chrysanthemummie

[chrysanthemummie]

his light

one shot

john price x fem!reader

summary: john really loves his wife, she's his light.

wc: about 1.1k

barely proofread!!

content/warnings: lots of fluff, domestic price, and suggestive dialogue. It’s not clearly stated, but there’s an age gap (duhh) 

It's been soooooo long, I always say I'll be more consistent, but hopefully this time I will be.

John Price was obsessed with his wife. 

He couldn't contain himself when he was around you. 

When his eyes first landed on you, it changed his whole life with just a glance and a smile. He knew it was fate because his eyes wouldn't have landed on you if he hadn't remembered to get milk last-minute. He saw you in the dairy aisle wearing a cute pink tank top, cute chunky glasses, and your beautiful bare face. He watched as you closely observed between two coffee creamers, using his military training to observe you discreetly. 

He watched as you finally decided on the cheaper option, glancing at the more expensive and better-tasting creamer with a slightly sad look on your perfect face. He decided then and there that it was unacceptable, that someone as beautiful as you shouldn't have to worry about the cost of anything, you should live a comfortable life without any worries. 

He watches as you begin to push your cart away and pass him. You continue looking at your phone, and he suspects you are looking at your shopping list. He decides that now is his opportunity. While you are still unaware of his presence, he purposely stands in your path. 

“Oh my goodness, are you okay!?” you exclaim loudly after pushing your cart into his side. 

“It's alright, Love. I've been hit harder,” He says, as he finally gets a real good look at you. Yep, you're the one he tells himself, and the rest is history. 

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

That day felt like forever ago.

Your family and friends felt as tho your relationship was rushed, telling you nonsense, but John felt like he was the only one who had your interest at heart. You're comfortable in your own home, a little ways away from the chaotic city, in the calm suburbs. 

You have no worries besides making John happy. What more do you need?

He built your dream kitchen where he loves to walk in on you trying out new recipes. Like the time he came home and you tried making a Lemon Layer Cake, and he got to eat frosting off your fingers and kiss your sweet lips.

He ensured your home had an extra bedroom that you could convert into your personal space. You bought a desk so that you can practice your many crafts, a window nook that you can crochet in, and your own personal library filled with annotated classics. Dystopians that make you teary-eyed, and others that you blush and giggle at when you think he's not looking.  

He couldn't be happier.

You were his light, you were the only thing he could ever focus on…

So why wouldn't this lady leave him the hell alone?

He wanted to take you out tonight. Every once in a while, he likes to take you out and let you enjoy the things girls your age are doing. That's why you're both in this club right now. The club has obnoxiously loud music, flashing lights, and sweaty bodies. 

All he could focus on right now is you, the way your skin glowed and reflected the club lights. 

You were beautiful, and you were his.

He just excused himself from dancing with you to get you both another drink, and that's when he feels it—a soft graze on his arm.

He smiles as he begins to look over, imagining the sexy, tipsy grin that might be plastered on your face.  But then his face drops. Instead, it wasnt you, it's someone else. His face distorted into a disapproving and almost angry look; who would dare to touch him? He was disgusted. Why the hell was the woman looking at him as if she was permitted to even look at him, even less touch him.

“Heyyyy, handsome,” she purred.

He pulled his arm away and began to turn, ignoring the woman.

She grabs him again.

“Boys night out, or something?” she says, gesturing to the second drink in his hand.d

He couldn't even process what he was hearing because in the corner of his eye, he saw you in the middle of the dance floor with a lost look on your face.

He was starting to actually get irritated. How dare this woman take a second of his time away from you? Leaving you confused without his presence. 

“No, out with my-,” he said angrily, trying to make his way towards you. But she continued to follow, if she couldn't hear.

“All alone, I could give you company,” she tried, with a drunk and desperate expression. 

He was about to reply when he heard your sweet, whiny voice, “Johnnnn.” You ran up behind him, putting your hands under the front of his shirt and face in his back. He smiles with the widest grin across his face as he tries to turn his neck to see you. He reaches his hand behind his back to pull you to face him. 

You wrap your arms around his neck and stand on your tippy toes, attempting to put your face in his neck. Whispering silently to him while giggling. 

“Let's go hommeee, John…” you whisper.” Or- or let's go to the bathroom,” you giggle. Come on. 

He laughs at your drunk hornies and tries to cover your mouth from the wandering bodies around you both. 

He looks up and realizes that the woman hitting on him was gone. He was sure that she realized that John had eyes for absolutely no one else. 

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

John wakes up the next morning to the smell of something delicious. Naked with a blistering headache. Before, in his bachelor days, he would've been disappointed in himself, but now all he can do is smile. He smiles because this life is all he could ask for: late nights with his perfect wife, and the smell of breakfast in the morning.

He pulls on some sweats and makes his way to the kitchen. 

He sees you staring hard and a tasty-looking pastry fresh out of the oven. The kitchen is a mess, there's food everywhere, flour, egg shells, bacon, a bagel for some reason, and you still stand out amongst the chaos. 

You look up, finally seeing him, and you smile.

“Good morning my loveeee” you smile and run toward him with the pastry in hand “okay so i made you a breakfast sandwich and a green juice to help with your handover but firsttt before that you have to be the first this, i found the recipe online and i was super excited to make it I woke up early. It's like a cream cheese coffee cake and it has-”” 

He interrupts your rant with a big kiss on your lips. How could he care about anything else when he has you in his life?

His light.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

when i wrote this i was thinking about that pic of beyonce getting into the limo with jay z

[chrysanthemummie]

headcanons: price’s wife & the task force 141

price’s wife is the only person who can make captain john price relax after a long mission. she’s his safe place, and everyone in the 141 knows it.

soap calls her “mrs. p” too but deep down, he sees her as the closest thing to a mother he’s had in years. he tells her about his new tattoos and jokes that price will never be as cool as him.

ghost is surprisingly protective of her. he never shows his face, but he’ll let her touch his arm or shoulder when she’s trying to comfort him. she’s the only one who can make ghost eat properly when they’re home.

gaz adores her cooking. he always compliments her and says she’s “the heart of the team.” he helps her set the table and carries heavy groceries like it’s a mission objective.

whenever the boys come back from a mission, price’s wife hugs them all, no questions asked. ghost stiffens at first, but he secretly loves it.

soap teases price saying, “you’re lucky she said yes to you, cap. i’d have married her if i’d met her first.” price just rolls his eyes but hides a smirk.

she sends small notes or snacks in their gear bags before missions—like “stay safe, lads”—and ghost once kept one tucked in his pocket the whole operation.

price calls her “love” or “darling” in front of the team, and soap pretends to gag every single time, just to annoy him.

when someone gets hurt, she’s the first to scold them gently, like a mom. even ghost listens when she says, “sit down and let me see that wound.”

gaz loves how she listens to him talk about random things, like his favorite music or football matches, and she always remembers the little details.

price trusts her with his life, and the team knows she’s the only one who can pull him out of a bad mood.

[chrysanthemummie]

PACKED UP .ᐟ.ᐟ

(Inspired by the Tiktoks of:what i pack for my blue collar husband for his shift)

Simon ghost riley X wife!Reader

Being a lieutenant’s wife is a pretty cool thing,but there’s one more thing that you like,more than that first idea,baking pastries.

Simon is a big man,no doubt—i mean have you seen him? That man needs to eat and eat good. you two go shopping every Tuesday to get the food ready whenever he goes back to the base.

that’s one of the things he adores about you,it just feels right,going together,shopping together and calling a house,home.

Your home.

and so when Friday comes,which is two days before his return to the base,you load up his big bag,in which is the so said lunchbox.

You knew what he loved,so you got to packing it up.

you made loaded mac n cheese,with chicken tenders—closing the first cap up as you filled the second one with steak & mashed potatoes with some good cooked asparagus.

Moving on with the drink,and opening up the bottle—you made some delicious iced tea which you got for yourself too.

Finishing off with your freshly baked cinnamon rolls you were done packing,and as if he was summoned—you felt hands around your waist.

“Making sure i eat m’love?” his sleepy but still soft voice murmurs

“Exactly,need my lieutenant full” you joked and turned around to face him,wrapping your hands around his neck.

“You’ll let me see what’s in ‘ere sweetheart?” he smiled teasingly,leaning down to nuzzle his nose into your neck—

“Not snitching,you’ll see tomorrow”

“Lucky to have you my missus”

“Lucky to be with you my lieutenant”

Back at the base

Simon sat by his team, watching soap as he eagerly dived into his food,groaning about how hungry he was and barely had time to cook normally,—and opening his bag and as if he discovered gold,he placed it all on the table

Silence…

He could hear a whistle or two when he opened the containers,already knowing the sound belonged to johnny.

And so with a knowing smirk,he looked up at them.

“See what my wife packed for me?”

“That’s a feast,a goddamn feast.”

“You’re a one lucky bastard Simon”

. . . “You’ll share that with me right?”

“And me?”

Later that night you got a text message from Simon, and a photo attached, the picture being johnny and gaz fighting over the cinnamon rolls— you chuckled,smiling at the picture.

and damn right they were correct when they called him lucky,he was lucky to have you,somewhere between the bullets and coldness,he found home in you. And he was too damn in love.

Written by @pillowgazed Est. 2025

A/n: likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

Comment on my taglist to be added!🗞️

[chrysanthemummie]

Y/N stood in the middle of a display aisle lined with bassinets, her fingers trailing over the smooth edge of one she’d been eyeing for the past ten minutes. At six months pregnant, her movements were slower, more deliberate, but there was a spark in her eyes that Simon hadn’t seen in weeks.

“This one,” she said finally, turning to him with the kind of finality that usually ended a debate before it started.

Simon crossed his arms, broad shoulders dwarfing the dainty furniture around them. “No. We’re not havin’ the baby sleepin’ in our room.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“In their own room, Y/N. Proper nursery. That’s what it’s for.”

She narrowed her eyes, one hand bracing instinctively on her belly. “You want me to get up and walk across the hall at 2 a.m. every time they cry?”

Simon hesitated, his voice dropping to that low, even tone he used when he thought he was being perfectly reasonable. “They’ll be fine. And you’ll sleep better without every grunt and whimper wakin’ you up.”

Y/N snorted, the sound sharp with disbelief. “You think I’m going to sleep with them down the hall? Simon, I barely sleep now with them inside me.”

“Y/N…”

“No,” she cut in, the steel in her voice unmistakable. “First six months, they’re in our room. Bassinet right next to us. I need to know they’re okay.”

Simon ran a hand over the back of his neck, trying not to let the tiny flicker of anxiety he felt show. The truth was, the idea of having the baby in the same room scared him in ways he couldn’t explain. Every sound, every breath, he’d be up all night checking, making sure nothing happened.

He sighed. “I just don’t want you runnin’ yourself ragged.”

Y/N softened slightly, reading more in his tone than in his words. She reached out, taking his gloved hand in hers and placing it against the curve of her stomach. “You’re not getting rid of them that easily, Riley. They’re staying close. For both of us.”

Simon’s jaw ticked, his mask hiding the complicated tangle of emotions running through him. After a long pause, he muttered, “Fine. Bassinet in our room.”

Y/N smirked, victory shining in her eyes as she turned back to the display. “Knew you’d come around.”

Simon just shook his head, the faintest edge of a smile in his voice. “You’re bloody impossible, Y/N.”

~

Y/N moved methodically through the rows of tiny baby clothes, her tentative eyes scanning each rack with the same intensity she usually reserved for weapons checks. Every so often she’d pause, pluck out a muted cream romper or a sage-green onesie, and hold it up to the light before nodding to herself.

“Gender-neutral only,” she muttered, half to herself. “I don’t want to know until I’m holding them for the first time.”

Simon followed a step behind, the growing mountain of clothes draped over his arm. He’d carried kit bags through combat zones that weighed less.

He watched her waddle down the aisle, the subtle sway in her hips more pronounced now that she was six months along. For the first time since he’d met her, hell, in the six years they’d been married, Y/N didn’t move like someone who could dismantle a man in three seconds flat. She moved carefully, a hand always bracing against her belly as if to shield their child from the world.

And it did something to him.

Every instinct screamed to take the weight from her, to make sure she didn’t have to reach, lift, or even bend. So he did, plucking packages from the higher racks before she could, guiding her around displays with a steady hand on the small of her back, carrying everything before she even thought to.

“Simon,” she said finally, shooting him a sharp look over her shoulder. “You’re hovering.”

He didn’t bother denying it. “You look like you’re about to topple over with every step.”

Her lips twitched, though she tried to suppress the smile. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t care,” Simon replied, adjusting the stack of clothes against his chest.

Y/N shook her head, returning to her hunt for soft yellows and muted grays. “You realize I’m still me, right? Being pregnant doesn’t make me fragile.”

“Maybe not,” Simon allowed, his voice low and steady. “But you look… different. Feels wrong not helpin’.”

Y/N froze briefly at that, her expression softening despite herself. She turned back to the rack, hiding the small, knowing smile tugging at her lips.

~

Simon juggled two overstuffed shopping bags in each hand and balanced a third against his hip, the pile of baby clothes and supplies threatening to spill with every step.

Y/N walked a pace behind him, arms swinging free and a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “You know,” she called, “normal couples split the load. You’re not a pack mule.”

“Not lettin’ you carry a thing,” Simon replied without looking back, his voice gruff with finality.

“You’re overprotective,” she teased, quickening her pace to walk beside him. “I’m pregnant, not porcelain.”

Simon glanced at her, the overhead sunlight cutting a line across his mask that covered only his mouth. His gaze inevitably drifted down, catching on the pronounced curve of her belly straining against her shirt.

“…You’ve gotten big,” he murmured, more to himself than her.

Y/N shot him a sidelong glare, eyes narrowing. “You’re not supposed to say that to a pregnant woman, Simon.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shifting the bags in his hands. “Not what I meant. You sure it’s just one in there?”

She rolled her eyes. “For the hundredth time, yes. And before you ask, no, I didn’t ask the doctor. I told them I only wanted to know if the baby was okay. Everything else can wait.”

Simon unlocked the truck and began loading the bags into the back, his movements slower than usual, thoughtful. “Feels like there’s two,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, leaning against the passenger door. “What, do you have some kind of twin radar?”

“Just sayin’,” he said, closing the tailgate with a soft thud. “You’re carryin’ somethin’ precious. Hard not to… want to take every weight off your shoulders.”

The teasing smile faded from her face, replaced by a softer, more complicated expression. “Simon…”

He turned to face her fully, meeting her gaze. “Can’t help it, love. You look so damn… defenseless sometimes. Never seen you like that. Feels wrong not doin’ everythin’ I can.”

For once, Y/N had no quick comeback. She looked away, fighting the warmth creeping up her neck, and murmured, “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Simon agreed easily, opening her door for her. “And you’re stuck with me.”

~

The hum of the engine filled the truck’s cab, a steady backdrop to the faint smell of cinnamon rolls still lingering from the box Y/N had insisted on grabbing before they left the store.

Simon kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift, his eyes flicking between the road and the gentle curve of her belly in the passenger seat. No matter how many times he looked, it always caught him off guard, how much she was showing now, how real all of this felt.

Y/N turned her head, catching him staring. A slow smirk spread across her face.

“You’re doing it again,” she said, eyes glinting with amusement.

Simon’s gaze snapped back to the road. “Doin’ what?”

“Looking at me like I’m smuggling state secrets under my shirt,” she teased, resting a hand over her stomach. “Still convinced it’s twins, aren’t you?”

Simon huffed. “Feels like it.”

She chuckled softly, leaning her head back against the seat. “Maybe you’re just not used to seeing me like this. All… defenseless.”

His grip on the wheel tightened imperceptibly. “Not the word I’d use,” he muttered.

Y/N arched an eyebrow. “Oh? What word, then?”

Simon hesitated, the weight of his stare briefly shifting to her before returning to the road. “…Precious.”

For a split second, the teasing look in her eyes faltered, replaced by something warmer that made her chest tighten. She turned back to the window quickly, hiding the faint flush creeping up her cheeks.

“That’s disgustingly sappy, Riley,” she said after a beat, her voice laced with forced nonchalance.

Simon smirked faintly. “You’re welcome.”

Y/N fought the smile tugging at her lips, choosing instead to prod at him. “You know, for someone who claims he’s not overprotective, you haven’t taken your eyes off me, or the alleged twins, for more than five seconds.”

Simon grunted, shifting gears. “Not takin’ chances.”

Y/N laughed quietly, the sound soft but genuine, and for the rest of the drive, the teasing subsided into a comfortable, charged silence, Simon still sneaking glances when he thought she wasn’t looking, and Eris secretly touched by every single one.

~

The room was bathed in soft, warm light, shadows pooling in the corners as Simon and Y/N lay close together on their bed. The air was still, filled only with the quiet rhythm of their breathing.

Simon’s face was bare, unmasked, the usual stoic barrier replaced by something softer, tired, but present. His dark eyes met Y/N’s as she traced lazy circles over her swollen belly, the glow from the bedside lamp catching the glint of her eyes.

Breaking the silence, Simon’s voice was low and hesitant, almost vulnerable. “I’ve been thinkin’ about names.”

Y/N paused, hand still resting lightly on her stomach. “You have?”

“Yeah,” he said, his gaze steady. “Not just any names. Ones that mean somethin’.”

She blinked, surprised by the seriousness in his tone. “I thought you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself.”

Simon smiled faintly, a softness in his expression she hadn’t seen before. “I used to feel that way. But now, knowin’ you, knowin’ we’re doin’ this… it feels real. I want the name to be right.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, and she moved closer, letting her head rest gently against his shoulder. “What kind of names are you thinking?”

“Strong ones,” Simon said quietly. “Names that mean something to us, to them. Names that remind them of where we came from, and where they're goin’.”

She smiled, warmth spreading through her chest. “You’re more sentimental than you let on.”

He shrugged, voice gruff but affectionate. “Only when it counts.”

Y/N leaned up, pressing a tender kiss to his cheek. “I like that.”

Simon wrapped an arm around her, fingers threading through hers, and in the quiet of their shared home, they both let themselves believe in the future waiting just beyond the night.

~

Let me know what you guys think! Night y'all.

Thank you for reading!💚

[chrysanthemummie]

Russell Adler likes to keep his work and personal life separate. In fact, he views it necessary in his line of work. He isn't a man that hands out trust very easily, and that extends even to his coworkers.

For his own privacy and for the safety of ones he loves, he prefers to keep the details of his personal life... ambiguous.

In fact, he has even been known to make contradicting statements regarding his family or upbringing.

The team began to notice when Sims casually asked, “As an only child, do you think Adler was given more or less attention by his parents? Because that guy definitely wasn't hugged enough as a child.”

This caused Park to frown. “Only child? Adler had told me he had four brothers growing up.”

One thing, however, was always consistent: His ex-wife.

“The CIA is like my ex-wife,” he’d says. “Never throws anything away.”

Until once.

Once in ten fucking years, he forgot his lunch at home.

Being the dutiful (very much not-ex) wife that you were, you showed up to bring it to him.

“Um, excuse me,” you said shyly, giving a small wave as you approached a couple of men in one of the identical hallways you’d spent your morning wandering. “I’m looking for my husband’s office. I just wanted to bring him lunch.”

One of them smiled politely. “Sure thing,” Mason said. “Missus…?”

“Adler,” you supplied.

Mason’s eyes widened to the size of saucers and his companion coughed loudly, choking on his cigarette.

“Adler’s married?” Woods said in disbelief. “No fuckin’ way! Thought he only had an ex wife.”

You looked between the two men in surprise.

“Not unless there’s something I don’t know about,” you laughed.

You looked up as you heard a door opening and spotted Russ as he emerged from his office.

His brows shot up and he quickly glanced from you to his coworkers. Always needing to be in control, his cool and nonchalant facade quickly returned.

“Darling,” he said tightly. “What brings you by?”

Your eyes drifted from him to the men standing next to you, both of whom were now sporting childish grins.

You, knowing Russ and his tendency towards what you called paranoia, were able to surmise what had likely happened.

He'd never been one to be open about his personal life. You supposed you'd just blown his cover.

“You left your lunch,” you said with a weak, apologetic smile, as you sheepishly extended the paper sack towards him.

Russ stared at the bag in your hand for a moment, before accepting it. He jerked his head back towards his office. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s talk in private. And not a word outta you two,” he added, throwing a sharp look towards Mason and Woods.

You followed your husband into his office, already scheming up ways to make it up to him.

[chrysanthemummie]

You have a spot in the woods you go to cry. It’s hidden where nobody can hear or find you. You sit along the riverbank and weep, and when you’re spent with dried tears on your cheeks, you dip your toes in the water and watch the moon. You think you’re alone, unheard and unseen. But you don’t know about the orc who lives on the other side of the river. Secluded in his small cottage, obstructed by thick trees, he’s noticed you returning to this spot across the river.

He calls you his “little doe” to himself, because you look so delicate, sweet, and pretty. Like you’d run away if he were to approach you. You may be at a distance, but he can still see the stars reflect in your glossy tear-filled eyes.

What pains my little doe?, he’ll think to himself. He sits by his window and watches you, longing to comfort you, to stroke your soft hair and wipe your tears. He doesn’t know you, but it hurts him to see you with your face in your hands, wailing and trembling. He daydreams of scooping you up in his sturdy arms and taking you back to his cottage. And on some days, he thinks about how he’d never let you leave. How could he allow you to face what makes you hurt? How could he see his sweet little doe suffer ever again? You wouldn’t need anything out there, it would only harm you, stain your pretty eyes red. He’d even wipe the dribbling snot from your nose. Yes, his safe cottage, warm bed, and loving arms are exactly what you need…

[chrysanthemummie]

Young Adler (also with the scar… so that it looks like him)

[chrysanthemummie]

Your/Name: Out

Your/Name: In (Part 1)

Yandere!Self Aware!Russell Adler x F!Reader

Warnings for: Imprisonment, threat of brainwashing, self-injury (brief), implied threats of violence

Adler and his beloved have slightly different ideas of what protection looks like. She finds a way to escape, and he's going find a way to follow her.

Note: the self-injury warning refers to Adler briefly pricking his skin with a knife to show that he bleeds. That is all.

You couldn’t tell how long you’d been in the hotel room. One of the first things you’d actually asked Adler for was a clock, but you’d quickly found out that it didn’t work, due to the whole ‘you-are-perpetually-stuck-in-one-moment-in-time’ thing.

Even without it, you’d managed to put together a kind of routine, as even though time wasn’t literally passing, you were sure perceiving that it was.

Your ‘day’ started with you both ‘sleeping’, now defined as lying in bed in the dark for a bit, as neither of you actually slept. Adler would get up first, restoring light to the room as he conjured up some activity for the two of you to bond over, which you would half-heartedly try, for lack of anything else to do. Really, all they could do was remind you what a poor facsimile this digital world was; or at least the one Adler was creating inside this room.  

Though, you could hardly call it a room any more. As Adler added more and more stuff to try and get you to like him, to forgive him for kidnapping you, the room had gotten bigger and bigger. At this point, it was more akin to an open floor plan mansion than a hotel room. It was so big, you could actually walk far enough away from him that he would lose track of you, even if it was only for a few moments.

He always came and found you annoyingly quickly, which was rather putting a damper on your plans to escape. As… nice as he had been, you couldn’t stay inside your computer with a rogue program, AI, whatever he was, forever.

You’d put your time to good use, at least. Instead of making life-long plans for this room, you spent your time working out how this world worked. You had some passing knowledge of video game mechanics, and once you started to think about the world in those terms, it had all started to click.

The guy in the front of the hotel had been a random NPC asset Adler had just placed behind the desk for that individual moment; almost certainly an enemy asset torn out of a random mission with no dialogue or personality assigned to him, hence his blank face and lacking response when you and Adler had passed him by.

Whenever Adler was creating things for the room, it took time, and something that looked suspiciously like a load bar would appear where he was staring off into space. As for the thing itself, at first, you would see a box covered in a warped, repeating texture, that would periodically jump into higher and higher detail, aka resolution, until it reached completion, and then you would see the full asset, just like you would if you were waiting for it to load in while playing a game.

Your most alarming discovery had been that the room had a memory limit. As more things were added, the things you’d used least would disappear. This had created an additional challenge for you, as you now had to regular check on your possessions to keep them, and do so without Adler noticing.

He had struck lucky on a couple of items you’d liked. Your favourite book, a denim jackets you loved the feel of. Not that you were going to tell him any of that. He didn’t need to know anything about you, especially that you had his car keys in your possession.

You’d picked them up off his beside table once you’d figured he’d safely forgotten about them. He wouldn’t worry about not seeing them, as he had no intention of going anywhere, and if he did, he would be able to just create new ones. Whatever the reason, he hadn’t gone looking for them, letting you keep them tucked away in your bedside table drawer.

You were itching to check on them, to make sure they were still there, but Adler was too close by. He was cooking in the kitchen he’d set up, still trying to trick you into telling him all of your favourite foods.

Eating here was a strange experience. You would get the sensation of the food in your mouth, chewing it as you tasted the deliciousness of whatever it was, and the second you swallowed it, it vanished. It was like, once you couldn’t see it, it no longer mattered, so it disappeared.

God, you missed real food. You were willing to admit, begrudgingly, that for all his faults, Adler could cook. But he had never needed to eat, so whatever he made was just about the momentary sensory experience, rather than sustenance.

One more reason you needed to get out of here.

You sighed, standing up from the bed as you glanced around the room, trying to spot whatever new thing was on the schedule for today.

“Don’t go far…” Adler called out as you passed him, still not quite comfortable with your habit of wandering aimlessly through the open room. “Food’s almost ready.”

You nodded and kept walking, placing your hand on one of the walls, fingernails trailing against the paint as you followed it around in search of the door.

With the constant remodels, the door seemed to move every five minutes. Adler seemed to not mind, as, again, he wasn’t planning on leaving. You were, and you were endlessly annoyed by its movement. Now, you had to work out a way to get away from him that would give you enough time to find the door, run back down the corridor to the lobby, get outside, get into the car, and hope that driving it would be as simple as inserting the key and turning the steering wheel, as all good video game driving is, that the route back to the safe house would be obvious; and that that would then leave you with enough time once you were in the safehouse to figure out how you could get out again.

When you laid it all out, it wasn’t a good sounding plan. A lot of it relied on luck and assumption, but you had to try.

The biggest issue was how quickly Adler could find you. Sometimes, you couldn’t help but think that the whole ‘him searching the room for you’ was just a cover to make you feel relaxed, and that he actually always knew where you were.

You told the voice in the back of head narrating your inevitable doom to shut up and glanced over your shoulder. You’d paused between two very full wardrobes, part of Adler trying to impart his taste for finer things on you. Now, they provided a perfect gap for you to see him turning his head away, failing to hide that he’d been watching you the entire time.

Fuck.

You almost kept walking, but your gut was suddenly telling you something was off. You took a couple of steps forward, reaching the other side of one of the wardrobes, looking at the room closer.

The sneaky bastard. He’d rearranged everything in the room to radiate out from the bed, so you’d never be out of his line of sight.

It’s like he could read your mind, and part of you was beginning to seriously suspect that he could.

You shook your head, and kept walking. Being in here was driving you crazy. If you didn’t get out before much longer, you’d end up in a nest of paranoia, losing touch with your own identity.

Then, maybe his tongue would slip, and he’d start calling us Bell, the small intrusive voice in the back of your head says.

You told it to shut up again, before admitting defeat and walking over to your star gazing corner. 

The title made it sound nicer than it is. Entirely based on the fact that you’d stopped and looked up at the sky when you’d left the safehouse, back when you were controlling bell through your keyboard and mouse like you should be doing, Adler had made one of the corners of the room into a  stargazing nook, AKA some cushions on the floor surrounded by curtains that blocked out enough light to allow you to see a star map projected on the ceiling.

You sat, squinting up at the faint lines drawn across the white plaster. They were so faint, they were barely there. If you’d not spent hours (or what felt like hours) here memorising the aesthetic constellations, you would doubt that there was anything there at all. The curtains surrounding you had definitely lost some of their opaqueness now that he was keeping a closer eye on you. 

You glanced over your shoulder, and saw him making his way towards you, mockingly weaving his path around various objects, like he didn’t have a direct path to you.

What would he do to you if he caught you trying to escape? He’d implied that he wasn’t against doing what he’d done to Bell on you, even after claiming that he didn’t have the necessary equipment to do it. 

After which, he’d taken great pride in showing you how he could manipulate the world around him and create whatever he wanted at will. 

You blinked back some small tears again as he pushed the curtain aside, and your next breath filled your lungs with the smell of BBQ ribs.

“Can I join you?”

“Yeah.” You nod, shuffling to one side as he sat beside you, balancing the plate on his knee. How he grilled in an enclosed space without suffocating both of you was a mystery. 

“You come over here a lot.” He broke the silence, as you continued to stare up at the faint lines.

“I guess so.” You slowly reach out for the plate of ribs, slowly gnawing the meat off the bone as he smiled, watching carefully for your reaction. 

They were good, and you hated it. Sweet smoky flavour bursting across your tongue, punctuated by the strange feeling of food disappearing from your throat when you swallow. 

“What do you think?”

“They’re good.” You nodded, setting the bone aside and watching it vanish. 

He smiled again, taking one for himself this time.

You didn’t reach for a second, instead resuming staring at the ceiling. 

“Is something wrong?” He looks up at you again. 

“No. Well…” You hesitate as an idea comes to your mind. “There’s… maybe something.”

“What?” He sat up, ready to fix whatever was making you sad. Or, whatever creature comfort you could pretend was. If he really cared, he’d let you go home. He didn’t care. He was selfish, and wanted to keep you here for himself.

“It’s just… these stars aren’t accurate.” You point at one. “That’s the southern cross there, and next to it is Cygnus, which is only visible in the Northern Hemisphere.” 

You hoped that you were remembering that right, or that he didn’t know anything about stars.

“Not accurate, huh…” He nodded slowly, looking where you’d pointed, before turning back to you. “I’m sorry. I don’t know anything about all this, really.”

And there’s you, getting lucky. 

“Do you?”

“I… I know a bit.” You mumbled. Enough to bullshit off, at least. 

“Maybe… you could teach me?” 

You glanced back at him. “I suppose I could… but how?”

“I’ll put something in.” He stood up, the plate of ribs vanishing as he forgot about them. “A sky light, so we can see the real ones, or… an observatory.”

“Is that not a bit too much?” Your heart is pounding. This is actually working. Your random, spontaneous idea is working.

“Nothing is too much for you.” He reached down and pulled you to your feet, guiding you out of the curtained corner. “Go on and rest, so it can be a surprise.”

“Okay…” You lingered for a moment as he turned back, ready to do whatever it is he does while creating things. To you, it just looks like he’s staring off into the distance. “Thank you.”

Your words caught him off guard, for just a moment. He glanced back and smiles, then his eyes glazed over, and he appears to be staring blankly at the wall. 

You hurried back to the bed, suddenly thankful for the direct paths, dropping to your knees as you opened the drawer to see it the key was still there. 

It was. Thank Christ.

You glanced back towards him, still unmoving in the far corner.

It’s something else that catches your eye.

The door is on the wall right next to you, where it was originally before the room grew to its current unbelievable proportions.

If that’s not a sign…

You tucked the car keys into your jeans pocket, pulled on your boots and quietly left the room, shutting the door very gently behind you.

The corridor outside is so dark compared to the room it takes your eyes a minute to adjust. You walked speedily down it, splitting the difference between moving quietly and moving fast, all the while glancing back towards the room. 

Nothing happened by the time you reach the empty lobby. The door hasn’t opened, Adler hasn’t appeared, so you broke into a run as you left the building. 

You easily identified Adler’s car, by it being the only one parked in the bays in front of the building.

Overhead, it’s still nighttime. The same sky from when you arrived here, as Adler said, frozen, suspended in time without your input.

How exactly you were going to use that knowledge to get yourself out of here, you didn’t know yet, but you had this gut feeling that you had to get back to the safe house, to the mission board. It’s where you had been when this all started, and it was the main way Bell, via your input, moved the campaign along. There had to be something there.

The car started automatically when you got into it. No key, no ignition necessary. As soon as you touched the steering wheel, the engine purred, and you slowly reversed out of the parking space. Despite the gear shift visible next to you, you only had two pedals: an accelerator, and a break/reverse. Just like how the cars in Warzone worked.

Despite your driving track record in game, you were able to get out of the carpark and back onto the narrow road that cut a path straight back to the safehouse.

In fact, when you looked closer, the roads didn’t even continue on beyond where you were driving. They just… ended, as there’d never been a need to generate more road, since no one was ever supposed to see them. In theory, no one should have been able to leave the level box of the safe house, but Adler had shown that he at least clearly could surpass those things.

After a few minutes, you pulled up in front of the safe house. You didn’t bother parking nicely, just got out, leaving the engine running and the door hanging open. Every second counted, given that you were running on a vague hope that you would be able to find The Thing that would let you out of here.

You pushed open the door, eyes flicking about the room. Nothing had changed. The safehouse still looked like it always did in the pre-Cuba briefing. Hudson was endlessly talking on the phone. Woods and Mason were speaking quietly over some gear in the back of their van. Lazar and Sims were no-where to be seen, but their voices could be heard deeper inside the safehouse. Park was in the office, talking to someone. 

Someone who wasn’t here. You paused, and looked down at the floor.

You remembered this. In this briefing, Hudson had his little round up, then everyone split off, and Park took Adler off into the office to have a word. 

She hands him a file, and, as they walk, a piece of paper hinting at what they’d done to Bell falls out. 

It’s there now. 

You grabbed it from where it lay on the floor, eyes skating over the familiar words as you hurried over to the mission board, pages fluttering under the nearby fan. 

No one seems to react to your presence. That was Adler’s job, of course. He would keep tabs on Bell depending on the answers you gave. But he wasn’t here. 

You started at the board, fighting back the helpless feeling of doom, suppressing the voice in the back of your head that was ranting on about how you didn’t know what you were doing, why did you even try, he was going to catch you and he wouldn’t be as nice this time. 

You shook your head and looked down at the page in your hands again. The sides were already crinkled as you gripped it tightly, lifting it closer to your face. The movement happened to place the page between your face, and a particularly bright desk lamp. Suddenly, clear as day on the page, one of the letters was glowing orange. 

You lowered it. The glowing stopped. You raised it again, and it returned. 

That had to be something. There was nothing out there that could top sheer dumb luck. 

You tore the glowing ‘I’ out from the page and pinned it to the board. Then, one by one, you pulled the other documents down, and held them up to the light, too.

Page by page, more letters appeared.  

Torn paper was scattered about your feet as you stared at the letters, pinned up in the random order you’d found them. You’d started with an I, now you had an A, an E, three Os, two Ts, a W, an H, an M and an N, and a G.

All the letters you needed to spell out the only real thought you’d had for weeks.

“I… want… to… go… home.” You read out as you lay out the letters in the right order. As soon as you’d put the E in place, the torn pieces of paper flashed bright orange, and were replaced by a glowing text box, like the one you’d seen before. The ‘Press to enter’ that you had gotten into this mess in the first place.

You reached for it, breath held, almost waiting for someone to stop you.

No one did. Your fingers hit the warm fuzzy pixels, and you gasped as the tingling warmth spread rapidly through your body. You looked down at your hands, and realised that you’re now glowing the same orange colour.

Adler sees it too as he slams the door open, tumbling into the safehouse covered in mud and leaves, half a second too late. 

When he calls out your name, you’re already gone. 

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

“Fuck, that hurt…” You mumbled as you slid out of your desk chair and onto the floor, after slamming into it face first.

Wait… your chair. Your floor. You were back home. 

You sprung up and looked around you. Yes, you were back in your crappy apartment, that you’d never been so happy to see.

You’d done it. By sheer luck, you’d done it. Whatever strange nightmare that had been, that your favourite video game character had gained sentience and pulled you into the game was over, soon to be forgotten. 

You immediately turned back to your computer, closing the game and ejecting the disk. You snapped it, dropping to the pieces to the floor as adrenaline surged through you and you yanked your whole PC from the wall, half dropping half placing it on the floor as you ripped the cover off, tearing out components one by one until you got to the hard drive, which you carried to your storage cupboard, wrapped in a tea towel and raised a hammer over it.

You took in a deep breath, then brought the hammer down on it, over and over, until it was in lots of little shiny pieces; your flat’s quiet hours be damned. 

When you slowed, you took a deep breath, the adrenaline slowly tapering out of your system as you unwrapped the towel and poked the broken pieces with the hammer, relaxing as you took in the surprisingly easy destruction.

Whatever he had been, rogue code, a ghost, a spirit, he, it wasn’t getting to you ever again. 

You took the broken pieces back to your room, and crammed it along with everything else and the broken disc back into the PC frame, balancing it awkwardly in your arms as you left your flat and took the stairs down to the bins in the garage.

You hefted it over the edge of the big commercial general waste bin, relishing in the cracking sound of things breaking further on the heavy landing. All gone, ready to be buried in the avalanche of black bags tomorrow would bring.

It was hardly the proper way to dispose of electronics, but it was the fastest way to get it completely out of your life.

Part of you felt that that should have been harder. You had just thrown a couple thousand quid that you spent less than six months ago out without a second thought.

Another part of you felt that it was a small price to pay for freedom.

Besides, you could save up again. Most of your games were tied to your steam account, and could easily be downloaded to a new computer. And, by the time you saved up, it would have been time to upgrade anyway. 

It’s not like there had been anything important on there. That had been exclusively your gaming computer. Everything important you kept on your old laptop hard drive.

You could easily redo save data. Besides that, what had you really lost?

Maybe this whole thing was some kind of sign you should spend less time playing video games in general.

You slowly mounted the last flight of stairs back up to your apartment. 

Whatever you did, he was gone. The system he lived in was destroyed. 

You’d never know how much time you’d lost there, mentally at least, as your phone declared you’d only been gone a couple of hours. 

Whatever had caused that difference, as you didn’t understand enough about physics to make even an educated guess like time dilation or some equally smart sounding thing. 

All that aside, you were free. And, you were going to do whatever it took to stay that way, even if it meant you had to give up video games forever.

You paused just inside the door of your flat when you entered it again. It felt like you were looking over the place with fresh eyes, over the things you’d taken for granted, the petty annoyances you’d gotten used to, the issues you’d gotten sick of chasing your landlord over.

That the kitchen was tiny, and you could barely move in it, that you didn’t have space for a living room- hell, the entire flat was just too damn small. You had a kitchen, a dining room slash hallway, a bedroom slash office and a bathroom. 

You’d basically only moved here because the rent had been cheap. You’d been desperate to save money. Not quite live with mould desperate, but enough to live in two and a half rooms for over four years.

Across those years, that rent had increased. Slowly, to be sure, but if you objectively looked at how much you were paying now, you would almost certainly be able to afford a nicer place for the same amount.

Maybe nicer, if you moved out of the inner city. That had been the other benefit, that it was basically around the corner from your job. One you’d left ages ago in favour of a fully remote position.  

Maybe this was a wake-up call for your entire life. You needed to start doing better by yourself. Get back into an in-person role, or at least hybrid so you’d get regular human contact other than the delivery guy, or your cat sitter needing neighbour. You should move to a bigger place, with a kitchen that you actually liked being in, so you would use it, not the one where you had to swap your microwave and toaster around constantly depending on which you needed. 

Maybe, you could finally start writing that book you’d wanted to, or make your own games. 

You took a deep breath, and decided. All those things you’d put off, you were going to do them. Maybe not tomorrow, but you were going to get yourself to them sooner rather than later. 

And, you ask yourself as you walked through your apartment, tiny and mundanely normal, what is a better first step than a good night’s sleep?

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

You’d done it. They’d called you back, and the promotion was yours. You were bursting with excitement, but you couldn’t just burst out and tell everyone on the bus. That might be a little weird. Instead, you would have to wait until you could tell Buster, your excitable old Irish wolfhound. You’d tell your friends, your family tomorrow, once you’d signed the contract signed, something about counting chickens before they hatch, you know?

The bus rumbled around the corner and onto your street, so you pressed the button and slid up out of your seat, carefully walking down the aisle as the driver slowed to a stop. You thanked her, and stepped down into the bright evening air, retrieving your house keys as the bus rolled away behind you. 

It still didn’t sound real to you, that you had house keys. When did the feeling of accomplishment wear off, you wonder, that you’d managed to buy a house? 

Maybe it never did, especially when it marked such a major milestone in your personal growth after that strange, distant night you’d had in your old apartment. 

Over the past couple of years, you’d gone back and forth over what had really happened. Had it simply been a dream, or had it been real? The day after, you’d woken up thinking it was a bizarre nightmare, only to find your PC gone, and irretrievable from the bin you’d thrown it in the previous night. 

There was a logical part of you that said of course it wasn’t real, but a deep, instinctive part of you still reacted harshly whenever someone so much as mentioned Call of Duty, let alone his name. Not that that was a frequent issue, but it happened occasionally, when you were on the bus, or out in the city in the weekend, or your co-workers were complaining about how they couldn’t get their kids to put it down.

You chuckled, turning up your empty drive and walking up to your door.

You didn’t notice the lights were on inside until you’d unlocked the door.

You were sure you’d turned those off. You did every morning, given how expensive electricity was here. 

Who was in your house?

You pushed the door open, peering in. Buster’s cheerful yip came from the kitchen, and his head appeared in the door, but he didn’t come to greet you. 

The smell of cooking meat hit your nose next, which you followed, almost in a trance to the kitchen door, to see who was there.

It was him.

Russell Adler was in your kitchen. 

He was using your pans, cooking your food. He had your dog sat at his feet waiting for scraps.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe. He’s not real, he wasn’t real.

You were dreaming. 

You had to be.

You dropped your bag, rolling your sleeve up so you could pinch your arm.

It didn’t work. Again. When you opened your eyes, he was still there.

But now he had seen you. It was too late to turn around and walk back out the door. 

“Hey.” He said softly. Like he hadn’t invaded your home.

“Heel.” You stated, firmly. 

“What…” he trailed off as he realised you weren’t talking to him. 

Buster looked at you a bit reproachfully, but came to heel. 

Adler watched, shoulders shrinking like he’d only just realised that maybe he should have knocked and waited outside.

“Uh… I just want to talk.” He gestured to the mess around him, the oven full of trays behind him. “Thought we might….”

“You presumed.” You finally responded to him. “Leave.”

“Don’t you want to know how…”

“No.” 

He almost took a step towards you, but caught himself. “Please? We’re on your side of it, your turf now.”

“Yeah, it’s my fucking house!” You snap.

“And… the reality. I can’t control anything here, so it’s fair. Please, I just want to talk.”

He glanced towards your dining toom. You leant back to see what he was looking at. 

Places laid for two. Candlelight.

Ugh. Where those roses?

“What do you think is going to happen?” You snap back. “You’re not staying.”

“I mean…” he looked back at you, the familiar harsh authority creeping back over his face. “How are you going to get rid of me?” 

“What?” You swallowed, fighting the urge to try and run.

“I don’t exist, legally. No birth certificate, social security… nothing. I’m a ghost, and I can disappear like one too. Who are you going to call about that?”

“I’d consider it if you’d just be normal.” You snapped back. “It’s ‘oh, I just want to talk,’ but when you don’t immediately get your way, you threaten me. You haven’t changed one bit.”

“I… I’ve changed. You should have seen me when I first came out. Woke up in a landfill, stormy night, no idea where I was or what had happened. No idea where you were.” He took a breath, leaning back on the counter. “I was furious with you. You’d said you wouldn’t stop playing, but you had, and not only that, you’d thrown me away, you’d tried to kill me! To smash me to pieces with a hammer!”

“Can’t kill something that’s not alive.”

“Is this alive enough for you?” He picked up a knife and pressed the tip into the palm of his hand. Your eyes widened as you watched the blood well up from the tiny cut, slowly dribbling out over his palm.

“What…” How the fuck was he alive, made of flesh and blood. Real in every sense of the word.

“I’m as real as you are.” He smiled. “And, you were right. It’s so much better like this.”

“What?” 

“Being real!” He stood up and walked towards you, trying to grab your hands. 

You took a step backwards, and Buster finally moved in between you and him, growling. Better late than never.

“I mean… look at all this. The food, the air, the stars… it’s better than I could have ever imagined.” He sighed, crouching down and running his hand over Buster’s fur, immediately calming him down. “You even kept yourself busy, setting all this up for us.” 

“It’s for me.” 

He sighed, straightening up again. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Did I not make myself clear?” He stepped closer to you as Buster scurried back into the kitchen. “You aren’t getting rid of me. You ran away, so I followed you, and now I’m here, and I’m flesh and blood, so you can’t throw me away again. That’s more of a crime than improper disposal of household electronic goods.” 

“Try me.”

“I am.” He suddenly raised his hands, caught himself, and lowered them. “I am offering you a chance to start over, when we’re on more equal footing. Give us a proper go.”

“Equal? You think I’m going to let you live here, sponging off my paycheque?”

“No, no, of course not. I have a job. Fifty-fifty, we could split it.”

“How do you have a job if you don’t have a social security number?”

“I worked for the CIA. I can make a false identity.” He glanced down at his hands, moving restlessly at his side. “You aren’t a little bit flattered that I’ve defied known physics and digital mechanics for you?”

“No.” 

“Can you try to be? I still remember all those things you said about me.”

“You… shouldn’t be flattered.”

“Well, I am.” He glanced back into the kitchen as a timer dinged. “How about that dinner, huh?” 

“Why?” 

“Why, what?”

“Why dinner?” 

“I mean… why not? It’s what people do when they’re getting to know each other. And, food is so good now that I can actually eat it.”

You stare at him.

“I made steak.”

“Okay.”

“What?”

“Okay.” You kicked your shoes off and walked into the dining room. Buster followed you, settling on his bed as you moved the candles aside. The flowers were roses. You pushed them aside, too. “Okay.” 

“Really?” Adler hovers in the doorway.

“It’s not like you’re going to leave, is it?”

“No. I won’t.” 

That confirmed your worst fear. You folded your hands, waiting expectantly. “Then, okay, we do it over. But, we do it properly. Get to know each other, different bedrooms, all that. Until I’m ready.”

“Until you’re ready.” He echoed. “I promise.”

He disappeared back into the kitchen, and Buster slowly walked up to your side.

“Hey buddy…” You rubbed behind his traitorous ears. “Wanna bet how long it takes him to break that promise?”

Buster didn’t answer. Instead, he stared up with eyes that said ‘I want left over steak please.’ You smiled, and sat back up. You wouldn’t give him until the end of this dinner, not that it mattered. While Adler had been out chasing a dream, you’d been keeping yourself busy. You’d survived him once, and you would do so again. Playing along was just the first step.

[chrysanthemummie]

as promised, I have a another yandere! Adler requests(of a few), this one was based on an idea I had in my mind. Self Aware!Adler x Reader/Bell

Basically Adler become aware that he’s a character in a video game and starts to become obsessed with Bell/The Player. Starting out small, he eventually manages to find a way to get Bell/Player into the game to be with him forever

are you interested?

Hi!!! Thanks so much for this one, I had a lot of fun with it! Hope you enjoy :)

Your/Name: In

Yandere!Self Aware!Russell Adler x F!Reader

Warnings for: imprisonment, threats of brainwashing

For as long as he can remember, Russell has been aware that he's just a character in a video game. Such a concept fascinates him, of course, but not as much as who is playing it. After hearing some of the things other players say to her over voice chat, he decides it's his job to keep her safe.

Another win, another first place. Another moment where Adler gets to flip off the other, not as good players, as he waits for her soft cheers at yet another top of the leaderboard win.

He closed his eyes as the end screen faded, and he found himself back in the void, walking. He settled into it, ignoring his surroundings as he walked forward, at arms, surrounded by approximate facsimiles of people he used to know. Right now, there are two different versions of Woods walking alongside him.

He doesn’t care about them more than who they belong to. The two dick twiddling losers who had been on the other team, who were now taking out their inadequacy on her. Because of them, he wasn’t hearing her celebrating. Instead, he was hearing her voice shake, sniffling as she disabled voice chat.

“Losers. I’m just trying to have fun.” 

He can only imagine her expression. Her lips bent in a pout, her brows pinching as the joy fades, her favourite game once again ruined by some shitheads who can’t take a loss right. He’s never seen her, on the other side of the screen, but after the many, many hours she’s spent with him… he knows her so well.

The others walking around him disappeared, leaving him nervously clutching his King’s Ransom Krig 6 tightly. Had they been so off putting that she was going to quit the game altogether, leaving him alone in the dark?

His heart pounded as he heard her clear her throat. “I could play the campaign for a bit… Keep working on the Veteran achievement.”

Relief floods through him at her words. Then, it disappears as his consciousness gets pushed back into the code, essentially non-existence, for a moment, until he rematerializes in the Berlin safe house, his heart swelling again when he sees Bell wandering back and forth in front of the mission board.

What mission could she be planning to tackle next? What scenario would they be running over and over, watching Bell die again and again, hearing her get more and more frustrated until she inevitably quits, leaving him alone?

Unless… Could he implement some of the things he’d learned in multiplayer, here?

Adler had spent a lot of time testing his limitations, figuring out how to bend the world around him to his will. What else was he meant to do, after he’d figured out that his entire life was a game?

Well, that, and his fascination with the who.

Who was playing the game on the outside, existing beyond where he could see? Who had picked him out as her favourite? How could he use his unique understanding of the game to help her?

He’d been cautious, at first. Perhaps, overly. He’d slowly started responding more directly to what was happening in the matches, made custom lines for each type of loadout she had, or disarming an opponents’ tactical. He’d even gone so far as to create unique poses for when she won, which were now the only ones she used, never noticing that no one else seemed to. Rather than that, she liked everything he added, particularly when he yelled, ‘ahh, hot, hot!’ when he got caught by (but survived) a Molotov.

He’d done lots of little things to help her win. He so badly wanted to do more, but in the multiplayer matches, it would have gotten her banned for cheating. Here, though…

He reached out and turned the radio off, before walking over to where she was controlling the avatar of Bell.

“Bell. I need your help, let’s go.”

Bell stopped and turned to face him, staring blankly while she spoke. “I don’t remember… Did the last update add a new mission or something?”

Adler waited, then Bell nodded, and followed him as he led them across the safehouse, then outside. The door slammed behind them as Adler walked towards his car, Bell lingering behind him.

“Whoa… this is all new…” She mumbled, Bell’s head spinning left and right as she took it all in. When Adler reached his car, and looked back, she had stopped to stare up at the stars in sky box.

“Hop in, Bell.” He called out, breaking her from the trance as he lingered by the driver’s side door, waiting for her to get in first. “Go ahead.”

You leaned closer to your screen, squinting at the prompt box that appeared before you. After a couple of shitty matches, you’d gone back to replay some of the Cold War campaign, when, unexpectedly to you, a new exchange between Adler and Bell had played out. You’d played the campaign back to front, and you’d never seen it before, so you’d assumed that it was some kind of secret easter egg, or Activision had flipped the script and actually added new content to the game.

You had, of course, gone along with it, excited until you walked up to the door of the car. A bright orange ‘press to enter’ prompt had popped up, but when you clicked it, nothing happened.

You tried it again, backing away from the car and reapproaching it, skating your mouse all over the screen, clicking randomly in case the hitbox had bugged out and somehow ended up Adler’s ass.

“Ugh… must be glitched.” You muttered, reaching out to tap the screen like that would fix it. 

As soon as your finger made contact with the glass, you felt yourself falling. 

Thankfully, you didn’t fall far. Your landing was cushioned by a car seat, as the scent of pine air freshener filled your nose. The engine rumbled to life before you could raise your head, and a hand reached out to steady you as you instinctively reached up for a seat belt.

“Easy there.” A voice spoke, and you froze. 

When you slowly looked up, you were looking into the face of Russell Adler. 

“What…” 

“Hey.” He smiled, looking away from you as he pulled the car out of the gated courtyard onto a narrow road. “How’re you?”

“No…” You shook your head. “No, this isn’t possible.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think it would work.” He smiled at you again, flicking the headlights to high beams. The lights lit up the fences running alongside the road, only just wide enough for the car to pass. “Luckily, it did.”

“No…” You lurched around in your seat, watching the buildings behind you vanish into the dark. Your fingers hurt from how tightly you were clutching at the dash, as you hurriedly pinched your skin, trying to wake yourself up. “No, no, this isn’t happening!”

“But, it is.” He reached over, gently pushing you to sit properly in your seat. “Sit still. I’m taking us some place safe, I’ll explain everything there.”

You flinch away from his touch, huddling back against the door as you tried to process what the fuck had just happened.

You had been at your desk, playing Call of Duty.

You’d been in an online match, and run into a couple of real pieces of work who kept yelling out for ‘the bitch to get back in the kitchen’, so you’d quit and gone back to playing the campaign, once again on the fruitless hunt for the veteran achievement.

You’d been standing in front of the chalk board, reviewing the missions you needed to do, when Adler had walked up, and told you to follow him. You’d thought it was a new scene or something, so you had, out of the safe house to a car, the button had glitched, you’d tapped your screen, and now you were in that car. 

A sharp click broke you out of your thoughts. You looked around, trying to ignore Adler’s smile as he continued watching you out of the corner of his eye. Your heart leapt into your throat when you saw that he’d locked the doors. 

This had to be a bad dream. It had to be. You pinched your skin again, looking around desperately for other ways to try and wake yourself up. This car was old, surely you could physically unlock the door by pulling the lock bit up and jump out, right? You die in a dream, you wake up, that’s how it works.

“You’re not dreaming.” He says softly.

Your head whips around to face him. 

“That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?” The car slows, and he turns off the road into a car park. The dim sign on the building in front of you tells you that it’s a hotel. “That this is all a bad dream?”

“How… how do you…” Your words trail off as he parks the car and gets out, walking around the hood to open your door when you don’t get out yourself. 

You scramble away from him again, blindly reaching behind you as you try and climb backwards over the middle console. 

“What…” he sighed, removing his glasses from his face as he stared at you. “What’s gotten you so scared?” 

You hesitate. The existential fear of the fact you are now somehow inside your computer aside, you have good reason to be scared of the man in front of you. 

“I… I know what you did to bell.” You swallowed, watching him carefully.

“And?” He continued to stare, like you’d not given a perfectly sane explanation. 

“How do I know you won’t do that to me?”

“Oh, for god’s sake–give me a little credit!” He ran his hand through his hair, leaning down over the open door. “I brought you here to protect you, I’m not going to hurt you! Besides, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I don’t have any supplies for it, and we’re actually stuck in this moment.”

Your heart leaps again. “What do you mean, stuck?”

“This world… all of it revolves around your input.” He straightens up and smiles again. “As long as you don’t pick a mission in the safehouse, we can stay here as long as we like. Safe, uninterrupted. We can sit here forever, and just be… be at peace.”

“How… No…” You started shaking again, then screamed when he grabbed your leg and dragged you out of the car. 

“If you’re going to insist that we talk it all through, let’s at least get comfy.” He tries to set you on your feet so you walk in with him, but your legs were shaking so much you couldn’t stand. He half carried, half dragged you into the hotel, taking the key the blank faced man behind the counter offered, and steering you in the direction of room twelve.

At first, the room looked like any generic hotel room. It had a bed, a desk, a door that must lead to the bathroom, a wardrobe with missing doors, a window overlooking the carpark, and plain grey wallpaper. Nothing to write home about, but serviceable. Or, it would be, if your world hadn’t just been completely turned upside down.

Adler let you collapse onto the bed, sighing as he crossed the room to close the blinds.

You rolled onto your back, trying to take in some deep breaths. You wanted to close your eyes, but then you wouldn’t be able to see what Adler was doing, so you kept them open, digging your fingers into the sheets instead.

Suddenly, the sheets were fluffy under your hands. You dropped them, struggling to sit up to see that where there had been plain cotton-polyester sheets beneath you, was now a fluffy comforter. You blinked, and looked around at the rest of the room. The walls were now creamy white. Soft lamps were glowing on the bedside tables. A radio was playing music on the coffee table, which Adler was humming along to as he slowly removed his jacket and lay it over the back of the sofa.

“That’s more like it, huh?” He looks back at you as you look around again. The room felt like it had doubled in size.

“Did… you?”

He nodded as he slowly walked towards you. “Just a little touch up. It’s not hard.”

“Oh.” You blinked, slowly sinking back into the comforter, trying to guess what the limit of what he could do would be.

“You know…” He sat at your side, leaning over you. “You look even more beautiful than I imagined.”

“What…” You swallow again, giving up on your attempts at taking deep breaths as Adler is clearly not going to let you have two minutes without some bullshit. 

“Well…” He reached down and brushed your hair back from your forehead, his own glowing blond in the lamplight. “I’d figured you’d based Bell on yourself, so I had a rough idea… but look at you. You’re beyond anything I dreamed.” 

You slowly sit up, shuffling back against the pillows to force some space between you. “How are you…. alive?” 

“I’m not sure.” He sighed, but let you go. “I don’t remember a point when I wasn’t aware that this is all just a game, and that it revolves around you.” 

So… He’d been aware the entire time you’d been playing?

“At first, I just liked hearing your voice… how you reacted to the things that happen in the story. Then, I heard the things you said about me… what you liked about me.” His eye twinkled with a strange nostalgia. It made it sound like you’d said sweet compliments about him; not about how much you wanted to fuck him. “It made me like you, too.”

He waited for you to respond before he went on. “It was a bit odd, the first time you started playing in matches. Seeing blank copies of the people I’m supposed to be close too… it was a little existential. But I loved helping you win more. I did quite a bit, you know. Shrunk your hit box, helped you aim, made your guns do just a bit more damage. I learned how all of this worked, just to help you. So, I could hear you celebrate, cheer me on in the end screens.”

“Then I started to hear what other people said to you. How upset it makes you. How sometimes they’d make you so sad that you’d stop playing, that you’d stop spending time with me. It’s why I worked out a way to bring you here, so we can spend all our time together without anyone attacking you.” 

“You’re…” you pause, trying to find the right word, “… protecting me?”

He nodded, relieved that you’d finally understood.

“How is this protecting me?” You cried out, curling up into a ball. “I want to go home!”

“You can’t. I… I can’t let you go.” He whispered, crawling up close to you. “I can’t. You’ll stop playing the game, leave me alone forever.”

“I wouldn’t! I’d still play, but… I…” You stumble over your words. “I have to go to work.”

“No, you don’t. You hate that job, and it stresses you out so much. Here, you don’t have to work.”

“Well, I have to feed my neighbour’s cat. I can’t let him starve.”

“You neighbour gets back tomorrow. The cat will be fine.”

“But…” You think again, heart sinking when you realise how short your list of reasons is. “My family…” 

“What are they going to do? Who is going to figure out that you’re in here?” Adler suddenly raises his voice, obviously frustrated that you’re not coming to terms with it. 

But, how could you? You’d had your world shattered in less than thirty minutes, and were now staring up into the face of a man you know is capable of extreme cruelty. How could he expect you to just get over that?

Your shiver away from him, and a flicker of regret crosses his face. 

“Okay… I’m sorry for shouting. But, can’t you just give me a chance?” He takes your hands in his. They’re… warm, as they encircle yours, surprisingly soft for his line of work. The hands that tortured Bell, you try to remember. “Let me prove that I’m here for you. That this works, and we can stay here forever?”

You blink back tears. It’s unlikely anyone would come looking for you, despite what you said about family, and if they did, he was right. How on earth would someone work out that you were trapped inside a video game, let alone figure out a way to get you out? 

You swallowed roughly as your throat tightened.

What would happen if your power or wi-fi shut off? Would you both die? Would you return to the real world, with a fucked credit score and possible stay in a mental hospital if you were honest about where you’d been?

“Hey… hey, breathe.” He rose up, leaning over you as you started to hyperventilate. “Look at me, deep breaths…” 

You tried, as even though you don’t trust him, you can’t stay like this. Despite being transported into a digital world, everything you were feeling, the panic, the crushing weight on your chest, was all vividly real.

Eventually, you managed to regain enough control of your body to take in a huge gulp of air, the rest flooding back to you as you found yourself being slowly wrapped in his arms.

It was almost enough to make you panic again. When your body tensed, he tightened his arms. 

“No, no. Stay here, I got you.” 

You manage to fight off the urge to panic, as you doubt that you’re escaping his hold any time soon. Instead, you try to get comfortable, tilting your head and resting it against his shoulder. “Do… do we have to stay here?” 

“Why do you ask?” He brushed his lips softly over your forehead as you turn your head down away from him. 

“Surely we could be safe back at the safe house…” you started, before stopping as he squeezed you again.

“No. We’re fine here. You don’t need any of them, just me.”

“Oh…” You gasp, panic surging as his arms press too tight. “Okay.”

Your affirmation made him ease his grip on you, but he kept you on his lap, tucked against his chest as he leant back on the pillows.

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” He gently rubs his thumb over your arm, catching and slipping under your t-shirt sleeve, the soft pad of this thumb rolling over your skin.

“What? Why?” Why does he have to feel so goddamn… real? So solid and warm, like he’s a real human being, and not code running on its own script.

“Because, you know a fair bit about me. I feel like I should know some things about you.”

“What’s the point?”

“The point of… us getting to know each other?” He frowned. “What makes you say that?” 

“If we’re never going to leave here, why do you need to know what I like and don’t like?” If you’re going to live in this single hotel room forever, why should it matter? Unless… You glance around at the room, so changed from when you first entered it. How far could that go?

“I suppose I don’t need to… but I’d like to.” He shuffles your body around so you’re facing him, looking up into his soft blue eyes. “I mean… I don’t even know your real name.”

“Why don’t you…” the question dies in your throat. He would know your gamertag, not your name. You don’t think you’ve ever said it aloud while playing.

“I mean… I probably could have found it.” He moved the hand around your front up to grasp your chin, angling your face even closer to his. “But I wanted you to tell me yourself.” 

“I… don’t think I should.”

“Why not?”

“I…” You drop your head when he releases your chin. It’s the one thing you have left. You shouldn’t give it up freely. “I don’t know.”

“That’s not a reason.” He gives you a moment to come up with a better one, then pushes you out of his arms, back onto the bed so he can lean over you. “Don’t you get it?”

“Get what?” You find yourself grabbing hold of his wrists, a small gasp escaping your mouth as he leans down closer, crushing your arms at an awkward angle between your bodies. The weight of his body pressing down on top of yours is another startling reminder that this is really happening.  

“That we’re not going anywhere, forever.” He smiled again. “You know what I’m capable of.”

You swallow. After his outburst in the car, insisting he wouldn’t, couldn’t do anything to you… Now he was threatening you with it.

“I’ll get your name, one way or another.” The smile dropped off his face, as he huffed out a breath. “But… can we just do it the easy way? I don’t want to hurt you.”

You shook your head again. He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Look… This isn’t complicated. You’re here because I was your favourite, which made you my favourite, and I found a way to bring us together. You don’t ever have to leave me again. I don’t want… please, tell me your name.”

You blinked slowly, trying to not notice how easily you could identify the tobacco and leather scents in his cologne, like you were a character in a romcom.

What actually could you do? Even if there is a way out, it’s not like he’s going to let you take it. He knows far more about this world than you, and you don’t doubt his control over it. Could that control be extended over you, in this new digital form you’d taken?

His threats made it sound like he could.

The thought makes tears well in your eyes. You hurriedly blink them away before he sees them, turning the choice over in your mind. Maybe there would be a way out of this. But you’d never find it if he keeps you in this one room forever.

“Well?” He murmurs, patience wearing thin as your eyes flick upwards and meet his expectant gaze.

You swallow back your fear, and tell him your name.

Your/Name: Out (Part 2)

[chrysanthemummie]

“I Let You Win, Toots”

JSchlatt x GN!Reader

Summary: Schlatt takes you on a first date to an arcade, pretending to be bad at games while secretly letting you win—and calling you “toots” like it’s a love language.

Warnings: Pure and utter fluff, first date, overly obnoxious use of the word “toots” (self-indulgent sorry), schlatt being schlatt

You weren’t sure what you expected when Schlatt texted you,

“Arcade? Tonight? 7pm. Bring quarters and your dignity, toots.”

But now you were standing in front a slightly outdated but charming little arcade with buzzing neon lights, the faint smell of popcorn, and distant sounds of old-school game music. And there he was. Leaning casually against a claw machine, sipping a Coke, and watching someone lose at Dance Dance Revolution like it was a personal tragedy.

He grinned when he saw you. “Hey, toots. Lookin’ cute. You ready to lose at everything?”

You gave him a mock glare. “Wow. Not even a hello?”

He sipped his drink. “Hello. Now prepare yourself for emotional damage.”

Despite all his talk, the first thing he did was swipe his card to pay for both of you. He made a face when you noticed. “Don’t read into it. I’m just a gentleman. A dangerously handsome one.”

“Dangerous is one word for it.”

The two of you started at the basketball hoop game. You made two shots. He made eight in a row, easy, barely even trying. Then he missed the next three on purpose, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. You narrowed your eyes. “Did you just let me catch up?”

He shrugged innocently. “What? Me? No. I just… got distracted by your form. You shoot like a Muppet, it’s mesmerizing.”

“Wow. Romance is alive.”

At skee-ball, he kept a straight face as he lobbed the ball directly into the 10-point zone, over and over again. “Oops… My aim’s bad when I’m in love.”

“You’re so annoying,” you said, trying to hide a smile.

“But you’re smilin’, so I’m doin’ something right.”

Eventually, you made your way to the claw machine. He cracked his knuckles dramatically and said, “Alright, time to win you a stupid stuffed animal you’ll pretend not to care about.”

“I will name it after you if it’s ugly.”

“Flattering.”

A few tries later, he handed you a lopsided duck plushie and bowed like he’d just performed open-heart surgery. “For you, toots. A prize for second place.”

“Second? I literally beat you at Mario Kart.”

He smirked. “Yeah, because I let you. But I’ll take the L if it means you’ll smile like that again.” You blinked at him, caught a little off guard. But he was already turning away, pretending to examine a change machine like he hadn’t just been sweet.

Later, you both sat at a booth with slushies and greasy fries. The neon lights painted his face pink and blue, and for once, he was quiet—just sipping, leaning back, looking at you like you were more interesting than anything else around.

“So,” he said finally. “This was… fun.”

You smiled. “It really was.”

He looked at you, smirking like always, but there was something softer behind it this time. “Hey, toots. I’d lose a hundred more games if it meant hangin’ out with you again.”

You bumped his shoulder gently. “You’re kind of a sap.”

“Don’t tell anyone. I got a reputation to protect.”

[chrysanthemummie]

could you write about a reader who gets super clingy when they are feeling anxious? maybe they like being picked up?

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * hold me harder ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ imagine: you’ve got one meeting, one deliverable, and one brain cell left—and the only thing holding you together is a six-foot-something menace with strong arms and a soft voice who knows exactly when to lift you off your feet. *╰﹒♡₊˚๑ ✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

﹒₊✦ a/n: based on an ask that made me melt into the carpet. for the babes who get clingy when overwhelmed—you deserve to be held like a weighted blanket. especially if he calls you sweetheart while doing it.

warnings: established relationship, anxious!reader, comfort fluff, praise, light ddlg undertones (reader likes being picked up and he knows it), some teasing, big arms, swaying, lap-sitting, soft schlatt.

enjoy, crybabies ♡

the apartment smells like cinnamon toast and roasted coffee.

it’s barely 7 a.m., the soft gray of early morning still spilling through the kitchen windows, and you’re curled on the couch like a weighted blanket has grown limbs. schlatt’s hoodie hangs off your frame—black, oversized, sleeves past your wrists—and your socked feet tuck into the cushions as if you can fold yourself out of responsibility.

from the table, the clatter of ceramic. then a warm voice:

“toast’s ready, sweetheart.”

you mumble something into your knees.

“what was that?” he calls gently, amused.

you peek your face up over your arms. he’s already looking at you—still in the white tee and plaid pajama pants he threw on after rolling out of bed, hair pushed back, jawline lined with soft stubble. his gold chain catches the morning light.

you blink. then:

“i don’t wanna go.”

schlatt huffs a laugh under his breath and walks over, mug in one hand, toast in the other. he sets the plate down on the coffee table, crouching in front of you so you can’t avoid his gaze.

“i know, baby,” he says. “but you worked your ass off for this. it’s just a meeting.”

“an international panel.”

“over zoom.”

you groan and bury your face again.

he smiles—warm, unshakable—and places a hand on your ankle, rubbing small circles through the cotton.

“i already set up your webcam. made sure the mic’s working. got all your notes on the doc next to the screen, plus that notebook you always use when your hands need something to do.”

“i’ll mess it up.”

he hums. “you won't. you've been stressing about it all week. you've talked to all of them before.”

you peek at him. “i can’t wear your hoodie to the meeting…”

“you’re wearing a dress shirt underneath.”

you blink. “…am i?”

he just grins. “i guess you were so sleepy this morning you forgot.”

you snort. schlatt presses a kiss to your knee, soft.

“eat,” he murmurs, brushing your calf with his thumb. “meeting’s in twenty. you’ve got time.”

✧✧✧

ten minutes later, you’re pacing.

not for anything in particular—your notes are in place, your tea is warm, your tech is flawless. schlatt’s fixed all the variables, handled everything that could’ve caused stress, as if controlling the environment could ease the tremor in your spine.

but you’re still nervous. and that shows in your hands.

“c’mere,” he says from the couch.

you shake your head, arms crossed. “too twitchy.”

“you get twitchy when you’re not near me.”

“do not.”

he raises an eyebrow.

“…maybe.”

he pats his lap. “c’mere.”

you hesitate. then walk over, dropping yourself ungracefully across him.

he catches you easily.

one arm wraps around your lower back, hand splayed over your hip. the other curves beneath your thighs, tugging you further into his chest until you’re fully cradled, half-splayed in his lap like you belong there. because you do.

his voice is close to your ear.

“atta girl,” he murmurs. “look at you.”

you exhale into his shoulder.

“you just needed a reset,” he adds, rocking you slowly, like a sway at sea. “nothin’ wrong with that. i got you.”

his scent is warm and familiar—clean laundry, cedar soap, the faint ghost of his cologne. you tuck your face into his hoodie and breathe in, like you can anchor yourself there.

he shifts. you don’t think anything of it.

not until he’s crouching.

“wait—what are you—”

but he’s already lifting you. arms under your knees and back, your body tucked against his chest like you weigh nothing at all. you let out a startled noise—half protest, half clinging closer—but he doesn’t falter.

“shhh,” he soothes, nuzzling his nose briefly against your temple. “just hold on. that’s it.”

your fingers curl into the fabric at his shoulder.

you should argue. should tell him to put you down. but his grip is so steady, his chest solid under your cheek, and you feel your nerves short-circuiting—not vanishing, just… rerouting. not spiraling anymore.

he walks.

soft footfalls down the hallway. every step a slow rhythm against your spine. you don’t even register where he’s going, too caught in the calm he’s building around you.

“you know,” he says after a beat, voice low and teasing, “this is the exact opposite of what your little planner says to do when you’re panicking.”

you grunt.

“no, really,” he continues, like it’s a casual conversation and not a carefully orchestrated distraction. “you wrote, and i quote, ‘engage in grounding exercises, breathe deeply, hydrate.’ no mention of getting carried around like royalty.”

you press your face harder into his hoodie. “you read that?”

"wasn't locked like a diary or anything…"

“you’re insufferable.”

“mm,” he hums. “but you’re breathing normally again.”

you pause.

realize he’s right.

and also realize you’re no longer in the living room.

he nudges a door open with his foot. the familiar click of your office chair wheels against the floor, the soft chime of your headset powering on, the screen glowing with your meeting link already loaded.

you lift your head.

“…how did we get here?”

“i walked,” he says, setting you down carefully in your chair, adjusting the armrest like he’s done it a hundred times. “you were carried. you were here for that whole 'me carrying you' deal, yeah?”

you blink down at the mouse, at the glowing link on the screen.

your hands start to shake again—just a little. the nerves sneak in through the seams, familiar and cold.

but then his palm settles warm on your shoulder.

“hey,” he says, squeezing gently. “you’ve got this.”

you exhale, shaky.

he leans down. presses a kiss to your temple.

“i’ll be right outside,” he murmurs. “you need me, you just need to holler…and don't forget to take the hoodie off before joining the meeting.”

and god. somehow, that’s enough.

you nod, slow.

your fingers fumble for the zipper. it takes a second—your hands are still a little shaky—but you get it halfway down, and schlatt gently helps ease it off your shoulders. folds it once, sets it on the couch beside the desk like he knows you’ll want it the second you’re done.

he squeezes your shoulder one last time. “deep breaths,” he murmurs. “they’re just people. they’re not even real.”

you let out a quiet, shaky laugh. “you’re such a dick.”

“and you’re brave as hell.” he taps your headset. “go knock ’em dead.”

the door clicks shut behind him.

and somehow, with your notes in front of you, your slides pulled up, and the scent of his cologne still clinging to your skin—you make it through the meeting.

✧✧✧

it goes better than expected.

you’re still breathless by the end—shoulders tight, stomach fluttery—but you did it. no stuttering, no tech issues, no full shutdown. your laptop fans power down as the call ends, and you sit there in stunned silence for a second, blinking at the post-meeting screen.

and then—

the door creaks open.

“was that a little ‘thank you schlatt for singlehandedly carrying me to greatness’ i heard?”

you spin around in your chair.

he’s already grinning. smug. arms open.

“you did so good, baby,” he says. “c’mere.”

you don’t even hesitate—you launch yourself into his arms.

he catches you like it’s nothing. like he wants to carry you. arms firm around your back, cheek pressed to your temple.

“you were amazing,” he murmurs, swaying you gently. “seriously. proud of you.”

you don’t say anything—just nod against his shoulder, your fingers clutching his hoodie like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the floor.

he hums, lips brushing your ear.

“now,” he says, warm and low, “d’you want your tea reheated, or should i just pick you up again and carry you back to bed?”

your smile is small. relieved. a little sleepy.

“…bed,” you whisper.

“good girl,” he says, already lifting you. “you earned it.”

[chrysanthemummie]

entirely self-indulgent request but i’m in pain so i’m allowing myself:

schlatt comfort after wisdom teeth surgery :( maybe he’s the driver for reader and reader’s really anxious before the surgery and then when she wakes up she doesn’t realize who he is? and she like re-discovers that he loves her and starts crying

(so sorry if this makes no sense my pain medication is making me feel a little loopy pls forgive i love you)

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * something about your smile ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ imagine: a kiss you don’t remember, a ring you can’t place, and the man who swears he loves you anyway. ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

﹒₊✦ a/n: for the sweet anon who wanted love, gauze, and a little post-anesthesia crisis. you’re so valid. this schlatt is husband-coded, through and through. i hope this helps soothe whatever pain you’re in—physical or otherwise. and if you just like domestic!schlatt...hi. welcome. you're home now. please note: this leans more into the amnesia vibes/brain fog than real post-surgery loopiness. not fully accurate, but whatevssss

warnings: anesthesia aftermath, confusion/temporary memory loss, extreme tenderness, crying (like…a lot), and the overwhelming relief of love remembered.

enjoy! (｡•́‿•̀｡)♡

the world comes back in pieces.

first, the smell—clean linens, faint antiseptic, that sterile chill of over-air-conditioned spaces. then, the weight of the blanket over your legs. a soft beep somewhere nearby. your head’s foggy. lips dry.

you blink, slow.

a shape’s leaning toward you. tall. blurry at first. then it sharpens—a hoodie. brown curls. worried eyes.

“hey,” the man says, voice low. warm. “you’re awake.”

you squint. the corners of your mouth tug down, uncertain.

“who…?”

he pauses. then smiles. not the big, cocky grin of someone trying to be charming. no, this is small. soft. barely there.

“it’s me,” he says gently. “i’m right here.”

you just blink again. frown deepening.

“you don’t… remember me?”

you shake your head. immediately regret it. your eyes water. your face aches.

his expression doesn’t falter. doesn’t even flinch.

“that’s okay,” he says. “the meds are still working through you. it’s normal. just breathe for me, yeah?”

you stare at him. because he’s calm. too calm. like he expected this. like he planned to be the first thing you saw—even if you didn’t know him yet.

“you’re being really nice,” you mumble, eyes glassy. “are you… my uber?”

he huffs a laugh through his nose. “no, sweetheart. not your uber.”

“then why are you being so…?” you sniffle. your lip wobbles. “so kind?”

his brows lift. just a little. and then he leans forward, hand curling around yours.

“because i love you,” he says.

your breath catches.

“you do?”

“mhm.” he squeezes your hand. “you don’t remember right now. but you love me too.”

that does it.

tears well. spill. hot and fast.

“oh no,” you whisper, panic bubbling up. “oh no, that’s so sad. you love me and i forgot—i forgot you and you’re so nice and—and you’re holding my hand—”

“hey, hey,” he soothes, moving to sit beside you now, arms wrapping around your shoulders. “shhh. it’s okay. i’m not going anywhere.”

you sob into his hoodie.

“what’s your name?” you hiccup. “i wanna love you again i promise i do i just don’t know your name—”

“schlatt,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back gently. “it’s schlatt, baby.”

you cling tighter.

“you’re really handsome, schlatt,” you whisper.

he laughs, quiet and wrecked. “thanks, sweetheart.”

you hiccup. “can i still kiss you if i don’t remember you?”

“maybe let’s wait ‘til you stop crying and your mouth isn’t full of gauze.”

“...you’re so smart. i think i really do love you.”

he smiles again, nose buried in your hair.

“i really do love you too."

✧✧✧

“are you okay, baby?” your mom asks gently from the FaceTime screen. “you still look a little out of it.”

you blink slow. tug at your sleeve. your eyes feel weird—like they’re not seeing things right. you squint at the camera, then glance off-screen again, voice barely a whisper:

“…mom?”

“yeah, honey?”

“there’s a man in my house. i think he might be the mailman. or maybe my boyfriend? a roommate for sure...”

your mom snorts. “oh lord.”

“no, i’m serious!” you hiss, trying to sound alarmed, but it just comes out wobbly. you flip the camera shakily, aiming it at schlatt, who’s crouched on the floor with your medicine bottle in one hand and a little glass of water in the other.

he glances up, caught in the act, and offers a patient little wave. “hi, ma’am.”

your mom goes feral.

“Y/N,” she laughs, “sweetheart—that’s your husband.”

you pause.

mouth open slightly.

“…he’s what?”

“you married him, baby.”

you swing the camera back to your face. your eyes are wide. glassy. lips trembling just a little.

“no,” you whisper. “no, you’re lying.”

“you picked him,” your mom says, way too amused. “you love him to death. you call him your big strong trash man and once cried because he made you tea without asking.”

you blink. turn to look at him directly this time. he’s still holding the water and pain meds, but now there’s a crease between his brows.

“…you’re my husband?” you whisper.

schlatt nods slowly. “yeah, baby. i’m yours.”

your bottom lip wobbles.

you sniff. a tiny noise escapes your throat. then—

ugly sobbing noises.

“i don’t remember himmmm,” you wail, curling in on yourself. “he’s so nice and he’s helping and i don’t remember—i don’t remember my husbandddddd—”

your mom is laughing now. “oh honey, you’ll remember everything once the meds wear off.”

“but he’s so nice,” you cry harder. “he’s not even mad. i forgot his whole face and he brought me water.”

“sweetheart,” schlatt mutters, finally setting the glass down and scooping you into his arms. “jesus christ, c’mere. you’re gonna short-circuit your stitches.”

“i’m a terrible wifeeeeeeee—”

“no, you’re just all drugged up, honey.”

you cling to him instantly, burying your face in his neck.

“don’t let me forget you again,” you whimper.

“never,” he murmurs, tucking the blanket tighter around you, pressing a kiss to your temple as he makes eye contact with your mom in the phone. “you can forget everything else. just not me, yeah?”

you nod miserably.

your mom sighs, rolling her eyes through her smile. “okay, i’m gonna let you go, baby. he’s got you.”

“okayyyy,” you sniff.

“love you.”

“love you too,” you mumble.

the call ends.

and you’re already halfway into his lap again, limp and puffy-cheeked and absolutely wrecked.

he brushes your hair off your face with gentle fingers. “you really thought you forgot your husband?”

you nod, eyes still glossy. “…you’re really mine?”

his face softens completely. “all yours, sweetheart. always.”

“…okay.” you curl in closer. “i don’t remember marrying you, but i think i did good.”

he chuckles, low and warm. “yeah, you did.”

you fall asleep again like that—tears drying on your cheeks, arms wrapped around the one man you forgot and trusted anyway.

your heart still knew. somehow.

✧✧✧

you wake up warm.

your face is pressed against something solid. a hoodie, maybe. it smells like flowers and smoke. your cheek’s kind of sticky. there’s a muted hum from the tv—gunshots and tires squealing and someone yelling about backup. some old action movie you don’t recognize, but the rhythm of it is oddly familiar.

you blink blearily. your lashes stick.

“hey,” a voice rumbles near your ear. “you alive in there, sunshine?”

you flinch slightly, lifting your head.

the guy beside you chuckles, slow and lazy. “easy. it’s just me.”

he’s big. like—big. broad chest, scruffy jaw, hair a little messy like he’s been running his fingers through it. he’s got his arm around your waist like that’s normal. like you didn’t just wake up on top of a stranger.

you blink again. “...who are you?”

his smile flickers. not fully gone—just softer. more careful. “uh…we talked about this earlier, remember? right after the surgery?”

your brows pinch. you think maybe you remember a car. someone giving you a milkshake. someone holding your hand so you wouldn’t cry.

“you said i could call my mom,” you mumble.

“you did.” he nods. “you introduced me to her. like, formally. i’m pretty sure you called me your boyfriend, your roommate, and your mailman. all in the same sentence.”

your lips twitch. “...that sounds fake.”

“you also told her you were scared of me ‘cause i looked like a tall real estate agent.” he grins now, wider. “so no offense taken.”

you look down at his chest. your hand’s resting there—fingers curled slightly into the fabric of his hoodie. you didn’t even realize. you make a small sound, start to pull back—

—but his hand tightens at your waist.

“s’okay,” he says quietly. “you always hold me like this when you nap.”

you look at him again. his eyes are warm.

your heart stutters.

“you’re…not my mailman?”

“god, no,” he says with a snort. “i’m your husband.”

you freeze.

then blink rapidly. “my what?”

he grins wider, voice low. “yep. signed papers. shiny rings. swore eternal devotion in front of your aunt who cried the whole time and my uncle who was too drunk to stand.”

you stare at him.

then slowly, cautiously, lift your hand.

there’s a ring.

simple. gold. familiar in a way that makes your chest ache.

your hand trembles. “oh…”

“hey, hey,” he says, sitting up slightly, guiding your hand back down. “breathe, sweetheart. it’s okay. you don’t have to remember everything right now.”

you look up at him. there’s something about the slope of his nose. the shape of his mouth. the way he says sweetheart like he’s used to it—like it’s muscle memory.

“...do we like action movies?”

he chuckles, surprised. “we love them.”

you nod slowly. “and…do we like each other?”

his hand lifts—gently brushing a knuckle against your cheek, soft as a prayer.

“you told me yesterday you’d marry me all over again just to make out at the altar.”

your face heats. “oh my god.”

“exact quote,” he says, eyes crinkling. “i wrote it down for blackmail purposes.”

you laugh, shaky. “you’re such a jerk.”

“and you’re a married woman with a crush,” he teases, then gentles again. “but yeah. we like each other. a lot.”

you stare at him a moment longer.

and then it happens—like flipping a light switch in your chest. the recognition hits. not a full wave, but something soft. real.

the way he watches you like the whole world’s stopped turning.

the way your body fits next to his like you were carved to belong there.

“…hi,” you whisper.

he smiles, wide and easy.

“there she is.”

you start to cry.

“hey, hey—don’t do that,” he murmurs, pulling you back into his chest. “you did a whole lot of that before having surgery, now it's time for smiling and cuddling. but not eating, not just yet."

you laugh, muffled. “i’m sorry. i just… i didn’t remember, and now i do, and it hurt.”

“i know,” he says, kissing your temple. “you were really scared. i’m so proud of you.”

you sniff. “you didn’t leave.”

“‘course not,” he murmurs, rocking you gently. “you’re my girl.”

your hand fists in his hoodie. you don’t want to let go.

“...can we watch the rest of the movie?”

“baby, we can watch it five times. we can quote every line. i’ll do the stunts in the living room if you want.”

you giggle into his chest.

and just like that—you’re home again.

[chrysanthemummie]

A Different Life

Ya'jaur x Reader

Words: 2200

Warnings: Smut, predator x human relationship, alien pregnancy. If you don’t like these, please don’t proceed, also minors DO NOT interact!

Summary: Every clan leader Yautja was an extremely powerful one. They had to lead the clan, show the way to grow and rule. Some used that power and respect to do horrible things, others never broke the code.

A/N: The above picture is NOT mine! Full credit goes to the owner, it just inspired me to write and create Ya'jaur as a character!

Ya'jaur was a great leader, he brought in new traditions during his long life. Even long before you knew about them, he had already been a leader.

And just as other yautja, he kept trophies. Skulls of their enemies. But Ya'jaur was different, he kept a trophy no other yautja ever, he kept you.

He kept you alive, at the time you thought it was to punish you, took you years to realize why he kept you.

Ya'jaur was big, scary, spikey and rough. Every time he was in the same room as you, you could swear he could kill you in a simple motion if he wanted to.

Keep reading

[chrysanthemummie]

Motherhood

Yautja x Reader

Summary: After you gave birth to your son, it took you some time to get used to having a half-Yautja and half-human. 

You felt sore all over. 

You moved against the fur but your whole body felt sore.

You could hear your mate’s soft breathing, it immediately made you feel at ease.

Yet, something felt out of place.

As you stirred from your sleep, you sat up in your bed and looked around. Everything looked normal, except for one thing.

The little child who used to be under your heart was now in a crib beside you. 

You looked at your mate, sleeping soundly beside you.

He got used to sleeping with you to the point where he didn’t even care anymore if you moved or woke up. 

It wasn’t always like that.

He often woke up with you when he took you into his home, but he got gradually used to you being with him.

You moved over to the crib, leaving the warmth of your bed, you stood up and got your son out of his crib.

It was a little strange to call him your son, after all, he looked nothing like you.

He looked like a pure Yautja, except for his eyes, his eyes were yours.

He wasn’t sleeping when you lifted him out of his crib, instead, he was watching, learning.

You ignored all the pain in your body as you moved out of the bedroom and into what you would call a kitchen.

You got yourself a glass of water as you sat down on one of the chairs. With your child in your arms, you moved him so you could see his face.

He laid in your lap.

“Will you never cry?” But your Baby had no reply. Of course, he didn’t he wasn’t even a day old. You watched him as his eyes wandered from your eyes to your chest and hands. 

You held a finger out to him, which caught his attention and he immediately grabbed it.

He continued to watch your finger as you smiled.

This little moment reminded you that even if he looked like a Yautja, he was still a baby.

Your baby.

This little boy in your lap was not so long ago in your stomach.

It was crazy to think about.

Your house felt a little too quiet, usually you were never up without your mate. So, this felt a little strange. 

You looked at your son.

“How am I supposed to feed you?” You said as you lifted him, trying to see if he was hungry or not. He was, you didn’t know how, but you could tell.

You pulled your nightgown down and you didn’t know how, but he was a natural.

You watched as he fed. 

He truly didn’t feel like your son. You looked after so many Yautja babies when you joined their tribe, this felt almost like one of those moments.

Except for the feeding part. Only a mother can feed their child.

And your son was no exception.

While he was born into a very high place in the hunting tribe, he was still your son. 

A highly anticipated member.

Your Mate was the right had of the tribe leader, a high position with lots of responsibilities.

One of which was to bring a son into the world.

Which you just managed to do.

You had a pregnancy which left your body sore and your mate feared the worst, but thankfully, you were able to give birth without any major issues.

And now, here you were, holding him and feeding him.

Your thumb ran down his little cheek, right next to where his mandibles were.

“You are beautiful.” You smiled and the child just kept looking at you.

Once he finished eating you pulled your gown back and pulled him to your chest, laying him down.

Did Yautja babies even burp?

Guess you will find out soon.

He did burp.

A small little burp.

And soon, he was off again.

You got up from the chair and headed back to the bedroom.

You got in, the fire was still going, but now, your mate was up.

He looked at you then at your son in your arms.

“He was hungry.” You said as you put him back into his crib before climbing back on the furs.

You let out a long yawn before getting under the covers. 

Your mate made a sound before laying back down himself. You lay down closer to him as he pulled you closer.

Maybe it was a difficult thing to give birth to a Yautja baby. Maybe it was difficult being married to one as well.

But you loved them both with all of your heart and that was enough, more than enough.

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @il0vebeingdelulu @deliciousfestsalad @groovyqueer @lilliumrorum

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[chrysanthemummie]

Blood and Honor

Yautja x Reader (Teen!Version)

Summary: Your half-Yautja son, now fourteen, has grown restless, his defiance turning to violence.

The tension in your home had been brewing for months, thick and stifling like the heat before a storm.

Your son, fourteen years old and strong beyond his years, had begun to reject your authority.

His Yautja blood demanded dominance, yet he was still so young, so lost between two worlds, too human for the clans, too Yautja for the human life.

And he took it out on you.

“Do not test me,” you warned, voice firm yet calm, as you stood between him and the entrance to your home. He had been pushing, lashing out, knocking things over when anger overtook him.

The child who once clung to you with gentle claws now stared at you with defiance burning in his golden eyes.

“You are weak,” he snarled, his mandibles twitching, muscles coiled with restrained rage. “You do not command me.”

The words cut deeper than you expected.

Your chest ached, not with fear, but with heartbreak.

He didn’t understand.

You weren’t trying to control him, you were trying to protect him. From himself, from the world that would not see him as either human or Yautja.

Before you could respond, his patience snapped.

With a roar, he lunged.

The impact sent you stumbling backwards. Clawed hands found your arms, squeezing too hard, too rough.

Pain seared up your side as you struck the stone wall, your breath knocked from your lungs. And then, before he could strike again, your mate was there.

With terrifying speed, the massive Yautja tore his son away from you, the sheer force of his grip making the boy yelp.

He slammed him against the ground, one knee pressing down hard against his chest, and his own mandibles flared in warning.

“You dare raise your hands against your mother?” his voice was a deep, rough growl, shaking with barely restrained fury. “You disgrace yourself.”

Your son thrashed, but he was no match for his father’s strength.

“She is weak,” the boy spat again, struggling beneath his father's weight. “She does not deserve my submission.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before your mate struck him, not in anger, but with the force of a teacher delivering a harsh lesson.

A sharp cuff to the side of the head, enough to disorient, enough to humble.

“Then you are not worthy of her.”

A stillness fell over the room, suffocating in its weight. Your mate remained crouched over your son, his claws pressing down against the boy’s heaving chest.

“She carried you,” he growled. “She bled for you. She has tended to your wounds, fed you when you were too weak to hunt. She has taught you more than your own kind would ever allow.”

The boy’s breath hitched.

His golden eyes darted to you, still pressed against the wall, a hand clutching your bruised side.

His hands trembled as if he were only now realising what he had done. The scent of your pain filled the air.

Your mate leaned in close near his son’s face, his voice dangerous and unwavering. “You are Yautja. You are human. But you are not a beast. And if you ever dishonour your mother again, you will know the true weight of my wrath.”

The boy stilled beneath him. His breathing came faster, uneven.

You could see the conflict in his young face. He was so much like his father, too much.

And then, he let out a choked sound.

He had never cried before. Not once. Even as a small child, he had held his pain close, refusing to cry as his Yautja blood demanded restraint.

But now, with his father towering above him, with you still clutching your bruised ribs, shame broke him.

“I-” His voice cracked. He turned his head, his claws digging into the floor. “I did not mean-”

But you didn’t move. You couldn’t.

The hurt sat too heavy in your chest, not just from the bruises but from the knowledge that he had truly tried to harm you.

Your mate stood, towering over his son as he motioned toward you. “It is not me you must answer to.”

Slowly, painfully, the boy sat up.

He glanced at his father, then at you.

He was still just a child beneath all that defiance, beneath the fangs and claws.

He dragged himself forward on his knees, head bowed, a sign of submission, of shame.

“I hurt you.” His voice was quiet now, hoarse. “I did not mean it. I…” His hands clenched against his thighs. “I only wanted to prove myself. But that is no reason to hurt you.”

Your fingers twitched at your side. He looked so small then, despite his size.

Despite his strength.

Your mate did not interfere. This was between the two of you.

“I don’t like being hurt,” you said at last, voice softer now, but firm. “I don’t like when you look at me and see weakness instead of love.”

The boy flinched.

His claws scraped against the stone floor. “I do not think you are weak,” he admitted, eyes still lowered. “I think… I do not know what I am.”

Your chest tightened. You moved forward, ignoring the sharp sting in your ribs, and reached out. Your fingers cupped his cheek, pulling his gaze to yours. His golden eyes were wide, uncertain, still glassy with held-back tears.

“You are mine,” you whispered. “You always will be.”

A sound escaped him, raw and aching.

He surged forward before you could say anything else, arms wrapping around you, claws trembling against your back.

He buried his face into your shoulder, breathing you in like he used to when he was small.

Your mate let out a deep, approving hum from behind you, watching as his son desired your comfort. A lesson learned, a bond reforged.

As you stroked your son’s back, his body shaking from the weight of everything, you knew this moment had changed him.

For the better.

And for the first time in months, peace settled over your home once more.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[chrysanthemummie]

contents: fluff, post-war arc canon, pregnant reader, reader and kakashi are married and already have four children (if it isn't obvious yes i want to give him a baseball team), selfship-coded. wc: 0.7k

happy mother's day (or just normal sunday) to everyone 💕

“Papa.”

Kakashi made a big show of ignoring the little whisper, comfortably sighing and rubbing his face into his pillow. Two tiny hands pressed into his shoulder and started violently shaking.

“Papa!”

You suppressed a giggle and pretended like you were still fast asleep. Kakashi quietly exhaled the laughter caught in his throat before turning and looking into the expectant eyes of his three-year-old son.

“Yes, Obi—”

“SHHHHH!” The boy stared down at him with more exasperation than such a tiny face should be able to muster. “Don’t wake up Mama.”

Kakashi happened to know that you were wide awake, still fighting the belly laughs that would give you away. Beneath the blanket, you curled your fingers around his forearm to stabilize yourself.

“Why should I be awake when your mother is allowed to sleep?” Kakashi whispered to his son.

The boy rolled his eyes and sighed in a perfect recreation of Kakashi’s own younger self. “Becaaauuusee.”

Another little voice piped up from beside the bed. “It’s Mother’s Day.”

“We want to make breakfast for Mama,” a third voice chimed in.

Kakashi contorted himself just enough to see two more of his miniature self peeking over the edge of the bed, all messy silver hair and dark eyes.

Seems they planned a joint attack.

“Oh, that’s so nice of you,” he answered, dramatically yawning and snuggling back into you; his face tucked into your neck and his hand cradling your belly. “Well, you know where the kitchen is.”

Two little hands grabbed Kakashi’s face and forced him to turn away from you. Then he felt his son’s tiny uncoordinated baby fingers prying his left eye open. “Papa!”

“We need your help!”

“There’s three of you and only one of me,” Kakashi reasoned. “I would only get in your way.”

“We can’t use the stove!”

“Mmmm that does pose a problem.”

“Are you getting up or not?!”

The boys were making enough noise to wake the whole village. Kakashi couldn’t help but smile at the way they already embodied teamwork, if only to get their lazy dad out of bed. “Tell you what, let me go check on your baby sister, and then I’ll meet you three in the kitchen.”

“Okay!” the triplets answered in chorus before rushing out of the room in a thunder of tiny pattering feet (and hands; an interesting result of sometimes using ninja hounds as babysitters).

With the coast clear, you let out a few giggles as you turned over to face Kakashi. “Good morning,” you beamed.

Kakashi hummed and kissed the tip of your nose. “Didn’t you hear? You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“Like that was gonna happen,” you laughed.

“We’re going to have to work on their stealth skills.” Kakashi pulled you in for a proper kiss, enjoying the warmth of your body for a few more moments before rolling out of bed. “Maybe you can fall asleep again before they come back.”

“No way! I’m too excited to see what they have in mind. Go on; don’t keep them waiting.”

Kakashi rolled his eyes, taking an extra minute to kiss your slightly swollen tummy before finally getting out of bed to chase after his sons.

Just as you were starting to worry that the breakfast had become more of a chore than your husband could handle, Kakashi pushed open the door—your infant daughter in one arm and two plates balanced on the other.

“Mama! You’re already awake!”

“Did Papa wake you up?!”

“No, ‘Kumo. I just woke up a minute ago,” you grinned.

The triplets climbed into bed and surrounded you, all but ignoring their father’s warnings to avoid crawling over your stomach. Once they were settled, Kakashi placed your daughter in your arms so she could be fed.

“There’s no room for your plate,” he laughed.

“I’ll feed you, Mama!”

“No, me!”

“I counted the strawberries!”

“Well I stirred up the eggs!”

“But I picked the plate!”

“You’ll have to take turns,” Kakashi interjected, patting each boy on the head to calm them down. They each quickly scooped up a bite of food, racing to see who would be ready first.

Kakashi’s eyes drooped with exhaustion, but the contentment he truly felt at the scene was written all over his face. Then he looked at you, and that contentment morphed into pure joy.

“Happy mother’s day, Y/N.”

[chrysanthemummie]

I Know Who You Are, "Bell." (Adler x Player!Reader)

I got this bad boy done, and I plan on posting my main fic here soon, along with posting this on ao3. My main fic is still in the works because I want it to be decently long.

Without futher ado, I introduce my self-aware!Adler fic.

Adler thought he knew a lot. He’s a man with a strong sense of duty, he’s been through the hell that was Vietnam, he’s in the Goddamn C.I.A. A man in his profession needs to understand the world and how people work. Adler should know what to expect, even when working with things like MK-Ultra on “Bell.” It’s not exactly a desperate need for complete control. It’s more… Control over actions, surely.

But just up and realizing that your world, everything around you, reality itself isn’t truly real? Or at least how you think it’s real? That it’s all some form of entertainment and storytelling? That it’s all a game? And that the “player,” or at least how Adler understands it, is fucking Bell?!

Yeah, that shattered his worldview.

It started with the small, almost insignificant things. Things like Bell walking around the safehouse like they were trying to explore every crevice of the place. Jumping when they caught Adler looking at them in the dark room, literally. Just weird things like that. He thought it was just Bell being weird, probably a side effect of MK-Ultra. They’ve always been “off.”

But then Adler just kept on noticing things. Things that were more than “weird,” so to speak. During missions, they would sometimes move as if they had done it over a hundred times, perfecting their movement. Looking down at dropped guns on the floor, as if they’re debating with themselves over which one to take. Unlocking the gate at the safe house somehow, as if they already knew the code, then just… Going in the back already and messing with that broken computer and game machine? He just kept noticing more and more, almost driving him insane with questions and concerns.

Adler isn’t really 100% sure on how he caught onto this, on who they really were, but that didn’t matter. What mattered is that he knew. And it wasn’t like he could tell anyone else on the team, especially Hudson. No, this would be his own little secret that he would solve on his own and figure out what to do next. He’s already a spy and a man with many secrets of his own, what’s one more? Whoever “Bell” really is, Adler would find out. And he’d never let them go, not when they’re this fucking important. This… Unknown. It makes him uneasy, yet… It captivates him. And dare he say it; it’s almost an obsession. An obsession greater than the one he has with Perseus.

(People who inspired this: @ladysouthpaw1213 @djloveyou3000)