.#;; Han & Simon & Jessie & Gil.#//idr the order of this thread or if i got all of it but it's most

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alinaastarkov · 4 years

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Worst game of thrones hairstyles and why. Go!

Hi! Thanks for the ask! I profusely apologise for the extensive rant that is about to follow.

I thought, before we jump into negativity, I would list some of my faves. I liked the hair more than the costumes, and a few of these were really pretty. Here we go!

These are some of my faves and I will just run through a few of them. Dany’s hair was really good until the enormous braids started coming in. At the start, with a few really pretty braids, and especially when she had her hair down cause it made her look so soft, she looked amazing. It showed Daenerys the queen and Daenerys the girl at the same time. Her hair in these early seasons is what Arya’s should have been. The same goes for Catelyn and Cersei. These styles were understated but pretty, and was all part of Catelyn adapting to the Northern style and Cersei playing on her beauty to fool people. The same goes for Margaery. It incorporated braids and curls in a really fashionable way, matching her intelligence to her need to be underestimated. Sansa’s hair in King’s Landing (when it was down) was pretty too as she adapted to her surroundings and the people around her, but it was still soft and gentle like her. Petyr is here because he looks the most like his book character, I think out of everyone. They really cast and styled him perfectly. Jon’s bun style was the closest to book!Jon he ever got, and though I love his curls, I preferred this to his earlier looks. It helps that it matched his father’s and Arya’s hair, too, so for the first time (because of poor casting) we saw the family resemblance. And these styles for Arya, apart from maybe a few in the HOBAW, were the only times she looked like a Northerner and was allowed to look like a girl. It’s not perfect, as her Northern braids aren’t woven into loose hair, but it did make her look a little wild and were the only times we saw a proper Northern hairstyle done well.

Now, onto the ones I don’t like:

I’ll get these in heere now because they’re not the worst. Joffrey and Tommen’s hair was weird. It’s not the long, golden waves as described in the books, they don’t really look like Lannisters apart from the colour, and the hair itself did not work with the crowns they both wear, especially Joffrey. I don’t know, it’s not terrible, but the men’s hair was mostly unremarkable, so, scraping the bottom for these. And then young Ned. *sigh* Why did 20-or-whatever-year-old Ned have the exact same hair as Sean Bean? He hasn’t changed his hair in 17 years? Lazy and boring and makes no sense. He should also have darker hair but that’s a book thing, so…

From now on, we’re gonna tackle this by character. Up first: Margaery Tyrell

Margaery almost escaped this list because her hair was often really good. As with the outfits, I know she was supposed to be pious, but the hair was a miss in that situation. It was basic and boring, and so far removed from the Margaery we had seen before. Why is her hair straight all of a sudden when it has always been curly? And the way she tied it back when she wore that awful dress in season 2 looked very strange. As for her wedding with Tommen, there was the opposite problem. As Tommen was younger, she needed to look more innocent and sweet, but instead they went over the top to make her look elaborate and rich, almost emphasising that her family was ambitious. Normally her hair and clothes struck a balance between innocent and ambitious, but this just went too far and it didn’t really fit her face. Though, I have to say, I don’t despise any of Margaery’s looks.

Now, Cersei Lannister

Some of these just made absolutely no sense. The helmets of braids she got, one of which was lopsided, just looked awful. It was far too much and they’re never seen again, which shows how bad they were. I don’t even know what her hair was supposed to be during the tourney but it didn’t work at all. And her short hair didn’t always look terrible, but it got far too shaggy for a Queen and here it didn’t fit the clothes she was wearing in this picture.

The Sand Snakes

Once again, I am simply bored by the Dornish characters in the show. There is no variation or variety, very little thought put in other than hair that might be useful in battle. They didn’t care to give them anything interesting and it shows. Where is Tyene, with her flowing golden hair? Where is Nymeria’s soft but deadly features? Where is the variation? It’s boring and does a disservice to the Sand Snakes.

Sansa Stark

I liked Arya’s northern braids, but Sansa’s version did not work. They were a lot messier than Arya’s (ironic, isn’t it?) and it wasn’t styled properly to fit the image of a proper northern/ southern lady. She would have been better off with hair more like her mother’s rather than braids, both aesthetically and storywise. Her hair in King’s Landing early on was similar to Cersei’s, which was definitely a bad thing. Her hair, which looked like a massive headband, was not as bad as Cersei’s version, but it wasn’t a good look. There were no strands or enough loose hair to properly frame the face, so that became the only thing to focus on and it didn’t work. Now, Sansa’s second wedding looked alright mostly (though I was not the hugest fan of the dress but I’ll get into that in another ask) but the hair was an issue story-wise. There was this thing going on with the Starks, supposedly the wildest and most rugged of the great families, where their hair was constantly super tight and pulled back, restrained when it should be free and wild. I know Sansa was being held against her will, but this wedding is also to give the Boltons a claim to Winterfell, so they needed to emphasise that she was a Stark, and that includes having Northern hair.

And once again we have the opposite problem. Her coronation hair had nothing to it. It was completely straight, unadorned and had no northern-ness to it at all. There were no waves to give it a bit of depth. It was super plain, boring and unimaginative. Then the Dragonpit, though it looked good, at that point Sansa had betrayed her Northern heritage and her family, so she shouldn’t have been the most northern-looking person on the screen. Once again, this is a style that Arya should have had, not Sansa.

Arya Stark

Just like the costumes, she had the same hair for 3 seasons. It got old quick, especially when she has different hair in the books during this time. It made sense for 1 season, not 3.

This monstrosity was one of the worst hairstyles in the show. The one time Arya gets the chance to dress like a girl, and this is the hair that goes with it? Really? It didn’t frame her face well, it reduced the feminine aspects that Arya was finally getting to express, and was a clear attempt to infantilize Arya and prevent the audience from thinking of her as a woman. It was also not a very nice style on its own; the buns should have been further back, but that would have been space buns and so very inaccurate, so she should have just worn it down anyway. Huge miss on this one. Super ugly. Only upside is she finally got the blue flowers she deserved.

This is what I said about the Starks having restrained, pulled back hair and it’s especially egregious for Arya, who is sooooo Northern and so wild. She needed her hair down, with braids woven in, longer and more natural. Instead, her hair looks like it’s covered in tar and there is nothing natural or northern about it. Once again, I am bored by the looks. And she kept this for two seasons straight, never changing. It’s ridiculous. The makers of this show just didn’t care about Maisie or Arya and it shows visually. It makes no sense for the princess of the north to have the same hair and clothes for years, with zero variation, especially when Sansa and Dany are out here with a new look every episode, sometimes two in a single episode.

This is what Arya’s hair should have looked like:

It’s extremely disappointing what we got instead.

Daenerys Targaryen

I mostly adored Dany’s hair, but as the seasons went on her braids got more and more elaborate and fake, and it started to become painfully obvious that it was a wig with huge braids stuck on. The looks with huge buns in the back just looked a bit silly, and I feel bad for Emilia who must have been so weighed down by all of that on her head. The braid she wore beyond the wall, and the one on the bottom row second from the right, were just a bit messy. As I said, her hair became a bit insane as it went on, making it less believable and less beautiful. And her finale hair, whilst fine from the front, was the most obvious example of braids being stuck on. It was basically a helmet and it made no sense. The braids were far too big and it didn’t work.

Sorry for the rant, nonny, but thank you for the ask!

#anti got #anti d&d #got hair #daenerys targaryen #arya stark #sansa stark #catelyn stark #cersei lannister #margaery tyrell #neve has mail

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kazbrkker · 4 years

Text

Chapter 7: Bloody Reunions

Chapter summary: Time to get the Wolf. Alexis conducts interrogations like the badass she is, but sometimes it sucked being that good at her job. (Protective couple... you don’t even have to squint.)

Warnings: Misogynistic POS, emotional detachment, blood and violence, mild graphic detail of torture. (4490 words... i went hAM lol)

28 October 2019, 0630 "Alexis" and "Alex" | Codename Aces CIA with Demon Dogs Rammazan, Urzikstan

"Place is a freaking morgue."

Judging by the piles of stacked bodies on the medical beds, it was a justified statement. Morgue might be an idoneous word for hospital. The patronising smell of death bypassed her as usual, but not the disturbing scene of unnaturally still bodies.

The handiwork of Roman Barkov.

There was a twisted satisfaction when Alexis shoved another magazine in her M4A1, knowing one of these bullets had Barkov's name mentally carved into it. She couldn't wait to see it lodged between his eyes.

"Check the bodies..." Sergeant Griggs ordered. The Marines and both CIA agents warily slithered along the occupied stretchers and medical beds—hoping none of them was sleeping with a gun.

It was a gut-wrenching sight. Bloodshed and raw injuries everywhere they turned. Not even sure if those alive should be considered lucky.

Suddenly, one of the civilians bolted into a sitting position, making everybody on edge. Frantic shouts and language barrier only escalated the chaos. Not willing to see another dead body, Alexis interjected in mediocre Arabic, calmly demanding the man to lay back down.

"More than a pretty face..." She looked distastefully over her shoulder, the Marine didn't bother wiping the smirk off his face and instead, shamelessly winked. Revolting, but she merely rolled her eyes, though a much younger her wouldn't hesitate to deck his face.

Gender discrimination in the military was a blast. There came a time when a heavy chip weighed down her shoulders—excruciating, yet she thrived under it. Often, some misogynistic meathead would challenge her.

Emotional, weaker, probably a lousy spotter, wouldn't last a week in the jungle.

Eventually, they all ate their words.

Alexis broke through every damn glass ceilings she went: the only female recruit in her company, made Lieutenant, then transferred to JSOC's Task Force Black. Impossible was understating things.

Her unconventional transfer to Task Force Black was a statement in itself. It finally felt like she earned it. Though she loved 88, the CIA was a nice change of scenery, where there were lesser suffocating males with inferiority complex and women were actually appreciated.

Five years later, such remarks were a humourless punchline to her. On the contrary, Alex fantasied how good Demon 1-2 would look with a bruise on his face. In the shape of his rifle stock.

Truthfully, even she considered shoving a middle finger. The weather was hot enough to vaporise her and having a tactical vest strapped against her sweaty body, was not it.

Things changed when another civilian to their 3 o'clock pulled out a gun targeted at the uniforms. While everyone was still busy hollering around, she shot a precise bullet between the hostile's eyes.

With a thud, the man fell off the stretcher.

The female agent scoffed, returning a satirical wink of her own, "Stay frosty, 1-2." He tripped around his words in shock, until Sergeant Griggs forced the gratitude out of him.

Well. If the Universe wanted to send it her way, who was she to reject it, right? She shook her head at the inevitable smirk on Alex, a subtle one hanging on her lips too.

It was a shame that the peace was ephemeral, by this time, several of Sergeant Griggs' men went radio silent. She religiously trailed behind Alex. They pushed further into the hospital, only to be met with a minigun.

"Mini my ass," Alexis laughed nervously as bullets sprayed inches away from tearing her abdominal—because of her ballsy move to switch covers.

"Holy fucking... Okay! Don't give me that look, Alex!"

She thanked the Heavens that Alex's yells were muffled over ricocheting bullets. Several smoke grenades later, Alex sniped the gunman and lo and behold, they finally reached a heavily chained door.

Score, imagery confirmed the Wolf was inside.

It was her job to clear the room while Alex secured the Wolf. Her index finger pressed lightly against the trigger, swallowing the adrenaline that dangerously swirled inside her. Upon Alex's signal, they sneaked in and hid behind messy shelves. The visual of the three missing Marines came into view, with one held hostage with a knife against his throat as the Wolf filmed another propaganda video.

"Check... Five hostiles."

"Affirmative. On my mark," Alex replied. A split second later, he tackled the Wolf from behind. His men's reactions were quick, but her years of muscle discipline was borderline supernatural.

"Clear!" Griggs rushed to untie his men. "You two good?"

Alexis nodded, tightening the zip ties uncomfortably around the Wolf's wrist. She began examining his body language, hopefully finding nibs of his tells to use against him in interrogation later.

Omar Sulaman was strangely calm for a man with a foiled plan. There was slight reluctance in his steps, but still, silence.

"Saint to Watcher, Wolf is in the bag."

Her voice was a stark contrast to the boyish tones that surrounded the room—earning the Wolf's attention, who made the bold decision to turn around abruptly.

"What are you doing here, daughter?"

Alexis felt the entire world's gaze burn into her side profile, equally as confused as the lot. She shrugged and walked away.

Inwardly, the interrogator inside was thrilled. The Wolf was in for a helluva surprise.

━━━━━

28 October 2019, 2100 Sakhra, Urzikstan

The air-conditioned room in the embassy was a godsend, not a word of complaint as the cold air blanketed her. Alexis, Alex, Farah and Hadir patiently waited for Price's arrival.

When Alexis expectingly popped a piece of mint gum, Alex knew. Though it didn't take an expert to discern the ominous aura around her. Alexis hadn't said more than what was necessary in the seven hours since they captured the Wolf, busying herself to study the Wolf.

Alex was smarter than to cut in between. Like Alexis said, she was damn good at her job. Interrogation was one of her most valued expertise, perhaps arguably why the CIA wanted her so badly and the reason why JSOC refused to let her go.

There was a secret to her tactics—compartmentalise. Alexis sat opposite the Wolf, gaze cold as ice. It was a chilling sight even for Alex.

Unscrewing his bottle, Alex greedily rehydrated himself, still observing Alexis. The grittier bite in her tactics was certainly noticeable. He guessed it had something to do with her incident. Having been captured once or twice, that was the closest Alex came to ever understanding her.

Sometimes Alex swore he never got her back.

Physical detachment was a given while she was... compartmentalising, although the rising situation gave him no choice. A shiver ran down his spine as he tapped her shoulders. At the slight arch of her eyebrows, "Bravo's three mikes out."

Alexis blinked slowly in comprehension, not realising Alex's first announcement shot past her. She nodded methodically, the metal chair screeched as she got up. She charged determinedly to an isolated hallway and slipped down against the wall, burying her head in her tucked knees. Despite the rapid intakes of breaths, it didn't suffice.

She loathed every single second in interrogations. Doing the Devil's work, she thought. The irony in this situation was her call sign. For someone called Saint, she didn't know anything else more normal than this.

Saint wasn't a moniker given to her because she was virtuous, innocent or some shit like that. Hilarious to think that, for its darker origin.

Every time she conducted an interrogation, she had to subdue the gag-inducing hypocrisy. How could she, after St. Petersburg?

The reports claimed it was a miracle she survived. Fuck that, what did they know.

That birthday was memorable, to say the least. He had even arranged something special that faithful day—nothing said happy birthday! more than electrocution.

152 days.

"ты прекрасна, ангел... (You are beautiful, angel..)"

"Fuck!" Her eyes shot open, desperate to let the ugly fluorescent light blind the image. Autonomously, her fingers scratched wildly across her arms. After a particularly deep breath, her head fell against the wall and like clockwork, she exhaled all her anxiety.

She was too good at pretending.

It was her desire to stay in solitude longer, but the shrilling embassy siren obviously had other plans. Doubling back, she found Alex at the doorway already looking for her.

"The Butcher and his men are about to breach. We need to leave, now." She peered into the room, barely seeing the tinted glow of the fire outside. Noticing the rising blood clots and angry red streaks on her forearms, Alex clenched his fists to restrain himself from reaching out, knowing she would only flinch. So, he settled for a hard swallow of his saliva, "Follow me."

Price's voice rang in their ears, "Saint and Echo 3-1, primary extraction failed. We're down on the roof."

"Understood. What's the call, Captain?"

"There's a saferoom in the basement. Head there. We'll be right behind you."

When they reached the basement, Alexis basically scrambled to the CCTVs for a sitrep–she had half a thought to join the sweep, eager to rid the hypocrisy from her systems. Eternity later, or in reality, twenty minutes later, their backup arrived.

Price.

The SAS Captain squeezed her upper arm in greeting. Lucky for her, it was where the bullet had previously scraped her. Price clapped Alex's back while glancing at her patched-up injury, "That fast, huh?"

Missed you too, old man, she thought, rolling her eyes as a response. Her coldness confused the Captain, eyes darting to Alex for an answer. He understood when Alex cocked his head at the Wolf.

"Let's move. Clock's ticking."

"You heard her..." Price ordered the Sergeant to direct the Ambassador secretary to safety and the rest headed to the parking lot. While Price and Farah went to retrieve the Ambassador's secretary, the two CIA agents stood guard at the car park entrance.

Under the flashing red coat of the emergency lights, there was no mistaking in the comfort Alex's concerned nod brought her.

It was apparent that Alex was her anchor. But in this state, she couldn't bear to look at him for long, internally disgusted by herself. All these years, she was petrified to ask if he was repulsed by her hypocrisy.

Then, she felt the hesitant touch of a coarse, large hand. She accepted it immediately—much to Alex's surprise. Their fingers intertwined secretly in the dimly lit hallway. Her eyes had long adapted to the darkness, able to witness Alex looking down at her and just like that, a sense of serenity flowed through her.

The unreadable expression on his face was a stranger to her in all their time together. Under the magnetic allure of Alex's gaze and the soothe whirring of his touch, it felt like they were worlds away from a war zone. Until gunshots unforgivingly interrupted.

She immediately retracted her hand.

Afterwards, the group slotted the obtained garage keycard. They fought through waves of Al-Qatala soldiers in low light, courtesy of the lacking streetlights.

The Ambassador's residence was no sanctuary either, as another wave of AQ fighters drew closer. Afraid the rising situation might delay their timeline, Price ordered her to start interrogations immediately. Her heart jumped at the unexpected news, suddenly thrown in the ring.

Hadir and Farah sent nods of encouragement before running out the residence. Price, despite raging at Laswell through the comms, mustered one last small smile for her.

That left Alex, who looked equally worried as her. Wordlessly, he tapped at the base of his neck. She understood instantly, feeling the cool metal of his dog tag against her skin. Obviously they had airtight obligations to not carry personal items, zero accountability and all, but it was Alex. She had corrupted him enough to not give a fuck.

The dog tag was nothing informative, only a simple 'X' carved messily from Alex's kitchen knife. Useless to her enemy, but deadly if it was ever pried from her neck.

It was a matching set. She mysteriously woke up with it after that night with Alex. His way of saying they'd always have a piece of each other.

With one last longing look, that unbeknownst to both of them—burned their insides, Alex left her alone with the Wolf.

━━━━

Her immediate observation? The Wolf was talkative.

It didn't faze her—narcissists simply could not shut up. Past thirty minutes, zero words retaliated and the Wolf was still going on.

Please. She wanted to yawn. Her legs swung restlessly while she sat on a table, undermining whatever authority the Wolf thought he had. The folklores he told in his grandiose sense of self-importance was vexing but valuable.

He hated women in combat. She learnt that when he tried to recruit Farah and even her, just minutes ago. Omar Sulaman thought women were weak.

Exciting.

As he rambled on, she almost failed to suppress a scoff. A woman wielding more power was his stressor, this meathead would be even easier to break.

"You have killer eyes," The Wolf said, tone switched from persuasive to intimidating. He exhausted everything—telling stories of what Barkov's men did to "weak" women, trying to scare her into his protection. Alexis hadn't bothered reacting, which pissed him off.

Victory surged past the fog of irritation inside her. She had conditioned the Wolf by staying quiet, truly a personal achievement. His narcissistic tendencies were itching to get out, evident from how he was desperately reaching for straws.

Alexis reached for her stripped vest and carelessly dug around for a plastic bottle. Popping the lid open, she chucked a mint gum in preparation.

It was time. Clouded by anger, he'd make mistakes that she would catch.

"Somebody hurt you."

She couldn't resist a huff at his eleventh-hour tactics. So the Wolf was now gunning for her emotional side? Fine, she'd bite.

"Don't act like you know me."

"Oh, child... I know more than you think. The look in your eyes, fear..." The Wolf paused, smirking arrogantly even at her mocking smile. "You put a great act, daughter. But I've been around longer than you... seen more."

"I bet... Because what makes a freedom fighter wake up and decide to switch sides?" Alexis circled him in pretence thought, "Money?" Noticing his jaw clenched, she pressed on it. "Power? That's why you made those videos?"

Alexis interrupted at the sounds of his protest, "Surely freedom fighters must not pay well. Maybe you got sick of that and switched?"

"I didn't switch sides! I was always on the right side."

"And what side is that?"

"The winning side," He snapped, "This occupation will never end if we hold sympathy for others."

A narcissist with a saviour complex, laughable. Alexis returned to stand in front of him, the grin ever present on her face. "But you didn't deny my claims—you want money and power."

The Wolf wanted to charge at her but was tied by the restraints, heavy creases in his forehead as he snarled, "No! I am saving Urzikstan!"

"Murdering people is saving them? I know people just like you, hiding behind a cause. After you kill Barkov, you will only start your own regime." Alexis chuckled darkly, "I'm not gonna let you do that. Don't bother holding out, nobody's coming to save you."

"Is that what you tell yourself?" At her strained expression, he continued, "If I die today, I die a hero. You? Your death will be meaningless, a secret." He continued laughing, "You Westerners... Busybodies, you have no business here. The price for that is death–"

He paused, not because of her killer gaze, but as if something in him clicked, "You have no family... That's why you are here." Loud waves of laughter escaped from the man, like he figured it out. And fuck, he did, word for word.

Alexis must have reached Nirvana or gained enlightenment, shocked by her restrain to not blow Omar Sulaman's brains out. She dare not move a muscle, refused to prove him right.

"When my men come, and they will. I will spare you, kill everybody but you. Maybe even make you watch that young man who loves you so much. Then, you shall know fear, child..."

That was it, her trigger point. Blood red. Hot flashes of anger. Picturing Alex's dead body was enough to chuck everything up. The wrathful voice inside her absolutely shattered her restrain, no longer concerned with not letting the Wolf gain an edge.

Alexis bit.

In a flash, she tipped his chair behind and roughly circled a hand around his neck.

"Don't. You think you know fear? You don't know shit until you carve your name on a disgusting brick wall with your bloody fingernails because it was the only way anyone would know what happened to you." Alexis spat, eyes boring at the choking man rendered helpless under her. "So don't fucking talk to me about fear, old man."

When the Wolf thrashed around to breathe, she waited another three seconds before releasing him—the once tipped chair landing wobbly with a sharp shriek. Her sudden outburst gained a new terror visible in the Wolf's eyes. No longer the delicate soldier his sanctimonious mind painted her as.

"Now," She slapped the invisible dust off her hands, tone bouncing scarily fast to normal. "Where is the gas?"

"I... I don't know."

Sighing, she wiped the sweat off her forehead and asked again. Still receiving the same reply, "And I don't believe you. Nothing escapes the Wolf. Someone stole the gas and you knew about it..." Alexis abruptly paused, fingers tapped against her forehead, "No, wait. You made a deal. Help whoever steal the gas and they promise to help you chase the foreign powers out?"

His silence was abundant.

There wasn't a tinge of remorse when her fingertips glided along a screwdriver.

"Since you have been here for much longer... You know this next part." As soon as she wiggled the screwdriver between her fingers, Alexis had him in the bag. The slight twitch under the Wolf's right eye was his tell, fear. Alexis witnessed it when she choked the living hell out of him.

Too damn easy. She should dress a big fat red ribbon across him right now.

"And since you know me so well," She gestured between them, "You definitely know that I'm a big believer in second chances. Right your wrongs, blah blah. I'll give you second chances. Many more, actually, I'm pretty generous... But I'm not sure if you can take it." With that, she ruthlessly stabbed into his left thigh, a devious smile spreading wider with the increased intensity of his screams. The metal tip squelched when she dug around.

"The gas?"

"I... Stop!" The Wolf bellowed in pain when she yanked it out, sprays of blood following. For someone called the Wolf, he had an embarrassing low pain tolerance.

She tilted his chin up, pleased as she surveyed the sweat that broke. "Here's your second chance. Third is when I snap your femoral artery and hang you for all of Urzikstan to see you bleed out. Your legacy will be a joke."

"Y–You can't do that..." He shook his head weakly, eyes blinking in pain. "Everyone will know the Americans are here... You'll be buried with me."

Reducing to eye level, she smiled wholeheartedly, "I'll make sure to dig a grave big enough for us both. Last call... Your third chance is coming," Alexis taunted, nodding towards the electrical screwdriver—witnessing the fear shudder across his body. "Where is the gas?"

She came so close to breaking him, practically seeing the words trying to tumble out of his mouth. Literally a blink later, a truck wildly crashed into their room, crumbling the house's weak foundations. Jerking to a standing position, she instantly reached for her sidearm and fired.

At least five men exited the truck, spraying bullets that forced her to tuck her body behind the slim profile of a cupboard.

They had AKs and she had a handgun, do the math.

She hurriedly pressed her comms, "I lost visual on the Wolf!"

Her instincts wrangled between fight or flight, seeing that she was severely outnumbered and the door was literally on her left. But the morality in her warred on. Suppressed under heavy fire, she still had no visual of the Wolf, but assumed he was freed by now.

She yelped in surprise as a painful tug tossed her out into the open. A burly man wasted no time to attack her. She barely raised her Glock 21 before he swiftly grabbed her wrist and pressed the magazine release button.

He wanted to reach for her Glock's slide lock before she elbowed his jaw, making him stumble backwards but made a quick recovery. He threw her into the metal table and she lost the grip on her gun.

Alexis' back arched painfully across the table, hands scrambling for purchase to rid the tightening hands around her neck. She weakly tried to pry in between his arms, but her lungs burned from the depleting oxygen. Fingers scrambling to poke his eyes and finally mustering enough strength, she sent a cheap blow to his nuts. He hunched over just enough for her to inhale loudly.

Seeing that, the Wolf's man started firing again.

She kneed him in the gut, put him in a chokehold and propped him up as her shield. The man's body jerked in reaction to every bullet he received.

Her ears picked up on the distinct sound of M4A1s approaching closer to her location. The Wolf motioned to leave, dust spluttering her way as their truck wildly reversed, with the Wolf grinning victoriously in the passenger seat.

"We will meet again, daughter! And your lovely man."

He left her alive. Like he said he would.

Miraculously still breathing, the man in her grasps used this distraction to tug on her legs. Seconds later, she felt a splitting pain in her head.

She was on the ground when she reopened her eyes, hazily feeling a wet sensation drip down her temples. The pain mirrored a wave, boggling inside her. Black spots started to consume the edges of her sight.

No no no.

From her blurry vision, she managed to squint out something glimmering in her 12 o'clock—she assumed a knife or her god damn screwdriver coming back to bite her ass.

Not like this.

The shuffles of dragged footsteps echoed in her brain, almost a warning from her body. She blindly saw the shift in light source, presuming he was walking towards her.

Incoherent words tumbled out, forcing herself to speak so she wouldn't pass out. Shaking, she pushed her upper body off the floor and stretched for her fallen sidearm...

That one bullet in the Glock's chambers was still waiting.

More blood flowed messily down her head, further impairing what was left of her vision.

Muscle memory dictated the rest—the grainy grip of her Glock, index finger looped around the trigger.

Alexis prayed when she fired.

At the assuring sound of a body collapsing, so did Alexis.

━━━━━

Price was the one to spot her.

"Clear!" He burst open the door, finding a jarring hole in the walls and an unconscious Alexis laying beside a dead man.

"Shit," Kyle said from beside him. "Is she breathing?"

Price shouted for Alex and the man instantly appeared beside him. Careful not to move her unnecessarily, two shaky fingers checked Alexis' pulse, Price felt his heart threatened to burst out.

"She's alive."

No one heaved louder than Alex. They examined her injuries, a large gash splashed across her right temple that hopefully a few stitches would solve. But her unconsciousness was troubling.

"How long has it been?"

"More than a minute..."

"Fuck, we need to do something!" Alex yelled frantically. Please, please, please wake up. Her chances of a brain injury increased by the seconds. Fuck! He should have stayed with her, why didn't he stay?

His hands gently cupped the sides of her face, feeling an onslaught of tears starting to form amidst the rising stuffiness in his nose. As his light-blue jeans was tinted a carmine red, he decided this was his fault.

Alex jerked at the mention of his name.

"Let me clean her injuries..." Farah coaxed, a cloth that reeked of disinfectant in her hands. Alex reluctantly shifted, kneeling beside her laying body and watched Farah dab carefully, venomously demanding her to exact more care.

"Alex," A powerful grip tugged on his vest, lifting him to his feet to meet John Price. "Ease off. Let Farah and Hadir do the work."

"Captain..."

"She will be fine, trust me." Price chuckled to himself, "Unbelievable. That woman is still an excellent shot." He whistled lowly, staring at the man with a fatal shot to his heart.

Price said with a knowing look, "Clear your head, son."

"Yes sir," Alex exhaled, going to retrieve her fallen comms set on the floor.

Seconds later, Farah yelled for them. The two men doubled back, finding Farah holding Alexis down from wiggling about. Alex heard a groggy mumble of his name.

"Alex..." Alexis repeated, head rolling around despite the yells of protest. "Where..."

"Here! Here! I'm right here. You need to stop moving, baby." Alex skidded to her side and held her outreached hands. His eyes raking over her as if he had the superpower to mentally check her wellbeing.

A weak grin formed at the realisation that he was alive, breathing and right before her. "The Wolf... He... The escaped... He... car... men."

"Shhh, we'll get him," Hadir tried to pacify her while handing Farah a clean cloth.

Ten minutes passed before she started making sense and was fully conscious. Though the pounding in her head was enough to last a lifetime. Her eyes averted to the dead man.

Jesus, the pain...

"Alexis." Price sternly warned.

"Get me up... I'm fine... Don't be a pussy."

Carefully positioning her to sit up, she weakly laid against Alex's chest. The man could care less when her blood seeped into his shirt—evident as he steadied her head against his own, refusing to let her move it wildly.

Staring at her bewildered teammates, she hazily slurred: "Well. Don't all of you look like shit."

‧͙⁺˚*･༓

a/n: i really went with the "i'm injured and my lover finds me and cradles me in my blood" trope and y'know what. y'all are welcome ;) btw sry for the late update... i edited this chapter 17 times lol i was so insecure about it. thanks for waiting lovers!

taglist: @flyboidameron @wanderlustgiant (wanna be tagged? lmk!)

#call of duty x oc #call of duty x reader #alex modern warfare #cod alex #echo 3-1 #john price #captain price #kyle garrick #farah karim #hadir karim #kate laswell #fanfiction #call of duty #modern warfare #ysrwrites: kl #please read tw carefully #oc: alexis #killer instinct

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