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potterhq · 2 years

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THE TIMESTAMP IS SEPTEMBER 17.

It’s been about two months since the untimely murders of Kingsley Shacklebolt and Harry Potter, and although the world seemed to grind to a halt at the loss of two magnificent war heroes, life goes on. Now the issue at the top of everyone’s minds: who could possibly fill their shoes?

The Ministry of Magic, reeling from the loss of leadership to this tragedy, has called for a general election. Every elected position is up for grabs, and the leader of the party that wins the most seats will be named the new Minister for Magic.

The election is in mere days. Propaganda, rallies, and spirited political discussions have plagued every kitchen table, cafe, and water cooler in Magical Britain for weeks. Though it’s said every time the polls open, the old adage rings true: this is the most important election of our lifetime.

The three most-popular potential Ministers will engage in a first-of-its-kind live debate at Hogwarts’ Quidditch Pitch, one of the only large-enough venues to contain the throngs of spectators jostling to take part in - or disrupt - the democratic process. Dennis Creevey is currently leading in opinion polls after a strong campaign; he was one of Kingsley Shacklebolt’s personal favorites, and promises to uphold the values and continue the governmental reforms of his predecessor. Marietta Edgecombe, the centre-left option, brings over twenty years’ experience as Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and five as a Wizengamot representative; she is running to ensure that “peace and stability” returns swiftly to the magical community. Selene Blishwick nee Rowle, a young outsider with virtually no political experience, is perhaps the most surprising of the popular candidates. Her appeals to the nations’ fears of further public assassinations, pointing to creatures’ rights as the source of discord, and her old-school pureblood heritage are a powerful combination, along with a crack PR team and a winning smile.

The debate is electric, and all three candidates are at the top of their game. Even those who find politics boring are bound to enjoy Creevey’s passion for social welfare and Muggleborn inclusion; Edgecombe’s reverence for procedure and sharp comebacks to her opponents. Even Selene Blishwick manages to capture the crowd’s attention, as each response ends with her accusing her opponents of baseless sabotage or an anecdote about charging one’s crystals under the full moon.

Finally, the debate ends with questions from the public - and curiously, the first wix to step up to the enchanted mic is a young woman in a scarlet-trimmed Hogwarts uniform. Undaunted, and just as brave as her House placement implies, she speaks clearly for all to hear: “Will the Ministry, under your leadership, stand up for the rights of Muggles and Muggleborns?”

Large banners unfurl in unison the moment the child stops speaking - it’s Harry Potter and Kingsley Shacklebolt’s faces, repeated dozens of times around the arena. Below their steel gazes are a variety of phrases - ‘NEVER FORGOTTEN.’ ‘WE FIGHT IN THEIR NAMES.’ ‘THE DEATH EATERS SHALL NOT WIN’. Shocked whispers and scattered cheers light up the arena. The message is sent: this is the doing of Albus Dumbledore’s old militia. The Order of the Phoenix is BACK.

As Aurors and debate staff leave their posts to remove banners and quiet the crowd, there is another disruption, only this time it’s much more terrifying -- a loud voice booms forth, amplified by a thousand Sonorus charms. No one seems able to find its source.

To many, the voice is merely chilling in its cadence, unfamiliar to young ears. But seasoned Aurors and Wizarding War survivors alike recognize the shrill tones, the feminine timbre marred by age and fighting, the bloodlust rippling through every word. It is the unmistakable voice of the infamous Dark witch, the one they could never catch again --

Bellatrix Lestrange.

“DOWN WITH MUDBLOODS AND BLOOD TRAITORS! DOWN WITH MUDBLOODS AND BLOOD TRAITORS! PRAISE OUR DARK LORD!”

The witchlight beams across the stadium go dark. Chaos ensues.

[ FURTHER INFORMATION ] Welcome to POTTERHQ’S first event! This is less of a battle and more of a confused skirmish. All the members of the Order of the Phoenix knew about and staged the tribute demonstration for Harry Potter -- they are at the debate in high numbers, but are scattered throughout the crowd at the time of Bellatrix (along with Greyback and Antonin Dolohov) disrupting the event; it will be difficult for them to get together and protect the public as people try to evacuate. Meanwhile, Bellatrix directed her Death Eaters to attend the debate in support of Selene Blishwick, but did not tell them there would be an attack; clever DE’s will realize that this is a test of their loyalty and skill: can they find and hurt (or kill) a Muggleborn or Order member without getting caught? However they fare during the night; Bellatrix will know about it.

One more reminder: this debate is taking place in the open-air Quidditch Pitch at Hogwarts. Characters cannot Apparate in and out of Hogwarts’ grounds; they will have to make it to Hogsmede Village and Floo/Apparate out, or enchant themselves an illegal Portkey.

POSSIBLE SCENARIO IDEAS FOR THE EVENT

Your character works for one of the candidates (personal assistant, campaign manager) and you are tasked with getting them to safety.

Your character is working security for the event (as an Auror, or private staff) and has to make a decision between helping one of two parties in distress.

Your character is a member of the Order of the Phoenix, but this is your first time fighting in a duel. You’re not confident you’re going to make it out of this one.

Your character is a member of the Death Eaters, but this is your first time fighting in a duel. You’re surprised about how easy it is to hurt someone.

Your character is a healer or mediwix called to the scene to help heal the wounded.

Your character is a hit wix or auror called to the scene to capture and arrest the Death Eaters.

Your charcter gets caught in the crossfire and is badly wounded among all the chaos.

Your character is attempting to help underage wixen flee the skirmish and get to safety.

We’re so excited to say that we’re finally open for interactions though, so please feel free to post and respond to starters and starter calls!

Remember to post any starters in the #starters channel of the discord so that they don’t get lost, and also be sure to tag it with our starter tag #potter starter. Please do not tag closed starters with that tag because we don’t want to clog it.

Please respond to two open starters for every starter you post. Because we’re just starting out, this rule doesn’t really apply yet because there aren’t any open starters at the moment, but please keep it in mind for later! You’re more than welcome to post private starters, but please make sure there are still open starters for everyone to respond to so no one feels left out and that these starters are being responded to.

Remember to tag all triggers on the trigger list in our discord, along with all common triggers. if you’d like me to add any triggers to the list, please just let us know!

Please make sure you’re following everyone on the blogroll here.

Please be sure to mark the date, time, and setting in all of your starters and replies.

This timestamp will last for about a week, possibly more if we decide to extend it based on member interest.

Last but not least, have fun!

#potter admin #potter plot #hp rp #harry potter rp #appless rp #oc rp #semi appless rp #new rp #literate rp #mumu rp

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sansukh-book-project · 2 years

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Updates on fourth step (and step 4.5!)

Hello all!

Progress has definitely been made! I was able to stick to my schedule and finish doing my proofread on Friday! Overall, there were very little errors that needed correcting. A couple instances of a word misspelled, a few instances of a word missing, but overall the text itself was immaculate. The main things I had to note were that there were many dashes that needed fixing, and also a consistent capitalization error. Dets had a habit of not capitalizing the beginning of a dialog if it was in the middle of a sentence. Let me write up a fake example. The sentences would look like this: She jumped to her feet and cried out, “how can that possibly be?” However, all dialog, whether it’s in the middle of a sentence or not, needs to have the first letter of the first word capitalized. The dialog itself technically counts as it’s own sentence and so grammar rules still apply to it. So for our example, it should read: She jumped to her feet and cried out, “How can that possibly be?” Beyond fixing dashes, this was probably the bulk of the notes I took that needed fixing. Below is a picture of all my post-it notes, most stacked on top of each other.

I’ve finished fixing my first two documents, and am well on my way to incorporating my notes from the third document.

Now you might ask, what’s next? Well, funny story. I got to the end of Sansukh proper, and through my tears, I couldn’t help but want to read the epilogue story Tasalalkhud. It just didn’t feel complete without including that story as well. So, now I’m off to do all the steps I’ve done previously with Tasalakhud. I’ve already done the reformatting, the spellchecking, and the dash fixing. Now I’ve just got to read it and do my final proofing.

I also came to some decisions during my proofing. Originally, I had split the text for purely practical reasons; my computer did not like documents over 350 pages. I had originally planned to think more critically about how to split the volumes. However, I found that I actually liked where each volume ended! Volume one ends on a cliffhanger during the Battle of Helms Deep, with Gimli missing and Legolas asking Thorin to find him. I think this is a fun place to end it, as who doesn’t love a good cliffhanger, and it marks the point when the acknowledgement of their feelings begins. Volume two ends as the ring is destroyed, nicely wrapping up the story of the war. Volume three, then, becomes a sort of extended epilogue and wrapping up story. I wound up really liking these divisions, and so I’m thankful to serendipity that they happened naturally.

I also finally made a decision on how I want to handle the endnote translations for khuzdul and other languages. I had been waffling between making a glossary at the back of the books or including the translations on the page as footnotes. I’ve decided to go with a hybrid approach. I think for the endearments, family names, curses, or other terms that repeat frequently, I will include them all in a glossary at the back of each volume. Not knowing the translation of these words does not detract from my understanding of the text. For any phrases or words that need immediate translation, they will have a footnote on the page. This way, for words and phrases that are important to know in the moment, I won’t have to flip to the back of the book to know what is being said. I think this is a good compromise. It means I don’t have to translate the same word over and over again, but it lets me stay on my page when I do need a translation right away.

So, step 4.5 is to do my proof-editing of Tasalakhud. I have a week off coming up in August, and I should be done with my proofing by then. I look forward to using some of my time off to work on footnotes, the glossaries, and other appendix matters.

Until then my friends, thank you as always for joining me on this journey. It’s been about a year now since I originally downloaded the text, and I almost can’t believe how much time has passed since I began this project. While this is certainly the longest project I’ve ever worked on, it’s also one of the most rewarding.

#the great sansukh book project #sansukh #also as a teaser:#one of my coworkers is also a bookmaker in her free time #I got some great advice from her on how to prepare these documents for printing #and she's also offered to put me in contact with other local bookmakers #so I may be doing more work but for a higher quality product #we shall see!

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who-is-muses · 1 month

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Jonathan keeps careful documentation on all of his corvid companions, with a color coded banding system corresponding to their temperaments and records of their health (as many are rescues brought to him by Selina.)

Nightmare. Self explanatory name. Common raven. Female. Missing right eye. Black band. Very temperamental and aggressive. Has shown little to no concern of larger animals, at times fighting with cats, dogs, and other species.

Craw. Given name. Carrion crow. Male. Molting around neck and left wing, malformed left leg. White band. Friendly, not at all cautious around strangers, more than happy to be pet and carried. A rescue from a drug den, which unfortunately left him in poor health. Cannot fly well on his own.

Mary. After Mary Shelley. American crow. Female. No notable markings. Yellow band. Timid, but not aggressive. Very fond of pens, pencils, paint brushes, and any other writing implements.

Francis. After the protagonist in The Call of Cthulhu. Fish crow. Male. No notable markings. Green band. Timid, but not aggressive. Very quiet, especially compared to his flock, and prefers to watch visitors from afar.

Bette. After Bette Midler. Pied crow. Female. White ring of neck feathers usually kept puffed up. Orange band. Haughty and not fond of being pet. Has a tendency to pull at and/or swipe earrings, necklaces, change, rings, brooches, nails, and anything else remotely shiny.

Macbeth. After the infamously unlucky play and its titular character. American crow. Male. Small scar on the right side of the neck. Red band. Very aggressive and solitary. Doesn’t care for fire or knives. Very suspicious of strangers.

Manson (or Double M). After Marilyn Manson. American crow. Male. No notable markings. Red band. Temperamental, but not as dangerous as Nightmare. Tries to pick fights and bother the other birds, especially Nightmare and Macbeth, other animals, and people.

Roland. After the Warren Zevon song. Rook. Male. No notable markings. Orange band. Cautious, but not innately aggressive. Not fond of loud noises or guns, more than likely to attack.

Ligeia. After the Poe short story. American crow. Female. Eyes are darker than normal, cause unknown. Yellow band. Cautious, but not aggressive. Very inquisitive and curious, investigative of new people and objects.

Rowena. After the second wife of the narrator of the Poe story her sister is named after. American crow. Female. Eyes are somewhat cloudy, the effect of cataracts. Yellow band. Cautious, slightly less so than Ligeia. Often “bickers” with her sister, squawking and snapping amongst each other.

Imitateur. French for (unsurprisingly) Imitator. Fan-tailed raven. Female. No notable markings. Blue band. Very friendly. Gift from Edward, fond of repeating words and phrases.

Hitchcock. After the director. American crow. Male. No notable markings. Yellow band. Solitary and cautious. Observational and very intent on watching things around him. May bite.

Clarice. After the protagonist in Silence of the Lambs. American crow. Female. No notable markings. Green band. Cautious, but not aggressive. Often “talks” with people, making noise and imitating words back to them.

Renfield. After the Dracula character. Carrion crow. Male. Feathers are patchy around his head. Yellow band. A little testy at times, but not usually aggressive. Likes bringing dead rats and mice to “safe people”.

Cash. After Johnny Cash. American crow. Male. No notable markings. Green band. Relatively friendly, though standoffish at times. Has a tendency to repeat snippets of songs, especially from his namesake.

Nelson. After Willie Nelson. American crow. Male. No notable markings. Blue band. Calm and friendly. Also mimics songs.

Kristofferson. After Kris Kristofferson. American crow. Male. No notable markings. Yellow band. Standoffish, but calm. Mimics songs.

Jennings. After Waylon Jennings. American crow. Male. No notable markings. Green band. Relatively friendly. Just like the other three named after the Highwaymen, mimics songs.

Amelia. After Amelia Earhart. American crow. Female. Albino, red eyes, has a few notches in her beak. Green band. Relatively friendly, if a bit cautious. Excellent at flying, especially given she was being attacked by alley cats when I found her.

Puck. After the infamous character from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Pied crow. Female. No notable markings. Yellow band. Mischievous as her namesake, but relatively friendly. A little too good at mischief and mayhem.

Jay. After the titular character in the Great Gatsby (Edwin picked the name). Carrion crow. Male. No notable markings. Yellow band. Fussy and prone to nagging for attention. Far too interested in my glasses. Does not like to be touched.

Jack O’ The Green (just Jack works as well). After the folkloric figure (another name from Edwin). American crow. Male. No notable markings. Blue band. Very friendly and accepting of people. Has a tendency to bring me and, mostly, Edwin leaves, flowers, pebbles, and other small gifts.

Byron. After Lord Byron. Common raven. Male. No notable markings. Green band. Generally friendly, but can be touchy now and again. Mischievous and prone to causing trouble, as well as watching me work. Will also steal pens.

Narcissus. After the Greek mythic figure. Thick billed raven. Male. No notable markings. Yellow band. Generally amicable, but easy to anger. Does not like to be touched. Has something of a fascination with his reflection.

Magdalene. After the biblical figure Mary Magdalene. Rook. Female. Green band. Friendly and calm, appreciates attention and affection. Very social with the other birds, though appears most drawn to myself.

#Offered Insight : headcanons #Miasma of Fear : Scarecrow

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squirrelwrangler · 6 months

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⭐️

Let's talk about Service to the Dead. And because I couldn't decide which part of chapter three I wanted hone in on, I'm going to bounce around the entire chapter for a slightly longer director's commentary. Don't feel like covering the entire chapter, but here's some odd thoughts:

Opening on the Beren fight scene was a nice strong opening, good job me. Also while I never outright said it, having ghost Aegnor and Gorlim watching the fight from the tree branches above was exactly supposed to make the reader think of vultures. Because that is the black comedy of this fic- Aegnor and Gorlim watching and waiting for Beren to die. But instead I use the metaphor of watching a puppet show. But Aegnor needs another option because I can't have Gorlim and Aegnor think of the same thing. So what's a Noldor equivalent? And Noldor are just every annoying obnoxious Victorian British scientist so the Greek philosopher street debate/bitter thesis defenses/street preacher but for grammar minutia.

Gorlim's inconstantly fading sensory issues as a constant thread, and for this chapter I was hammering home the loss of smell and how that would have helped to find the body at the end.

In the next scene I wrestled around with the hidden cabin and the geographic layout and how that led to Aegnor floating up phasing through the cliff/hillside. A lot of the ghost physics is cumbersome to write because I can't use modern technological turns of phrase. The cabin being dark and the two ghosts not turning on a light source because they can't. But also having the flies there was a direct mental link for myself to Aegnor's final speech at the end of the chapter when he talks about being a bug trapped in a bowl.

The evacuation from Dorthonion was something I thought about- and who stayed behind that wasn't just Barahir's designated group. Mount St. Helens was something that instantly came to mind because of my family who lives in Seattle and the year I lived up there too. But also that since almost my entire life I live or have lived in the hurricane zones of the coasts of North America and have lived through several hurricanes - I am very familiar with how natural disaster evacuations are piecemeal. So - Old Duras, the dead outlaw, the lost Easterling family. That each are distinct in their reasons and background. That Eilinel and Sícrum went missing in the scramble and that their physical disabilities were factors. I was keen to take the time to tangent off into that physically disabilities (that weren't just chopped off hands) existed and weren't limited to Noldor nobility and our one most exemplar mortal hero. The Easterling father and son are sent-up for Chapter 4 and the next Mad Noldor Ghost that repeats and escalates off of what happened in Chapter 2.

Beren running into and being saved by the mad trees is the Two Towers Ents and Hurons reference imagery it seems to be.

Radiation mutant hares and other wildlife was added for the creepy horror imagery and also because Morgoth's Ring does really imply Morgoth's evil taint on Arda Marred is element decay.

And Aegnor's impassioned long spiel at the end- the most fun to write, I loved that. And hammering home what delighted me in the Athrabeth - that Elven immortality is not actually immortality and that they see it reversed with the mortals. That they are zombies/trapped ghosts stuck in Arda and cannot escape to the afterlife like mortals do. That Gorlim's central character as the ghost that is stuck and cannot pass on and thus is tormented by this unnaturalness, loneliness, and partiality of experience is not unique to him; it is the condition of the elves as well and Aegnor feels this trapped nature most keenly because he wants more than anyone else to escape Arda to follow Andreth. That the world itself, Arda, is just a barrow and Aegnor is a barrowwight. He's haunting his grave and can't- nor emotionally won't- progress from it but is still wallowing in how inescapable his fate of elven 'immortality aka stuck inside Arda unlike mortality's gift' seems to be. That he's trying to be productive and proactive in this whole Maia of Mandos gig, but it doesn't actually address or solve his Andreth-shaped grief and regrets, he's just spinning that hamster wheel.

Which that quality of morass is why Gorlim's realization of the Andreth truth was delayed either though he has all the pieces to the mystery that was vexing him thanks to picking up on the tiny clues Aegnor kept dropping.

Also, there's the Numa Numa Song/Dragostea din tei reference again of which you'd only know if you knew what the Moldovan lyrics to that song were about. Which I picked as a funny reference easter egg for a pop love song. But also because 2004 when that song came out was the same year that I read HoME and learned about Aegnor/Andreth and fell into the OTP rabbithole. I was listening to it and other songs from that album at the same time I was reading A/A fics. Bet y'all never guessed there was a deeper personal meaning. And it turns out that those lyrics do match up- I'm an outlaw, I remember your eyes, you did not take me with you (initial reject was my fault), linden trees....

#meme replies #fic meme #service to the dead

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shisnhou · 2 years

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is it ok if i could request a songfic dabi x reader? hold on by chord overstreet? sorry if this is triggering, i’m just going through a tough time right now and need some fluffy dabi love

hold on

pairing: dabi x reader

genre: hurt/comfort

cw: vulnerability, mental battle, too much emotions, mention of emotional overload, reader is very sensitive. do tell if i missed any!

wc: 1.6k

an: anon i’m sorry this took me a very long time to finish

“doll open the door,” how many times has dabi repeated that phrase? three? four? maybe five. he doesn’t know, can‘t be bothered to care. his mind is way too occupied to even count. a hand is buried in his black spiky hair, the other fisted and pressed against the door that separates you from him. “we can talk about this. just open the damn door, will you?”

you respond with silence. you know that dabi could easily burn down the door to the bathroom you‘ve been hiding in for the past half hour. yet somehow he still hasn’t, and you‘re thankful for that. thankful that he still has the mind to give you space and not just burst through despite everything you said earlier.

you sigh once again. pulling your knees impossibly closer to your chest and running your hands through your face. you feel so small, so tired, so sick of it.

dabi lowers his fist to his side, sighs and closes his eyes. he presses his forehead against the door and lightly bangs his head against it. he doesn’t know what to do from here. he knows you‘re probably in a tough spot right now, knows you really didn’t mean to say all those things you did earlier. he doesn’t blame you, absolutely not. he knows that you need some space, and maybe some time to think about what you had said earlier. but he can‘t leave you here. not like this.

dabi damn well knows what it‘s like to be left in a headspace that‘s nothing but an empty void ready to eat you and shred you up until you‘re nothing but a mere quarter of what you truly were. god, he‘s so familiar to that feeling and he knows how bad it can get. he doesn’t want to leave you and allow you to wallow in that wreck. all he wants to do is be there with you and let know that he‘s right here, just for you.

".. if you want to talk about here, i‘m right here y‘know." he tries to say, hoping that you‘d at least answer with a hum. but to his disappointment, not even a hitched breath disrupts your breathing. "if you‘d just let me in baby, i swear i‘ll be right there."

silence. silence so loud he can barely hear the own sounds of his thoughts. silence so loud you can‘t hear your own breathing speeding up. it‘s all pure dullness throughout the whole house you’re sure you‘d hear a pin drop.

"if i let you in dabi— would you promise me one thing?" are the first words to leave past your lips in what feels like an eternity to dabi. a breath of relief leaves past his lips, allowing his shoulders to release all the tension that built up in it.

"anything doll. fuck, anything." it‘s so honest and painful. the desperation in his voice is filled with so much emotion even he himself can barely recognize it.

"after this," you sigh shakily, wrapping your hands around yourself. "let this be the last time we‘re meeting each other, eye to eye.“

dabi swears his heart stops. suddenly a familiar ring in his ears makes noise. breathing caught up in his throat as he tries to make out a proper thought in his suddenly clogged head. all emotions coming from every direction as he tries to think of something he can say in return, yet not a single one of them seem to make its way to the tip of his tied tongue.

it becomes still for a second, as if the world has stopped and won’t start until you say something.

“dabi are you—”

“i’m here.” he breathes. he swallows his words that were about to be thrown to you from him. words that he’s sure he will regret saying. there’s not one sane thought in his head, not a single one of them passable enough to be said to you. sure enough he knows what you mean, he heard what you said, of course he did, loud and clear. but something in him doubts it. there’s no way you meant it. had you meant it, surely you would say it right to his face, not when there’s a door between you two.

“you heard—”

“i’m coming in.”

there’s no hesitation nor emotion brought in with his voice. it is simply vacant, words simply said with nothing placed behind it and it catches you off guard. however before you can even react, the loud echo of the door being opened takes a yelp out of your weak body.

and right there he stands.

dabi looks at you, but he says nothing. cerulean eyes pointed at you, looking at you so deeply. silence is what blankets over you both. yet it is not the silence where in it brings comfort, rather it is something farther than that. silence so loud it blocks out the hurricane of thoughts in your overbearing head. you’re not sure if you should say something, walk out, or even just pretend that he doesn’t exist. there is not single plausible thought in your mind, everything is so unorganized it makes the aching pain in your head unbearable by the second.

“you don’t mean that, don’t you?” dabi takes it up in himself to break the tense silence between you both. he does not mean to be that kind of pushy person— although he tends to be sometimes— when you are in a tough situation. however, if he does not quell that lingering feeling of heartbreak in his stapled and already fragile heart, he knows it will put an insufferable weight on his shoulders. “right, (y/n)?”

uncertainty fills your body. did you really mean what you told him? sure enough you did.. right? you said it, and you’re sure you wouldn’t say anything you mean aloud. unless you truly did commit such a dumb error while being at a vulnerable moment.

“because if you did, then i don’t know— i’ll— i’ll go.” faux confidence drips from his words. a believable lie that comes from the top of his head is directed towards you. sure enough, he doesn’t know what to do at the moment. overloaded with too much emotion at the same time, dabi is shaken up. his already slipping sanity seeping through the huge holes that he patched up with you, holes that are now re-opening. “i’ll fucking leave if that is what you want.”

swallowing the bile in his throat dabi looks at your figure that is doubled over in-front of him. head buried in your hands, your hair is the only thing that meets his eyes. you’re shaking, terribly and he sees that. as sharp words form in his head hurtful thoughts in his mind are starting to clog him up. however, amongst that messy sea dabi hears in a such a tiny voice, in your voice, and it tells him something. something that he has been wanting to hear through this jungle.

‘please don’t leave.’

and there, those simple words coming from that tiny voice in his head pulls the reigns of his thoughts forcing it to a halt. it forces him to open all the five senses of his tattered body, allows him to hear the silent plea coming from you. and it urges him to go to you. he doesn’t even realize that his body has moved to its own accord and bring itself to you, up until he can see his arm situating itself on the top of your head ever so delicately.

“i’m here.” is what he can hear himself say. it’s quite the opposite to what he said earlier, and so is the intention to his words. earlier, he had lied to you, lied all because that’s what he’s good at. he’s so good at lying and being hurtful, but this time, he’s being honest. this is what comes from his heart, not from his calculated mind. “i’m not going to leave.”

and then all of a sudden, he can feel you look up. dabi’s eyes meet with yours and he feels you tug him down. and down he goes, kneeling to the ground, body before yours. then, without even saying anything at all, he can feel your arms loop around his neck. then the dam breaks. a loud cry comes from you as your tears fall on his grafted skin, holding unto him so tightly, afraid that if your hold was anymore loose than now he’d make up his mind and leave you for good.

“don’t leave. please. you’re all i have.” you beg. plead even. and dabi’s sure he has never heard someone beg him like this. for his whole life, pleads that were directed towards him were always pleads of mercy, life, leaving them alone. not once was it ever like this. in an instance where someone has begged of him to stay with him and not leave.

dabi doesn’t know how to react mentally. but his body, once again, moves on its own. in a way that dabi approves. his hands wrap themselves around you, holding you so tight you can feel the squeeze of his hold that brings nothing but comfort to your unorganized mind. it brings peace to your mind, halting the the internal war that keeps your mind in a tangle.

“i won’t leave. okay? i won’t.” he assures you and he can feel you nod against his skin.

dabi never expected this. in his whole entire life that he would be holding someone this close. comforting someone in a such a way that he can feel his own heart beating loudly against his ears. he has never felt like this, felt so wanted, so needed to the point where it urges him to stay and not leave like he always does. and it feels so good. so good to the point where he feels like he can stay like this forever. so good that he knows he will never let this go. so good to the point where he, a man like himself, knows that this is the love he has been deprived of.

content belongs to @shisnhou on tumblr! do not repost, copy, use, or modify!

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daisies-and-buttercups · 3 years

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“Love and War / Chapter II″ - Luca Changretta x reader

Summary: Waking up to an empty bed and the words that Luca left for you, you soon realise that everything is going to go down today, and you’ll soon have to pick a side.

A/N: I swear that this post took me at least three tries, tumblr kept deleting and/or messing up the formatting so I’m really hoping that this is worth it lol 💕

Words: 2.7k

Chapter I Chapter III

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The next morning you shifted in bed, stretching your arms in search of your lover’s body, but all you felt was the crumpling sheets, still warm from where his body was not too long ago. You groaned, sitting up and scanning the room, eyebrows scrunched into a tired look. If you had to guess what had happened the night before just by looking at your room you wouldn’t have had any clues. Your clothes were neatly folded by the chair and there was no other evidence that anything had indeed happened. No clothes abandoned on the floor, no man lying next to you.

You walked down the stairs almost second guessing yourself, thinking over the night's events while you prepared a cup of coffee that you so desperately craved. Taking a big sip your eyes landed on the small table by the door, only usually adorned by a small plate for your keys and some letters that you hadn’t gotten around to opening yet, now decorated by a beautiful bouquet. You never had flowers around, the item useless and expensive, not something that you could afford with your paycheque, but just with their presence they lit the room up, their delicate perfume filling your lungs. You smiled and walked up to them, lifting the small card up to read it. A simple phrase full of adoration and love, with a few words in Italian, made you blush at the love you felt, but the final sentence made your heart drop.

If today is kind with my soul, I shall meet you in your dreams tonight, mio amore.

His handwriting was smooth and elegant with each word, but the last sentence was slightly messy, revealing his feelings maybe more than he was used to. His fear. He didn’t think he’d make it back.

So today was the day.

You scurried over to the phone, picking it up and calling the Shelbys, hoping that someone, anyone, would answer, but no one did. There was no point in leaving the house, you wouldn’t know where to find them and you had no way of knowing where Luca was either. There were many places where this showdown could happen, and even if you found it, what were you going to do? You couldn’t just waltz in hoping not to get shot. Still, the mix of emotions in your chest made you dizzy. Why didn’t he say anything? You dreaded the images that flashed before your eyes, first that of Tommy’s lifeless body, still clutching his gun, then that of Luca, tumbling as a bullet hit him square in the chest. Tears fell as you pictured those scenarios, but knew that that was all they were. They weren’t real. But even knowing that, you couldn’t stop pacing around the room, counting the minutes and going over the events of the past few weeks. You didn’t know how to feel about this whole ordeal. You never forgot how Tommy and his family welcomed you when you had been left with nothing, giving you a job, food, inviting you over for drinks and celebrations, but as much as you dreamed of it, you’d never be part of them. You fit in, but not fully. You weren’t part of their circle, but you were part of their “clean” life. Tommy made sure to to leave you out of the dirty deeds, even if you gathered what happened behind closed doors, and by doing so he shut you out of the only part of their life that would make you fully fit in with them. Then Luca arrived, and the calls, on the phone that Thomas brought just for you, since you couldn’t afford one in any other way, started becoming less frequent, with less news. No more talking about the business, no more working by their side, no more gossiping with Ada or Polly on Saturday evenings. You still got your salary, somehow left by your door with nothing else attached to it, not even a note, but that didn’t change the stark difference in your routine. You barely felt like family, or whatever you had ended up being, anymore. You felt even more left out now. So when Luca came around and actually listened to you, and talked to you, and shared his interests while asking about yours, you felt appreciated, loved. You had found somewhere where you fitted. And now here you stood, weary of whose death you’d have to cry at the end of the day.

It took hours for the phone to ring with news, which made you jump into alertness, rushing over to answer. “Where is he?” You stayed quiet for a moment, fully expecting to hear Polly’s or Ada’s voice, not Tommy’s. He was alive, and clearly Polly had told him about your meeting with the Italian. “Where is-” “Where is he?” he raised his voice in unison to the loud sound you heard not far from him, probably his fist banging against the table. So they still were both alive. You let a breath out that you were unaware you had been holding, gripping your clothes tightly, adrenaline running in your veins from the news. He didn’t usually raise his voice, so his anger was evident, yet you weren’t sure if it was directed at you or at Luca. He clearly had gotten away, and the thought of that was enough to lift that weight off your chest. “I don’t know, Thomas.” “You knew last night, though, didn’t you? When he was in your bed? Bet it felt good, eh, fucking the enemy?” You didn’t answer, your face blushing in shame and anger. He had no right to spy into your personal life. You knew that in his books you were on the wrong side of the war they were fighting, but his words were harsh, cutting through you without any of the warmth they once held. “Don’t defend a fucking wop. Tell me.” “I don’t know where he is. But this has to end, Thomas, this war you’re-” “Why don’t you tell that to your friend?” He pronounced the last word with sarcasm and hatred, but what hurt him was the betrayal he felt when you made it clear that you cared about him. “I already did. I told him I support neither of your ways. Just stop, someone’s gonna get hurt.“ “And it would be a shame if you got caught in the crossfire.” he spat out, the silence ringing in your ears as if his threat were a slap. “Goodnight, Thomas.” You replied, slamming the phone down, not even sure if he was still there to hear you but not willing to argue anymore. You didn’t stop walking around the halls, hoping that someone else would tell you more about what actually went down, still in the dark, but no one did.

That night you laid in bed, thinking over everything that had happened, or at least what you knew. The fairytale routine you had fallen in with Luca, the fancy restaurants, chivalrous words and tender kisses were taken away from you so soon after they started, leaving you desperate for what you had started growing so used to. Had it not been for the vendetta, he’d probably be here next to you right now, drawing circles on your shoulders with his fingertips, kissing you softly. But he wasn’t here, and all you knew was that he must’ve been alive somehow, since Tommy had no idea as to where he could’ve been. Standing up you took a few steps towards the small balcony, desperate for some fresh air. There was barely enough space to stand on it so you leaned on the window frame, spotting someone moving away just as you glanced down towards the back street. Had you been in a less emotional state you’d have never chased after them, but right now all you wanted were answers. You turned the corner, losing your balance as you slammed into someone, but their hands held you up, pulling you against them. “You shouldn’t have come out here, principessa. You never know who might linger in the dark.” With your mouth agape you stood still for a moment, realising who was standing in front of you and finally wrapping your arms around him, colliding with his chest once more. He let out a low chuckle, melting into your embrace and holding you, feeling your heartbeat calm him down, a natural remedy that only you could provide. Your tears fell freely, wetting his coat while you shivered against him. “Well, lucky me then.” you joked, breathing in his scent, the notes of sandalwood surrounding you. “What happened?” “Nothing. The police got in the way.” he shrugged lightly, his hands still around your waist, pulling you against him. “Thomas was looking for you. He called me.” he nodded, looking around the street for any signs of someone spying on them, but no one was around at this time, but he didn’t care either way. “I’m leaving for Camden Town. I won’t be back for a few days, so you won’t see me for a bit.” “And what are you going to do in Camden Town?” You asked, although you already knew the answer. He wouldn’t stop, and there was only one man in London that had a strong connection to Tommy, and not always a good one. You had never met Alfie Solomons, but you knew enough about him to know where this was going. “Not important. I came to get a goodbye kiss.” his eyes crinkled as he smiled, lifting your chin with his fingers and finding his mouth, kissing you with an initial softness, growing into a hunger that he couldn’t afford right now. He groaned, breaking the kiss, resting his forehead to yours. “What are you planning, Luca?” “Goodnight, dear.” “It’s not gonna end well.” “Goodnight, dear.” He repeated, kissing your forehead and lingering for a moment more, before urging you to walk back home, waiting until you were out of sight to slip away, walking towards the car that would take him to London.

You spent days waiting for something, but there was nothing. No calls, no letters, no news. You picked a few books off your bookshelf, books you had never had the time to read, and scanned the pages, not managing to focus on more than a few pages. It was that dark feeling in your chest that you couldn’t ignore, and the lack of news only made it worse, feeding your mind with the most horrible scenarios. It felt like a blessing, if only for a short moment, when a call arrived shortly after dinner. You were resting your head on the sofa, singing along to some old songs while you stared at your hands, the concept of time slowly slipping away, when you received the news, making you sit up in disbelief. Polly had been brief, delivering the news and nothing more, leaving you clutching your telephone and staring into thin air for what felt like hours. She hadn’t said anything more, leaving you with the feelings that surrounded you. Sadness, rage, hopelessness… everything was bubbling in your chest, a feeling of guilt coating everything, making you feel like you were somehow at fault here, like you hadn’t prevented this. You paced around for most of the night, only pausing your wondering when the realisation hit you again, big tears slipping past your eyes as you recalled the memories of the times shared, stopping your incessant actions at the faint knock at the door early in the morning. “I saw your light on.” he looked behind you, his lips twitching up for a short moment, only to fall back into a stoic look when he met your gaze, clearly seeing the tears that you tried to wipe away before opening the door, your eyes red with sadness and rage. “Tell me you didn’t.” It was a whisper, one that made his heart break. It wasn’t just your expression, nor the redness under your eyes, but your moving away from the door, as if you feared him. “Alfie Solomons-” he started, willing to offer an explanation for his deeds. “I don’t care about Alfie! I asked you to stop this after the vendetta happened!” you shouted, getting closer just to throw punches at his chest, yet no matter your anger you were nothing but gentle, barely making him flinch. “He didn’t stop either.” “Because he’s stubborn. He’s-” “I am too. He killed my men. Just ‘cause you were closer to Arthur doesn’t mean that the death of my men means nothing.” “I don’t want to be part of this anymore.” you announced, slipping from his grasp and moving away, putting as much distance between the two of you as you could. “You never were a part of this.” “Maybe not, but with how things are going I’m going to end up as collateral damage.” “You know I’d never let anything happen to you. Even if you stood by him, I wouldn’t-” You turned and walked up the stairs, ignoring his words and grabbing your traveling bag from the wardrobe as he made his way up, scoffing but following you into the bedroom nonetherless. You picked your clothes and folded them quickly, placing them in the bag and throwing a couple other belongings in. “What are you doing?” He asked, sitting on your bed and stopping your movements by holding your hips, his touch delicate, in harsh contrast with his look. He always felt so… different around you. Delicate, careful, loving. Little things, like the way he remembered what wine you liked, or some of your little quirks, or the softness of his touches when he was near you. After the night where you both fell into your bed, he’d become more open with showing his affection, but before that he never really shied away from it either. His hand gently cradling the small of your back when guiding you into a restaurant, or the brush of his fingers against your cheek when a stray hair got away from behind your ear. “I’m ending it tomorrow.” He announced, avoiding your gaze. “What?” You turned to face him, not fully understanding his plan of attack. “I called a meeting with Thomas.” “To apologise?” “To make a deal.” He corrected you. “But it might not work. So…” He took one of his rings off, holding your hand and placing it in your palm, closing it around it. “To remember me by. Or not. Maybe it’s better to forget me, after all.” He brought your hand to your lips, as if to seal a deal, smiling. “I won’t have to remember you. You’re not going.” Your hand on his arm was supposed to stop him, or slow him down at least, but he just smiled at you as you would with a child that doesn’t fully understand the state the world is in. “I have to finish what I started.” “Luca, don’t.” you tried to give it back, but he shook his head, moving away from you and down the stairs. “Arthur didn’t deserve it.” “He’s the one that pulled the trigger.” You didn’t speak, not knowing what to add. You knew he was referring to the death of his father, but what Arthur had done was almost out of mercy. Tommy wouldn’t have stopped, so he intervened. There were many mistakes he had made in his life, but dying because of an act of mercy wasn’t what he deserved. “Ti amo, bedda mia.” And with a final look he left, not waiting for an answer, exhaling when the door closed behind him. He saw the way you looked at him, the tears that escaped your eyes, feeling betrayed by his actions, but he did what he had to do. “Luca, we’re not finished talking.” Your words had no effect on the man, just like you knew they wouldn’t, but you couldn’t stop yourself from speaking them. It wasn’t only grief that was holding you back now, but fear. For a moment you saw the man just as he had been painted since the beginning: a gangster, a killer, nothing more but a heartless man. You fell back against the wall, clinging on to the ring he had gifted you, the only thing that felt certain right now. You watched as he stepped out, closing the door behind him ever so gently, to avoid making noise, and wondered what hid behind those eyes. How much could you risk for him?

He could feel you looking at him as he made his way out, knowing just how disappointed you were, but he wouldn’t back down. He knew what was going to go down tomorrow, what he’d say, how he'd move, and he’d do anything to have you by his side.

After all, all is fair in love and war.

#luca changretta x reader #luca changretta x you #luca changretta #luca changretta imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders #love and war fic #Liza's attempts at writing

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fbfh · 3 years

Text

I think you've horribly misread the situation [shitty roommate pt 2] - leo x reader

wc: 2.3k

genre: contemporary drama, you're definitly going to get second hand embarrassment, cozy fluff

pairing: leo x reader, attempted isabella x leo

reader: gender neutral, they/them

requested: hell yeah

warnings: mild swearing, roommate tries to steal your man once again, mentions of various mainstream vampire media (twilight, the vampire diaries etc.), brief mention of castlevania (even though i haven't seen it yet lol), breif mention of videogames and assassins creed, very mild delusion (roommate is secretly convinced leo is a vampire that's in love with her), attempted age gap relationship (she's 17 and leo's 19, he shuts that down real fast), very bad poetry

summary: You and Leo are both looking foward to spending a long weekend together, and Leo is determined not to let anything interrupt it, even if it means turning down your roommate's attempts to seduce him in the kitchen.

a/n: absolutley no hate or shade or judgement to anyone who has the same or similar traits as isabella!!!!!! at her core she's annoying because she's the antagonist, not bc of any isolated trait or traits

also she's shitty cause she keeps trying to steal your boyfriend?????

Edit: I forgot to mention before, but this is a college au where you're both still demigods, so you went to camp and on quests and stuff together

This weekend is going to be all about recharging. Recharging from the ridiculous back to back closing and opening shifts at work, recharging from having to redo that stupid project twice because your professor couldn’t decide on a clear way to define the criteria, and recharging from Isabella having her townie friend Regan over almost non stop to “completely shake up her look” as she put it.

Between the constant presence of someone you’d barely consider an acquaintance and Big Time Rush’s self titled album blasting on repeat out of her giant airpod shaped speaker, it’s been harder than usual to get in some effective self care. You have no idea how many more times you can hear the phrase “I’m going for Jade West meets Elena Gilbert, with just a little Buffy Summers” before you lose your fucking mind.

Thankfully, the hard part is almost over. There’s some minor holiday tomorrow on friday, so you and Leo both have a three day weekend ahead of you, which you intend to spend entirely together. You planned ahead, frontloading homework, chores, errands, and everything you could think of to remove anything that isn’t cuddling or playing video games and watching netflix together from your horizon.

This includes going straight from work to the grocery store to stock the fridge and get any snacks you and Leo want. You had texted him a while ago asking for anything he was craving, and head into the store with a concrete list. After a while, you circle around some aisles, avoiding the check out.

“I feel like I’m forgetting something,” you muse, knowing it’s untrue, but hoping to trigger a memory anyway. You can’t put it off any longer, finally checking out and heading back to your apartment. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t avoiding Isabella just a little.

You know bringing in all these groceries would be way easier with Isabella and possibly Regan’s help, but you just don’t have the social energy to talk to anyone, much less her, right now. By some miracle, you bring everything in yourself, and hope to get it put away before you see Isabella.

You turn to the freezer, putting away the ice cream. When you turn back around, you’re suddenly met face to face with Isabella, who has opened one of the boxes and is picking at a pastry.

“Hey girlie,” she says, elongating the hey.

“Hey,” you reply lethargically, putting the last of the groceries away. She looks at the pastry in her hand like she’s just noticing it.

“Sorry, I can’t help it, I’m italian.” She smiles, endeared by her own behavior. You have no idea what being italian has to do with asking before you open a box of your roommate’s food, but this really isn’t out of character for her. She brings up the fact that she’s half italian more than Lele Pons blames her behavior on being latina.

She’s wearing sweatpants that say chaser on the leg in red and gold varsity font, and a tight tee shirt that says “it’s okay to love them both” with silhouettes of the male love interests from one of the vampire shows she always watches. You collect the plastic bags to put in recycling, and see a piece of paper on the counter.

It reads as follows:

Drowning in my mind

No one hears me cry

Who was I before society

Before society put me in a pink dress

And handed me blonde hair dye

And told me to lose ten pounds or be labeled a freak?

The happiest people cry the most

Let the lyrics be your story

But I’m not like the other skinny blonde pretty girls

I’m

Different

-b.g. xox

You hold back a sigh.

“I think this is yours.” you say, handing it to her.

“Oh, it’s just some of my poetry I left lying around, that’s so embarrassing.”

I know, you think, you do that all the time.

“Did you read it?” She asks, hopefully.

“Nope.”

“Thank god, that would have been so embarrassing. My poetry is something really… deep, and personal to me.”

“Uh huh. Hey, I’m going to be doing a lot of self care this weekend, so-”

“Oh!” she interjects, eerily similar to Phoebe Buffay - you guess she’s been watching friends again - “I wanted to ask… is Leo coming over later?” Her voice is riddled with subtext, the expression on her face a little too invested in your answer.

“Uh, yeah. I told you the other day we’re spending the weekend together…”

She cuts you off again, a sudden, intense look on her face.

“When will he be here?”

You check your phone, scrolling through your recent texts.

“By 7 at the latest.” It’s around 6:40 now.

“Oh my god, I have to change,” she rushes back to her room, presumably digging through her recent additions to her closet.

You’re frozen for a minute after the interaction, left with a furrowed brow and the beginnings of a headache. You blink, then choose to reschedule processing why she feels the need to change for your boyfriend to a more convenient time. That’s enough of that for today. You don’t care what else happens, you’re not talking to anyone besides Leo for at least the rest of the day. You retreat to your room to finally shower and change into something comfy. As you pass by Isabella’s room, you hear her talking to Regan.

“...There’s something almost… supernatural about him.”

You bite back a laugh.

“Do you think he’s a…” Regan begins, ending the sentence with something too quiet to hear, but you’d bet almost any organ she said vampire.

So close. So, so close, and yet… here you are.

Not much later, Leo texts you to let you know he’s here. You read his text, and run out to hug him in the living room before even typing a reply. He picks you up, and spins you around. The embrace is warm and fulfilling and familiar, and you wish it would last forever.

“Hi, Sparky.” you murmur into his neck.

“Estrella…” he says, rocking you back and forth gently and pressing a kiss into your jawline, “I missed you so much.” He punctuates the sentence with another kiss, this one to your lips, and you smile more genuinely than you have all day. You’re about to agree when you remember the good news you’ve been saving to tell him in person.

“Guess what I got on sale for like, half off,” you start, excitedly, continuing at his invested expression, “the Assassin’s Creed bundle I showed you!”

“No way,” he starts, and you nod.

“I’ll go get everything set up, drinks are in the kitchen!” He watches you retreat into your room, disbelieving how he could possibly get someone as perfect as you to fall for him. He’s not going to question his luck. He grabs a couple caffeinated sparkling ices, and meets you in your room, setting down his bag and grabbing some comfy clothes to change into.

As you both get settled in, you fill each other in on all the ridiculous shit you’ve been through this week. You finally conclude the bizarre - yet somehow standard - Isabella escapades.

“So I will be avoiding all contact as much as possible,” you laugh.

“Yeah, no shit,” he agrees, “Consider me your human buffer.” You thank him, hugging him again and pressing a kiss to his lips.

The next couple hours are spent cuddling and finishing season 4 of Castlevania. Both reeling from the season finale, you agree this is a good place to take a break, get some food, and decide what game you should start with. It’s already 10pm, which most people would consider too late for dinner, but you have all weekend to fuck up your sleep schedules.

“Let’s review,” Isabella says, holding up two red lipsticks. She turns to Regan. “Which one?”

“That one,” Regan says, pointing to the one on the left, then turns to her list, and continues. “Here’s what we know; we’ve never seen him eat, and he never seems tired. He’s really smart-”

“Almost too smart,” Isabella adds, selecting black rose dangle earrings from her jewelry. Regan agrees, and continues.

“He’s almost hypnotically attractive, and his smile is a little too dazzling.”

“There’s something… supernatural about him. Like he’s not… all human.”

Regan writes this down.

“Plus he’s always wearing black and red, and those flowy button up shirts? It’s all adding up, Ree. That dream that someone was outside my window, the ring, everything…” She says, referencing the black and red cocktail ring she’d found with her stuff when she’d first moved, “I’m not saying it’s definite, just that… there’s a chance.”

“What about…” Regan says hesitantly, nodding toward your room.

“Please,” she scoffs, “he’s only with them to get close to me, like Damon and Caroline. Edward couldn’t have just approached Bella out of the blue, he had to infiltrate her friend group first, to seem less suspicious. Not to sound mean or anything, but they really don’t seem like the type someone… like him… would choose.” her voice gets dreamy when she mentions him.

In spite of having seen most mainstream vampire media almost as many times as Isabella, Regan still considers her the expert on these things, and decides not to point out that Edward didn’t infiltrate Bella’s friend group. Maybe it comes up in one of the retellings she hasn’t read yet.

“So, what now?”

Isabella sets down her lipstick, and turns to her friend.

“I tell him.”

Regan’s eyes widen.

“You’re going to tell him you know?”

“No… not yet. It’s too soon, we don’t have enough evidence. I’m going to tell him I know he’s in love with me, then once he’s secure in our relationship... we’ll see where it goes.”

She stands up, assessing herself in the mirror. She chose her outfit carefully; short red dress with black roses and black mesh collar, black rose bracelet to match her earrings, snug faux leather jacket, and black stiletto ankle booties with a very skinny heel, the zipper on the outside gold, not silver. She fluffs her wavy hair and turns towards the door. She looks back one more time, holding onto the doorway.

“Wish me luck.”

Leo enters the kitchen, seeing Isabella already there, leaning against the counter seductively. She’s wearing an outfit and jewelry this late at night that makes Leo wonder if she’s going to an emo tea party. He puts the takeout in the microwave. She’s still staring at him.

“Uh… hey.”

She lets out a dainty giggle, looking him up and down.

“... Hi.”

At a loss for words, and really wanting the awkward silence to be over, he continues, “Did you need something?”

“What I need,” she walks closer to him, tracing her finger over his collar, “is you.”

What the fuck?

His brain seems to stall for a moment, and she uses this opportunity to continue.

“I know why you’re here. I know that you’re only using them to get closer to me. I know-”

“Woah-”

“That you’re in love with me.”

Okay, double what the fuck.

She takes his stunned silence as shyness, and steps closer, putting her arms around his shoulders.

“You don’t need to play so coy, I-”

This time she’s the one that gets cut off. He grabs her arms and gently steps away, trying to make it abundantly clear that he’s not into this.

“Woah, okay, slow down. First of all, you’re 17 and I’m turning 20 in a couple months, so that’s a hard no. Second, I don’t know where you got this idea, but I am not dating them to get closer to you. We’ve known each other since we were like, 15, and have been through everything together. I’ve only known you for a couple months. I love them. Probably more than I’ve loved anything ever. I thought that was pretty obvious.”

He doesn’t want to be mean, he really doesn’t, but he can tell from the look on her face that she still thinks this is all part of some game.

“So why don’t I ever see you eat? Why are you so smart, and always up at night? I know what you are.”

He has to physically hold back a laugh. He takes a step back, and places his hands on the counter.

“Isabella, I have adhd. And I’m literally an engineering student. Why wouldn’t I be smart and have a shitty sleep schedule?”

She starts to protest, and he pulls out the reheated take out from the microwave.

“And for the record, I do eat.”

Exiting the kitchen quickly and retreating back to your room, he hands you your food.

“I got the game set up!” you say excitedly.

“Nice!”

You take one look at his face and can tell something happened. He sees this, and continues.

“I just had a very… interesting interaction with Isabella,” before he finishes the sentence, your head is already in your hands. You let out a groan.

“What did she do?” you mutter from behind your hands.

He pulls you into his lap, rubbing your back.

“I’m not totally sure,” you laugh, “but I think she thinks I’m secretly in love with her…” you’re both laughing before he can even finish the sentence.

“No…” you laugh, “no fucking way…”

“Believe me, I put an end to that as soon as it started.”

“Oh, I do.”

He runs his hand over your back, and you’re quiet for a moment.

“You know,” he continues, “I think getting our own place has definitely moved up the priority list.”

You couldn’t agree more.

#leo valdez x reader #leo x reader #leo valdez #leo valdez imagine #heroes of olympus #heroes of olympus x reader

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darthmaulification · 3 years

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the good god is you, all good, all the time, is you | paz x reader

A/N: just something short and simple and kind with paz, because i want to kiss him all over (because i’m his riduur, of course) and is there anything wrong with that?

even though it’s a relatively universal phrase, the title is a line from god is good all the time by porsha olayiwola. i also kinda had the vibe of that poem in mind as i wrote this too. 💕

hope you enjoy! 💗

summary: love-making, pretty much.

content: fluff, domestic love and stuff, fem!afab!reader, smut-ish?, because there is cockwarming on the back burner lol, and they kinda seggs at the end?, body worship, paz is a heartsick dork, and plays with your booba, and you play with his

word count: 1,427

It’s in the dewy moments after, when everything feels the way a sunset on Naboo looks, when there’s nothing in the galaxy that can touch either of you. Paz holds you tight with his burly arms, helmetless, and everywhere else exposed too, slick with the sweat that coats the both of you, and keeps you slippery and bare against one another, like fishes in the big blue sea.

There’s no need to open your eyes, not right now. The heaviness that’s settled over you keeps your eyelids shut, and the wetness on your lashes does too. So you focus on Paz, who’s silent and basking in the afterglow the same as you, and focus just enough to listen to the steady, echoing thumps of his heart, and his long, rhythmic breathing. In, out. In, out...

You revel in the expanse of his body beneath you, his broad shoulders, his hard pecs, the light brushing of hair on them, his soft tummy you love— all strength, all the time— and sigh into the soft dip behind his collarbone. Make no mistake, you revel in that too, and the warmth of it all.

Another soft sigh passes your lips when Paz shifts beneath you, his legs further entwining with yours, all to pull you in and keep your hips flush to his, and him within you. He’s not a hard, hot rod anymore, finally spent after three rounds, but the girth of him is familiar, kept locked within you, the puzzle piece meant to be. The feeling of the connection, almost divine in it’s interlocking, is like an oasis in a vast desert, all relief and sanctuary.

Paz grunts softly, moving again, and you smile when you feel him both shift inside you and plant kisses on your scalp. His lips are warm and soft as they follow your hairline, each one everything good. You feel the tender brush of the tip of his nose too, and catch a warm inhale or exhale in your hair, like a gentle breeze in summer.

“You asleep, mesh’la?” Paz’s voice is low, resonant in his chest and throat like the echo of a distant waterfall. The hands he has on your body, heavy and calloused weights, start to glide up and down your spine. You make a small noise of denial, digging your face into his chest, kissing him softly as you do. Paz shudders, his chest trembling beneath you, and so you kiss him more, with more determination too. Take this Paz, it is yours.

A few seconds pass, and you finally bring yourself to open your eyes, blinking at the quiet brightness of the room and exhaustion, but finding so much awareness with the man under you. Your eyes lock to your hand, taking in the beskar ring on your finger, and Paz’s pec beneath it. The crests of his deep brown skin are bronzed by the dim orange lights of the bedroom, and the dips are the darkest parts of him. Your eyes flit to his nipple that’s below your fingers, and you smile mischievously against his chest.

“Hey.” Paz jerks slightly when you pinch it, and lifts one hand to plant firm on your ass and squeeze hard in retaliation. You jerk in turn, the laugh in your throat briefly caught by the pleasantness of Paz moving in you, and you turn your head to look up at him, eyes twinkling.

Paz has just the most mellow, lovestruck look on his face and in his nut brown eyes, all his features softened by the endorphins from sex and love. In this light, all starry-eyed, all satisfaction and boyishness under an amber hue, he looks especially rich, like the opulence of gold and the taste of good, thick caf. He is gorgeous.

“What?” You croak playfully, voice a bit raw and still a little husky, craning your neck to kiss his chin, his thick beard prickly against your lips. Paz chuckles deep in his throat, one hand gliding the length of your spine. He dips his head so that he’s able to press his lips to yours, tender and brief, easy too. Everything is just so easy with Paz, all the time.

“I like your boobies.” You murmur when you part, grinning when he laughs, a quick bark that’s louder since you’re so close to his face. Paz’s hands slide up your ribs until they cup your breasts from the sides. He squeezes gently and you laugh, slapping him on his shoulder, and his sweaty skin is slightly tacky, like a honey glaze.

“Don't tweak my nipple, pretty girl.” He says in that toothless authoritative tone he puts on with you when he won’t really put up a fight. You giggle, the tip of your nose rubbing against his, and you kiss his smiling lips again. He hums, low in his chest, a purr of a humble lion.

"You like it, though." You tease, squealing when Paz swats your ass, and giggling profusely as you kiss his cheek. Pulling away, eyes soft like his, you place your lips to his for a slow, languid kiss. Paz moans into your mouth, allowing you to drink from him all his love. When you pull away you breathe him, and he breathes you, and the moment becomes warmer.

“I think yours are better.” He rumbles, bouncing them in his palms, thumbing your pliant nipples to roll them until they become stiff peaks again. You keep giggling profusely, even as you wriggle in his grasp to arch up just enough to plant kisses over and over again atop the skin and muscle above his heart, beating as strong as the beskar he wears.

“Mesh’la.” Paz speaks, breathless and maybe desperate too, but you keep kissing, because he is yours, you are his, and you love him. He groans quietly, hips shifting and you break your trail across his chest to sigh as you feel him sink deeper, a heavy anchor nestled tenderly inside you. Paz still has his hands on your chest, and he kneads your breasts, slowly rolls them in his large palms the way he does to get your body warm and quivering.

“Paz... honey...” You whine, feeling how he swells inside you, like filling a pitcher with water, or how the temperature grows as the sun rises. Your body is glossy and glistens with sweat, beads of it line your hairline, and as Paz moves again, sitting up and pulling you in to the furnace of his body, you gasp at the heat of it all.

“One more time, baby girl, just one more time.” Paz’s lips fervently move on your neck, sucking marks atop fading ones and new ones on clear skin. His body rocks against yours, the sweat built up between the two of you making each movement wet, sticky. Paz sucks on your collarbone then nuzzles his face into your chest, kisses sternum, and pleads, “Let me cum in you one more time.”

One more time...

“Okay.” You breathe into his hair, the tight black coils tickling your nose. He smells like pine trees, the lavender and birch shampoo you use, sex, and the scent of man, the distinct Paz variety. You could get drunk off it, and the tight bubbling building up in your lower tummy.

His hips shift, going low then high, and he repeats it— once, twice, three times— your body jostles in his arms, rocked to and from his heaving chest, like a ship caressed by the kind waves of a gentle sea.

Four, five, six— you lose count, lost in the swirling ocean that is love and Paz.

Dark brown hands grip your hips, and you place yours above them, because you know you aren’t going to last much longer. He isn’t either, evident by his trembling breath.

“Paz!” The final gasp of his name comes with the rolling tide of orgasm, the fever pitch breaks to something resembling pure, and Paz is swept away with you, whispering your name to your heart. Both of you are breathing heavily, trembling and shuddery from your releases. You smile at the liquid warmth deep within you, and kiss Paz’s slick forehead. He looks up at you from between your breasts, still starry-eyed and now even more satisfied, tender.

“... Your boobs are still better.” He quips and you laugh, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him into a kiss. It really is in the dewy moments after, when there’s nothing but laughter, when nothing in the galaxy can touch either of you, not ever.

#star wars #star wars paz vizsla #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizsla x you #the mandalorian #paz vizsla

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neo-shitty · 3 years

Text

all the muggle things. — c.s

description. in which you and san spent the rest of your days after hogwarts getting the muggle experience.

pairings. slytherin!choi san x gender-neutral (wizard) reader (yes, this fic is house friendly)

genre. harry potter/hogwarts!au, fluff

warnings. mentions of injury.

word count. 1.6k

writer’s notes. i don’t know why i never thought of writing a harry potter-inspired au before! also, it’s been a while since i’ve written for ateez. i hope this didn’t turn out so bad!

inspired by option #1 (roommates au) + prompt #36 from this list (given by @kathyrncapp835)+ prompt #46 from @ficscafe‘s dialogue prompt event (given by @meaningfulmess). prompt lines are bolded.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ TERMINOLOGY GUIDE :: for the muggles, explained and simplified by yours truly

Muggle - someone who isn’t able to use magic / non-wizard

Lumos - spell that makes the tip of a wizard’s wand light up

Quidditch - a game for wizards that involves flying on brooms and shooting balls through hoops, basically basketball but more complex because there are three hoops and someone’s trying to catch an ‘i-am-speed’ ball that dictates the fate of the game in the end

Sectumsempra - a spell that lacerates the opponent

Wizarding War - the war between Voldemort’s side and Harry’s

Dark Mark - Voldermort’s mark

Nox - counter spell to Lumos that switches the wand’s light off

You tried your best to peer your eyes open when you heard the front door slam shut. You groaned, infuriated at how such simple tasks like breathing and opening your eyes required extra effort whenever you were sick. But getting sick was merely a consequence of your own actions, so you really didn’t have anyone else to blame but yourself.

You managed to open one eye, fighting back the heavy eyelid that threatened to shut and you searched the room for other movements besides your own.

“It’s 2AM, go back to sleep,” a voice said. Soon, it’s owner emerged from the shadows of the doorway.

Dressed in his all-black work uniform was San. His whole figure blended into the background too well that it almost seemed like he’d apparated back to your place. But with the faint sound of his footfalls, you concluded that he used the muggle way in.

You turned your head. You considered turning your whole body but everything felt sore and heavy. Plus, you were content with the way the comforter was wrapped around you—which was rare, even on better days. You watched San pass by the living room before heading to the kitchen. Though you couldn’t see him from the living room couch, you could see the shadow casted on the floorboards by the kitchen light he switched on. It danced as he moved around, probably to get a late night snack before heading to bed. You could hear him uttering hushed incantations followed by the faint clattering of kitchen metals.

“I’m glad you didn’t burn the house down while I was gone,” he said from the kitchen.

A smile crept up to your lips at his statement. You opened your mouth to utter a small thank you but you could only manage a whisper. You weren’t even sure if he even heard it from that far.

Moments later, he reappeared by the kitchen doorway. “But you were cutting it a bit too close though,” he continued, clutching a frying pan in his right hand.

The pan—originally gray—was now blackened from the mishap earlier. You had fallen asleep in the middle of cooking your own dinner, only waking up to the smell of burnt meat. The scent had been that thick that it managed to seep through your clogged nostrils. It was that bad. You ended up ordering take out instead. You forgot that you didn’t clean up the evidence.

A croaky laugh escaped your lips as you recalled the accident. San only shook his head, disappearing back into the kitchen to put the pan back to the sink. When he came back, he had two cups in hand. He walked over to set both down on their respective coasters on the glass center table of your living room. When he reached over to turn the lights on you stopped him.

“Don’t turn the lights on,” you said, your voice barely audible but he hears it, stopping before the lamp fully on. “They’re too bright. It’ll give me another headache.”

You see his silhouette nod. You could hear him flipping his coat around, shuffling to find something. You didn’t know what he was searching for exactly and you opted to ask him. But you soon find out what it was when you hear him whisper.

“Lumos.”

Where San stood, an orb of light began to glow. You soon realized that the light came from the tip of a stick. He was holding the fir wand in his hand, controlling its brightness until it was just right. Soon, it illuminated the room with a faint light—bright enough for you to see outlines of the room and the furniture scattered but not bright enough to make your eyes water like the lamps did.

He walked over to where you were before leaving his hand outstretched. “Sit up to drink your leaf water,” he said, earning a chuckle from you.

“Leaf water,” you repeated in a hoarse voice before taking his hand in yours, clutching it as you helped yourself up. You crossed your legs, tucking each foot beneath the opposite leg in order to give room on the couch for San to sit.

He handed you your cup of tea before he sat adjacent to you with his own cup in one hand and his wand in the other. Your eyes lingered on the wooden stick he gripped in his hand and on the fingers he had wrapped around it. All his rings were silver, representing the complementing color of his house, Slytherin. Or that was what you remembered of him back when you were still studying at Hogwarts.

You recalled when you used to watch him play Quidditch. He always kissed his rings first before putting on his gloves. He was deemed one of the more valuable players next to their seeker and you were just another student from another house. It wasn’t until your last school year at Hogwarts when you first interacted. The first time you both went beyond the occasional glances you shared whenever you were both in the same class.

Though your first time meeting wasn’t the best setting for the start of something new.

You were tending to one injury after another, working with the school nurse to cater every student who ran to the infirmary for aid or additional support in the form of potions. San had walked in alone and upon catching sight of his green sigil, your first instinct was to cast a spell to disarm him. But he didn’t have his wand raised, nor did he show any indications that he was about to attack. Your guard was up; he was still a Slytherin and fighting for the opposing side.

But he was still a student of the school with a bleeding arm. The rip on his upper sleeve revealed enough of his wound for your body to move on its own without much guidance. You led him to the nearest vacant bed, letting him standby until you got everything you needed from the cabinets.

In the time you were treating the wound, you learned that it took him half the war and a Sectumsempra to the arm (which was originally aimed at his chest; thankfully he was able to dodge it—barely) to realize that he was fighting for the wrong side of the Wizarding War. He was glad he was going to sit out the rest of it and vowed to—and you quote—“Never do stupid shit again.”.

The Dark Mark was still tattooed on his arm, a permanent reminder of decisions that did more harm than good both to him and to the people around him. The tattoo faded over time as the population of evil wizards gradually decreased.

Your brain was hot-wired to never trust a Slytherin. Or at least, it used to be.

Much to your surprise, San did keep his words that night at the infirmary. He spent his years after Hogwarts atoning for all the damage he’d caused, dedicating nearly all his hours into hunting the last of the witches and wizards who still practiced the Dark Arts.

San shifted beside you, leaning against the back of the couch before turning to look at you. He set his mug back down to its coaster before he pressed his palm against your forehead.

“I’m feeling a bit better, don’t worry. I think I’ll be fine by morning.”

“I still don’t get why you let yourself be sick when you can just—” he flicked his wand, “—it away.”

You set your own mug down after taking a sip, only noticing then that he pulled out the matching Hogwarts house coasters. His furrowed expression softened when you held his hand, peeling it off your forehead before sandwiching it between your cold ones.

“I’m trying to experience muggle living,” you answered.

Slytherins normally weren’t the type who liked involving themselves with muggle things, more so with the muggle way of living. But San wasn’t always like other Slytherins. Cheesy, you thought. But it was a fact.

You held his stare when his eyes landed on yours. You knew his mind was brewing some sort of egoistic line or anything short yet clever to say. But you were faster.

“You did well today,” you told him, drawing random shapes and symbols on the back of his palm.

Even after hearing it everyday for the past few years, San’s heart still warmed upon hearing the words leave your lips.

You said it the first time at the infirmary. At first, you were unsure if you were saying it to yourself as he heard you utter it after you patched him up. Later that day, you reassured him that it was meant for him. San, at the time, wasn’t too keen on accepting it. Nothing about what he did that day was worth the praise. But he soon realized you were referring to his decision to right his mistakes instead of staying ignorant.

You haven’t stopped saying it since then. The phrase became more of a part of your routine over time but it still held the same value as the first time you ever said it. You still smiled softly after saying it and you still looked at him fondly like you were genuinely proud of it. San was trained to easily catch whenever people lied—be it in the form of speaking or in acting. But he never found any trace of ingenuity whenever it came to you.

Somehow, that was enough to convince him that he could still make up for mistakes made in the past. It wasn’t too late yet.

You catch the moment the corner of his lips curved up into a smile. One sly finger up, you were ready to—once again—poke the dimple on the side of his mouth.

He hated that. But if he were to be honest, he could never really hate anything you did. One ‘Nox’ and a flick of his wand later, the light on the tip of his wand disappeared—plunging the both of you into complete darkness before your finger could even touch his skin.

“I hate you,” you muttered under your breath, drawing your hand back and crossing them over your chest.

You couldn’t see him clearly in the dark but you could tell the smirk from his tone, “Of course you do.”

#san scenarios #san fluff #san blurbs #ficscafe dpe #ficscafe #san #kwritersworldnet #kpopscape #san x reader #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #san imagines #ok g what else do i tag #toff.writes

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devilsodas · 3 years

Text

pink in the night

words: 1.5k

pairing: hayakawa aki x reader

also on: ao3

a/n: this was actually inspired by the comic in vol 5 where himeno cut aki’s hair lol. concedes with my fic series nighthawks , though you don’t need to read it to understand the story! there is also smoking and allusions to drinking as well. anyways happy late pv release

With the everyday bustle of the city and the common madness that came with your suit and tie, it’s easy to run yourself thin. To worry about tomorrow--if you’d even make it there.

Sometimes the red splatters and invades so much of the ground beneath you that you don’t even notice the roses.

It’s hard to think of the last time you’ve had a break.

And not the mindless train ride you’d always fall asleep on on the way back to headquarters, or sneaking off for a ten minute smoke break ( do candy cigarettes count?) whenever Makima came around with stacks of work to dish out.

But a mindful, unadulterated, break.

With the everyday bustle of the city and the common madness that came with your suit and tie, it’s easy to run yourself thin. To worry about tomorrow--if you’d even make it there.

Sometimes the red splatters and invades so much of the ground beneath you that you don’t even notice the roses.

But now, you could feel the minute breeze waft between your legs without stuffy slacks to obstruct it; indulge in a sweet summer cone you’d never think of buying on a weekday.

Aki strides along beside you, ice cream cone forgone for an unlit cigarette straddled between his fingers. Saturdays are his grocery days--or really, Saturdays are the grocery days you’d usurp. Tagging along only to whine for payment for your selfless endeavors at the end of it.

Though he scoffs at you and complains the whole trek to his apartment, you knew he savored the company; you wouldn’t mind hamming it up a bit if it meant quelling his privately bleeding heart.

The setting sun glazes a wash of pinks and oranges over everything around you; the grocery bags in your hand a light honeysuckle, the round of Aki’s cheeks a deep peach. And the beads of sweat that drip down your arms between you, a misty indigo.

Tokyo summer’s have never been forgiving, the daytime’s heat rousing a constant flush to your cheeks and mildly sunburnt shoulders. There was no way to escape the heat at night either, with a transparent cloud of humidity blanketing the skyline; perspiration gathering on the tail end of your brows the moment you ventured outside.

And with your hair clip forgotten at home, a bubble of oppressive warmth circles your sun stricken neck.You could feel the sweat bead on your nape and darken the color of your shirt.

Beside the quiet flush of his face and neck, your companion seems unbothered by the heatwave; languidly reading his receipt while fishing for the discarded lighter in his pocket.

Neck perfectly cool and hair cleanly gathered together.

“Since you’re a generous friend of mine,” you sang, Aki stops in his tracks at the sound, brows prematurely furrowed. “I bet you wouldn’t hesitate to give your hair tie to a friend in need?”

“You look fine to me.” He doesn’t even glance at you, pressing the button for the crosswalk as his eyes stay trained on the small crumpled paper.

“Did the price go up for the milk?”

You nudge him with your shoe. “Don’t ignore me. Let me borrow your hair tie.” you repeat, groaning. “It’s hot. I’m dying.”

The light flashes green and instead of deigning you with a response, he continues his walk through the street. A drawn out sigh being the only indicator that he heard you at all.

You're sure he’s picking up the pace on purpose as you’re forced into a jog. Though the dying sun is receding into the trees, the heat still lingers in the city streets. A ten second jog making you look like you ran for ten hours.

“It’s hot, so why should I give you mine?” Aki drones.

“I’m doing you a favor. If you keep pulling your hair so tight you’ll be bald before you reach thirty.”

Aki looks at you with a special kind of disgust. The kind where he can’t decide whether to palm his face, pinch your side, or run off screaming his grievances from the past ten years. He doesn’t land on any of them, and instead huffs a breath from deep within his chest; eyes almost rolling off his face. “ Don’t be an ass.”

You ignore him.“We aren’t getting any younger.” You draw out.

Cigarette transferred from hand to mouth, he takes your arm to draw you against him as a cyclist speeds past from where you last stood. The humid air between you now a stifling heat, a slick hand moving to your palm where a plastic ring now lays flat.

“Don’t ruin it, I only have one.” He sighs as you rush to tie your hair. In the time it takes for you to wrap your hair around the band, he fishes out a lighter, lighting his cigarette before taking a puff. The filter burns as brightly as the setting sun behind you.

It grows quiet as you stroll on. Relishing in the fresh breeze that cools your face and cradles your neck while Aki appears to be out of his element, pushing stringy bangs damp with perspiration from his forehead. Smoothing hair to one shoulder or the other in an effort to stay cool. You rarely get the chance to spot him with his hair down, but each time you're left mesmerized by the sight. Hair appearing silky soft at the touch; an onyx chasm against the world that surrounds it. It’s hard to resist the urge to card your fingers through the strands.

Aki slows to a stop as he takes one last drag of the cigarette before stubbing it. In the reflection of the display window in front of you, his inky black hair is almost purple. He studies a strand before flipping it over his shoulder,“ I need to trim this soon.”

He mostly mutters this to himself, but you can’t help but gape in panic. The words tumble out before you give it a second thought.

“Don’t cut your hair!” Your voice is louder than you expected, edged with urgency, and he gives you an incredulous look over his shoulder, “you can’t.”

Aki knits his brows. “ I’m not going to cut it all off.”

You try for a smile at his mildly annoyed stare. “ I know but--you still shouldn’t. Because..,”

Because...

Because the last time you’ve seen him, hair short clipped and neck bare, he was a heart attack waiting to happen. A dead man walking who full heartedly embraced a baneful and bloody end, but paled at the thought of anyone coming with him.

Your memories of highschool are spotty at best--all cut and swallowed with fork and knife--but Aki, there was no way you could forget. A highschooler, a kid, who carried gravestones on his shoulders and practically made himself a ghost to lurk around them. A dog with too much bite, to tear away at the hand that fed him. Short clipped and heart drowning in grief.

But the three years he’s spent in the bureau has allowed him to grow into his own. Aki’s convictions may have hardened, but it’s less of a boy’s silent cry for help and now a young adult forging a path of his own.

Maybe it’s superficial for you to view it this way, but you think this growth is a sign of an eventual new beginning. A new chapter not swallowed by devils and mourning.

A growth in height, character, hair and all.

Aki studies you as you grow quiet, a stray strand of hair lofts from his shoulder to the ends of his eyelash and with a sudden urge you take the inky blot between your fingers and fit it carefully behind his ear, earring catching on your nail as your finger passes.

You don’t know how to phrase these thoughts to him. Maybe you lost the words somewhere along the way. So, instead

“You look pretty with long hair,” you utter. “Don’t cut it. Promise me”

From this distance, you can see his eyes widen a fraction; their almost an oddity in the dim light, cornflower blues a contrast to the rose tint the world is engulfed in. A pool of refreshing water in the sticky heat. You’d stare all day if you could, but he looks away with an exhale of hot air, ambling a few paces ahead. You didn’t even realize you were so close.

“And what should I do when the fox wants a cut of my hair?” He says over his shoulder.

You grin. “ Give him a finger. It’s not like you don’t have ten.”

Aki marches with a huff, but you could still make out the flush that spreads to the tops of his ears.

You think he looks pretty like that, too.

“You promised me!”

Aki groans as he shuts the door behind him, hand now occupying the pass on his neck where hair should be. “ No I didn’t. And if you’re upset, take it out on her.”

He points where Himeno stays crouched on the couch, face akin to a kicked puppy. You’re not having it.

“I was drunk!” She laments. “I said I was sorry! You can even have some of the hair!”

She makes a grab for the sake bottles in your hand, and you shove a discarded pillow in her face. “ I don’t want his hair. And I’m not letting you drink these.” You hiss.

But depriving Himeno of alcohol is like depriving her of oxygen, and she gives a watery whine at the words

“C’mon! What do I have to do to make you forgive me?”

You look at Aki. “I want a finger.”

You’re met with a pillow to the face.

#hayakawa aki #hayakawa aki x reader #aki hayakawa x reader #csm #csm x reader #chainsaw man #writings #love that aki n mc is just: ' I will say I love u in 1000 diff ways but would rather die than say the words

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messedupfan · 3 years

Text

Infinity & Beyond (Wanda Maximoff x Reader) Chapter 4

Summary: This chapter focuses on the journey of the reader during the five years without Wanda.

A/N: Thank you for the likes and reblogs! Hope that you are all enjoying the story.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up a few months later in the Avengers compound once again. This time with your memories intact and feeling unbelievably disappointed. “She found him,” you find yourself saying to whoever was in the room as you involuntarily sit up on the bed. The nurse brushes it off as some weird superhero thing and not something to address. But then you repeat yourself again and again until she alerts Bruce who grabs the attention of the other remaining Avengers.

"What do you think she means?" Natasha questions as you make the statement again.

"Maybe she's talking about Wanda and Vision?" Steve chimes in with a concerned look on his face and his arms crossed over his chest.

"Why would she be talking about Wanda and Vision? Vision was an advanced robot with a stone in his head, he had no soul for Wanda to find. If any of that exists," Bruce points out.

"I don't know then," Steve shrugs. Then you repeat the phrase again. "Maybe it's Wanda and her brother? I don't know, maybe we're too focused on the cloudy eyes thing. We could be thinking about this too hard."

Then Rhodey comes into the room to inform the members that the radar has picked up a signal of an unidentified flying object. He thinks that Carol might be back. "Just say UFO," Natasha rolls her eyes as she follows the guys out of the building. On their way out she spots a worried Pepper Pots and quirks her lips into a reassuring smile. "I think she found him," she says to the woman and leads her to the landing zone of the compound. It's only then that Natasha realizes what you meant. Sure enough, a woman is carrying a ship into the landing zone with Tony Stark and someone named Nebula. Pepper wraps her arms around Tony in tears and relief. He is quickly brought to the medical wing where you remain. Somehow having watched the whole thing from your bed.

When you come out of it the nurse informs you that your eyes had gone cloudy for a moment and you had predicted the return of your father. "He isn't my father," you grouched. Huh, must be another ability, you think to yourself.

Later, after passing a few diagnostic exams with flying colors, you are discharged from your hospital room and are eating across from a very serious Thor as people argue and yell at each other. It was weird to eat actual food. Thor was almost amused watching you figure out how to hold your sandwich.

Tony is then rolled into the room with a furious energy. You can tell that he is really hurting from this loss, that he is frustrated and you can even feel betrayal radiating off of him somehow. Of course, it's not until he's shouting at the Captain that you realize you are feeling his emotions. You were feeling everyone's defeated emotions and it was beginning to suffocate you. As you try to distract yourself with the food, your mind wanders to how overwhelmed Wanda must've felt being able to read people's minds. That leads to the memory of Wanda slipping from you and it's almost too much to handle. You toss the plate in front of you, disrupting the ongoing argument. You’re squeezing your skull as the tears come and you scream for it all to stop. Natasha and Steve fall to your side as they do their best to calm you down. Once the memory leaves you and you've settled, everyone in the room gets serious about finding Thanos.

Nebula is useful as she provides the only lead to finding Thanos and you join them on the spaceship, brushing off everyone's concerns. The talking racoon asks how many of you haven’t been to space before, you raise your hand among the others which seems to be enough to make him laugh. You don't understand why until the ship rushes off to space.

Arriving just outside the planet, a floating woman you hadn't been introduced to yet appears at the front window and is surprised to report that the planet is just Thanos. Along with everyone else, you are heart broken to find out that he had destroyed the stones. You feel for Thor when he says he went for the head and shed another tear for the woman that Thanos had taken from you. It feels like you just lost her all over again.

The first year is the longest. The days feel never ending and drag on. Most nights were spent jolting out of bed in a cold sweat as you're being haunted by memories. It often felt like you were back in the hands of Hydra being electrocuted and injected, spoken to in a language you didn't know, probably German. Everything that was done to you in the time you were captured, everything that your mind had originally suppressed, was attacking you each night. Going through it alone made you miss Wanda even more. So once you could remind yourself that you were safe, you had also been reminded that you were alone. Lots of tears were shed in the night.

After Tony built up enough strength to leave the compound he did but he never stayed gone long. He would return often to attempt to build a relationship with you. It wasn’t easy trying to let him in, the lack of sleep being no help, so you didn’t. Your resistance never stopped him from making the effort to get to know you. Now that he knew you existed, he wanted to be part of your life. Tony knew that you needed family and he was all you had left, even if you didn't want to accept it. He promised to never abandon you ever again.

That didn’t mean he stopped living his life. Within a few months of his recovery, Tony invited you to his surprisingly low-key wedding which you begrudgingly attended with Natasha and Steve. They had been helping you out a lot with coping and figuring out whether or not you wanted Tony in your life. Steve often joked about fighting him again to get him to back off, but you never took the offer. You did your best to enjoy yourself at the wedding but it only reminded you of what you couldn’t have.

You smiled your way through the night as you thought about Wanda.

Her smile, the dress she would’ve worn, her laugh, that look in her eyes that is so full of love and only reserved for you. Your mind went even further back to a time when Pietro was alive and how they would’ve danced together and how happy he would have been for the two of you. You even imagine the wide grin he would have walking Wanda down the aisle and the single tear he would shed. Once he found that ring of yours he was constantly harassing you about when and how you were going to ask his twin. Even giving unwanted advice and ideas. It was all so consuming. That night you fell asleep crying in Natasha’s arms.

Months later, while Tony was visiting you he included you in on a secret. Pepper was pregnant. You didn’t exactly give the most joyous reaction but you were happy for him and Pepper. “When she’s born, promise me you won’t come back here,” you find yourself saying.

“Well I don’t know if she’s a girl yet but… why don’t you want me to come around here?” Tony asks as he returns the ultrasound image to his pocket.

“I want the three of you to be happy. I don’t want you to worry about me. Besides, I’m thinking of asking Nat to start assigning me to missions. I probably won’t be around as much and I really just need to get my mind off of the things I lost and the things I can’t have.” You keep your eyes on the promise ring Wanda had given you on your first anniversary. “But I want you and Pepper to be happy. Enjoy your life Tony. You don’t need to make things right with me to do that.” Tony disagrees but hugs you as he says his goodbyes and you find Natasha for your first assignment.

You are there for the birth of Morgan Stark. You forge her a special necklace from your powers and smile at the little bundle of joy. “Congrats you guys, she is so precious,” you say as you hold the baby.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Pepper says with hooded eyes and a tired smile. You hand the baby back to Tony and leave before thoughts of Wanda could invade and cloud your head. She always wanted a family. She used to fantasize about the kinds of parents the two of you would be. The types of kids you guys would raise. Baby names… Being away allowed you to forget her. But moments like these threatened to tear you down.

More years pass and Natasha is forced to ground you from missions because you have become too mentally unstable and a major liability. Steve drags you to his group therapy sessions but you hardly pay attention or contribute. You just miss Wanda and you allow yourself to feel that pain because running from it has only made it grow. For the most part you spent your time sitting in meetings with Steve or Nat. You preferred being in Natasha’s meetings since they were about mission updates and strategy and not about people crying over first dates. Shortly after that particular meeting Steve began to hint that maybe you should give it a try, you shut him down and turned it around on him. He quickly dropped the subject.

Among that daily schedule you would end your nights curled up on your bed in the room Wanda stayed in while she was waiting for you to come back to her. You would hold some clothes that still smelled like her to your nose as you listened to sad songs. For a while you’re stuck listening to Little Talks wondering if her spirit was lying by your side trying to reach out to you. Some of the things you felt were too painful to keep around and you had them stored at a special place far enough from here. One of them being the old computer. Well, they had been stored away for you but sometimes you convinced yourself that you made the call on your own. Not that Natasha arranged a team to steal most of your belongings.

Tony was generous enough to copy every video and photo file from the computer and put them into your phone. They helped you go to sleep at night.

Then one day, a man you swore had to have been on the vanished list that Nat viewed often, appears at the gate. “Is this old?” Steve asks.

“This is live,” Natasha says. They let him in and the three of you stand around as he explains how he can help. You, Nat, and Steve are skeptical but not so much that you guys don’t have hope it won’t work. Immediately you guys are on the road to find Tony Stark.

Over the years you tried to visit between missions, when you could. Not for Tony but for Morgan. You couldn’t help but fall for the little girl, she was your sister and you wanted to be the best big sister you could be for her. You also wanted to make sure she knew how many people cared for her and that she would always be safe and protected. Natasha was also captivated by her and would sometimes join you on the visits. You girls would play once she was able to run around and you even showed her some of your powers. During this time you finally allowed Tony in and even established a healthy relationship with him and Pepper because whether or not you wanted to accept it, they were your family.

When you arrive at the cabin, Morgan jumps out of Tony’s arms and runs into yours. “Y/N/N!” She shouts happily. You greet her with just as much energy and take her into the house to let them do the talking.

Pepper prepares some drinks and has you take them out to everyone. You re-enter the kitchen to help her with lunch. “Why aren’t you out there with the rest of them?” Pepper asks conversationally.

“Because my powers are connected to my emotions and if your husband says no… I might accidentally blow him into bits and pieces,” you sigh.

Despite herself, Pepper laughs a little. “You know,” she starts. “If you called him dad, he won’t have any other choice than to say yes.”

You shake your head, not this again. “Not going to happen.” Tony hasn’t directly asked you to say it but Pepper has and she keeps bringing up how much it would mean to him to hear you say it. “Besides with what we’re trying to do there’s a chance that he might lose all of this. I’m not even sure if I want him to say yes.” Your gaze lands on Morgan playing with her toys. Pepper follows your gaze and smiles softly.

“Hey Morgan, sweetie?” Pepper calls attention to her daughter who curiously looks up at her mother. “You should go out there and rescue daddy,” Pepper says. The little girl's face lights up as she stands to run to the front door. “Knowing Tony, he will find a way to protect everything he loves and save the world. Even if it kills him,” there is something in the way she says those words that causes the two of you to share a look. A hopeful let’s hope it doesn’t come down to that.

She then gives you a hug and tells you to stop by more often, she wishes you luck, and you leave the warmth of the home to the frowns of your rejected friends. You don’t look at Tony when you bid him goodbye.

Next you find yourself in Bruce’s diner and watch as Scott Lang fails to be recognized as Ant-Man by some kids. Bruce is willing to give the time travel a try and on the day the test run is done, you begin to lose hope again. You eat your taco near a window as you observe Scott set up in the landing zone. You laugh when Nebula and Rocket arrive blowing away his food. You almost can’t believe that is the guy who had access to the closest thing they had to a time machine. Steve walks in smiling at your laugh, you don’t do that often, with Tony barking orders behind him. People get to work on the machine and that pesky flicker of hope is restored.

As you work on things Tony is by your side teaching you about every part you are using and putting together. You just let him rattle on and on as you let yourself fantasize about holding Wanda in your arms again. Before you know it they are doing the first test run with Clint Barton. He disappears and instantly reappears with a baseball glove and a stunned expression. “It works,” he says and that feeling of hope causes your heart to pound in your chest. You are going to see her again. Now to find out when to travel to.

“See you in a minute,” Nat says with contained excitement. She is just as excited to complete this mission as you are. After a lot of thinking and planning they separated into three teams of people. Tony, Steve, Bruce, and Scott leave to 2012 to retrieve the tesseract, scepter, and the time stone. Nat, Clint, Nebula, and Rhodey vanish to 2014 to grab the power stone and the soul stone. The last team is just Thor and Rocket to grab the reality stone that is apparently inside of Thor’s former girlfriend. Tony, Steve, and Nat wouldn’t let you go on the mission because they still think you’re a liability. You argue that Thor isn’t exactly the picture of mental stability but they point out that Thor is the only one on their team that knows Asgard and where that stone is.

So you sit and pout in a chair for the quick minute that everyone is gone. Part of what has you so pissed off is that you didn’t get to experience time traveling. All because of a few bad missions. You watch them disappear and stare at the platform but time seems to drag on and you look down at your phone with a sigh. In that second everyone has returned with their stones and your heart drops. You notice one person missing and frown. “Where’s Nat?” You ask. Clint wears a broken expression and takes a breath before explaining how he received the stone. “Oh,” is all you can come up with.

Clint felt that it should’ve been him and you didn’t disagree but you understood why Natasha sacrificed herself. She confided in you a few times about how she felt like a monster because of what she was forced to do when she was being raised in the Red Room. She even talked about the mandatory hysterectomy and hated that she could never carry kids of her own. You did your best to try and cheer her up by telling her that adoption was always an option. “No agency is going to allow a former assassin to adopt a kid. Trust me… I tried.” She then boasted about Clint and his family, she loved them as if they were her own family. “I’ll deny it if you tell anyone but I cried like a baby the first time his daughter called me aunty Nat,” she got teary eyed and you passed her another shot of vodka.

Natasha missed them so much and you knew she would sacrifice herself to get them back. She wouldn’t have been able to live with herself if his family came back and she had to inform them that he died to save her. She probably would have felt like a bigger monster than she already thought she was. You stood up and left the room to collect yourself and get as far away from everyone’s grief as possible. Natasha had easily become your best friend these past few years. In the past year that you’ve been stuck at the compound there were days when it felt like all you had was each other. You can’t believe she’s gone but you have to hope that there is still a way to bring her back.

Banner finds you later and makes you some food and Rocket sits with you and the rest of the guys sit by the dock to talk. You force the comfort food down despite feeling too sad to eat and notice Nebula walking back into the time machine area. They call you into another room where they’re going to put the stones together but you ignore them and follow Nebula. They let you go, assuming that you’re still upset about losing Natasha. The first time you went on an actual mission with Nebula, you were put off with how serious she was so you came up with random nicknames to call her. She was annoyed initially but eventually she mentioned how funny she thought it was. Her tone had remained emotionless as she told you that and you had to refrain from laughing because it felt rude to do so as she was opening up. Nebula was still a very serious person to be around but she loosened up a bit around you, even called you her friend.

“Hey Neb-Neb!” You called out after her but she ignored you. “Bu-Bu! Hello?” You followed her to the control panel, “Nella, what’s going on with yo–” she cuts you off by wrapping her hand around your throat and speaking to you through gritted teeth. There was definitely something off about Nebula but you couldn’t quite figure it out. So you fought back because you weren’t fighting your friend, you were fighting a stranger. The two of you go hand in hand until she slips out of your hold and goes back to the control panel. You move to stop her but are too late. Next thing you know, you are waking up in rubble.

With a groan you sit up and dust yourself off then quickly panic, you don’t even know if they had time to do the reverse snap. You crawl your way out of the rubble and find Steve, Tony, and Thor speaking in hushed tones. “Did you guys do the snap? What happened?” You ask frantically, you need to know that you’ll be seeing Wanda again. Losing her a third time was simply not an option. Then you see a very alive Thanos just sitting there. That’s when it connects in your head. It was a different Nebula and she was getting a past version of Thanos into this present. “Please tell me you guys did the snap,” you look at Tony and he nods. But the look on everyone's faces told you that they didn’t know if it worked.

You join them as they attack Thanos but he is powerful and not easy to bring down. You’re tossed into another pile of rubble and shake your head, annoyed with yourself because you felt useless. Your powers were failing you and you couldn’t fathom as to why. Out of nowhere you see portals open up one by one, the people that had vanished and the people that hadn’t stepped through each portal. Then an enormous Ant-Man emerges from the ground and drops off a few more people that must’ve been trapped from the destruction of the compound. You gather with the rest of them and really focus to activate your powers as Steve grabs Mjolnir and shouts, “Avengers… Assemble!” Despite the unsuccessful attempt, you still charge along with the rest of them to fight against Thanos’ army.

Without seeing her, you could just sense that Wanda is among the rest and as much as you want a reunion, saving the world takes precedence at the moment. You could practically hear her telling you to go be a hero anyway. As you fight against Thanos’ army, using the hand to hand combat skills Natasha and Steve taught you, a part of you is still distracted and searches for Wanda. Regardless of where you want your focus at the moment. You make your way around the battlefield hoping to knock into her or something so that you don't get yourself killed trying to find her. Then you hear her.

“You took everything from me,” her tone is heavy and her eyes are glowing. You come to the conclusion that she must not know whether or not you are alive. So you don’t let her know and wait to find out what she does.

“I don’t even know who you are,” Thanos responds, angered by the woman's threatening glare.

“You will,” she says before she starts attacking him with her powers. Discreetly killing off a large gathering of Outriders hurtling towards you, you watch Wanda as she comes very close to killing Thanos herself. He calls for the ships to rain fire on everyone and that’s when you finally make yourself present to her. You jump from your spot and land right beside her and create a force field to protect the both of you. Other members are being protected by the sorcerers and it isn’t until Captain Marvel comes flying through that the bullets stop coming down and people are trying to get the gauntlet out of there. You turn towards Wanda and feel her mixed emotions, you wink at her with a smile as you let the barrier go.

“It’s time to be a hero right now, love. We can say hello later,” you tell her before you go back into the fight, the adrenaline rushing through you as your powers have finally activated. Each member does their best to keep the gauntlet out of Thanos’ reach but sadly no one succeeds and he holds the extreme amount of power once again. Carol fights him with as much power as she has to keep him from snapping his fingers but eventually gets tossed aside. You step up next using everything that you have inside of you, using abilities you had no idea you even possessed. But in the end you are tossed onto a metal rod that had been protruding out from the destroyed building. It had stabbed you through your side making it difficult to breathe. As you fight for air you look around to watch Thanos and his army disappear. Tony collapses beside you. “No,” you cough out weakly. You reach out for him and luckily he was close enough for you to touch his shoulder. “Tony,” you gasp as the tears sting your eyes. His eyes follow the sound but you can tell that he’s not actually looking at you.

“Mr. Stark, we won. Mr. Stark,” Peter says as he tries to grab Tony’s attention. Rhodey lands beside his best friend with understanding and sadness in his eyes. Yours tighten shut for a moment as your tears start to fall. You want to wake up from this horrible nightmare but this is reality, a piece of you knew that you couldn’t avoid. Then Pepper arrives and pulls the boy in the spider suit away from her husband. You look up and see that he has finally returned somewhat enough to recognize his wife.

She tells him that he can rest now, then she looks over to you so that you know that now is the time to say something so you don’t regret it later. With a weak grip on his shoulder you nudge him to return his attention to you. It looks like he’s trying to smile at you but is obviously far too weak to do as such. You offer him the best one that you could muster in your current state. “I love you, dad. It’s okay, we’ll be okay,” your hand lands in his and he gives it the lightest squeeze before it falls limp.

Wanda makes her way over to you and panics at the amount of blood you’ve lost but at the moment you don’t feel anything. Not even the pain of losing your father. You just feel… numb. It dawns on you that your body must be failing but that doesn’t scare you. She takes your hand as your loud thoughts of just letting go enter her mind. “No,” she starts through frustrated teeth. “You can’t leave, Y/N. Please, keep fighting. This can’t be our ending. I need you, please don’t leave me,” she sounds so broken but equally determined to keep you alive. As you hold her gaze she lets out a broken sob and tenderly whispers, “I love you to infinity.” She continues to beg, depositing small kisses to the back of your hand. As her words sink in, you find the strength that you need to fight off the thoughts of letting go. Then, with your heightened vision, you look around and find every remaining Avenger kneeling out of respect for your father and you have the urge to join them. You struggle to get up from your position, Pepper and Wanda try to stop you from moving but all rational thought has left you.

“I’m not dying right here,” you grumble as you reach behind you and cut the rod. You shift your position and Pepper sprays your wound to close it around the remaining bits of the rod that was still in you so that the bleeding would stop until you could get it properly treated. Then you kneel for your father to show your respect for him in his death that you failed to show while he was alive. You think about how grateful you were for the last five years and how much you appreciated that he never gave up on you. You silently thank him just as the adrenaline leaves your body and it succumbs to the full extent of your injuries causing you to collapse and pass out.

Chapter 5

#wanda maximoff imagine #wanda marvel #wanda x fem!reader #wanda x you #the scarlet witch #wanda mcu #wanda x y/n #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #fanfic fanfiction #fanfic #mcu #marvel

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Text

Therefore I Am | Russell Adler x Bell! Reader VII

Series: Call of Duty: Black Ops Cold War

Therefore I Am | Russell Adler x Bell! Reader

Chapter VII

Word Count: 6700

[Chapter VI] [Chapter VIII]

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

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

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

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

September, 1983

CIA Safehouse, West Berlin

“We’ve got a job to do.”

It was like a switch.

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

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

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

And yet, Vietnam looked so beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You walked in.

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

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

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

You peeled them away.

You needed to understand.

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

"Their heart rate is spiking."

"Hang in there Bell."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I want you to—"

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

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

"But, I thought–"

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

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

"We've got a job to do."

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

"Let's skip ahead."

They froze.

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

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

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

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

"Of course."

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

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

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

"Kuzmin…"

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

"Bell?"

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

"Shi—!"

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

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

You couldn't respond.

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

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You ought to watch your mouth, mutt."

"Is that how you talk to your superior?"

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

"If he isn't a nuisance."

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

"I'll get my team—"

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

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

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

"Do you have any preferred methods in mind?"

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

"When do I start?"

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

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

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

It felt more like a threat.

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

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

“He'll lie to you.”

You woke up gasping for air.

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

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

Where were you again?

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

"Bell?"

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

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

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

You failed him.

"Genera—"

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

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

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

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

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

"I can't…"

"Deep breaths Bell. Just copy me."

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

Why was he so good at this?

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

Why?

He tried to kill you.

And you were supposed to kill him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ready to talk?”

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

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

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

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

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

"What's the plan for it?"

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

"Spit it out."

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

"As in… kill me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hands you your Walkman.

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

"Anything on the news about the bar?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s a small price to pay.

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

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

“Mind if I join you?”

Speak of the devil.

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

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

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

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

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

"Damn it."

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

“I’m not avoiding you—”

“Then why are you up here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who would that be?"

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

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

"Lieutenant Colonel, huh? That's a high ranking for someone at your age."

"I'm serious, Adler."

Underneath everything, you could feel your old cold-hearted self resurface whenever you held a gun. It kept you on edge, like a snake just waiting patiently for its time to strike. Nowadays you only kill when it's necessary, but Nikitin's provocation brought out that nature Adler and Park had tried to suppress. Adler's power and hold on you was faltering as you both now saw eye to eye, he could only do so much to keep your deviant behavior in check, and you were afraid of losing yourself.

His leniency only added onto the anxiety— letting your guard down was the last thing you would do if you were in his stead. "After Cuba, when you put me under interrogation… I heard Perseus. He was saying to not trust you. It didn't occur to me until now but… How would he know about you? I thought it was just my subconscious telling me about the truth, but it was more than that."

"I'm sure it's nothing."

"It's anything but nothing!" you yell. "How can you say that?! I spent so long telling myself to trust no one but myself, but even now I can’t do that now. How the hell am I supposed to keep moving forward if there's a chance—"

“Take a look around, Bell," Adler cuts you off. "You're here in West Berlin, surrounded by the best CIA operatives. Woods, Mason, Lazar, Sims, Hudson. If something were to happen, we got you covered. Hudson and I didn't go through the effort of having you back on this team for nothing."

“Even so—”

"Even so, if you're so concerned, and you shouldn't be, I already lived long enough to make a few enemies, Stitch being one of them. Having a target on your back isn’t fun, but it’s what makes the job a bit more thrilling in its own twisted way.

“I’ve worked with you long enough. You have your struggles, but you snap back at every opportunity you get, and you sure as hell won’t go down without a fight. If I were you, doubting myself is the last thing I would do. That’s basically letting Perseus get in your head, and I wouldn’t want to give him that sad excuse of a victory.”

You weren’t just a machine made to follow orders, Adler knew. Comparing the person who you were today, to the one he knew back in 1981, it was like flipping a coin. On one side was the once reserved and obedient agent he invented, the person he tried to distance himself from getting too attached; the other was the you of today. The temperamental, smart-mouthed individual who was struggling to set free from the chains that tied you back, trying their hardest to search for yourself. Yet, you managed to put everything else first before yourself, and he needed you to recognize that you were important too.

“What I said that morning still stands, and always will.”

There was the fuzzy feel again.

You were always quick to judge how people might react. It was always better that way, to prepare yourself for the worse when it actually occurred, but it brought more harm than needed.

Fighting off lingering predispositions, you yielded to his persuasion, bobbing your head once. Bringing your legs up to your chest, you hugged them as the breeze began to pick up. It was unusual: you just needed someone to reassure you, and with it, it felt like everything would be fine. Even if it was temporary. "...Okay."

You feel something drape over your shoulders shortly after, with the familiar smell of cologne and ash.

"Don't want to get sick again," Adler states. Without his jacket, the black dress shirt he wore underneath hugged his form tightly. Memories from September's mission flashed within the back of your mind, the image of you tugging at his shirt to dress his wound as he laid unconscious. For someone his age, he was well built.

You avert your eyes, pull the edges of the jacket closer. Those types of details about people never fascinated you before until now. "...You mentioned your ex-wife a couple times before. Was she beautiful?"

"Mhm. Of course she was." He leans back onto his hands, gazing up at the sky as he reminisced about his past woman. "But, she's an ex for a reason, so let's not tread there."

"Why not?"

"Isn't it obvious? I have you now."

Your heart practically jumped out. This charismatic asshole. "You don't mean that."

"I do."

"You can't."

Why were you so scared? Just the thought of someone loving you felt almost unearthly. The emotional baggage you carried was already enough, so to hear that someone was willing to take the time to help guide you through it, and lend a listening ear was too good to be true.

You could feel his blue irises piercing you underneath those shades. "Why not?"

"You can find better."

"I did. And they're sitting right here."

Adler wouldn't let you go. And it hurt. God must have had a fun time writing out your life story, making two people who, at one point, were at each other's throats now fall for one another.

Stop fighting it.

It was something you kept denying, but with each passing day working alongside Adler, it became harder and harder to bury underneath. That man just strives to succeed in his goal, no matter what the cost, and if the goal this time was to get close to you, and break every wall you had put up in his direction, then he had succeeded.

"You must think you're real slick, huh?" you mumble under your breath.

Caving in, you rest your head in his lap, staring up at his faintly glowing face lit up by the outside lights of the safehouse. Adler stiffens at the gesture, caught by your sudden affection, before easing up. He places a hand on your cheek, and you lean into it, giving out a soft sigh as you closed your eyes, feeling the warmth spread. You couldn't avoid it anymore, small tears brimming at the corners of your eyes.

K̴̦͍͑̀̚i̵̡̺̝͋̔͠l̴̝͎͕͒͋̕l̸͇͇̽͘͝.

Kiss him.

It was something new. The intimacy and the casualty of it. Something like this wasn't comparable to the parental love you had when you were younger— It was a new experience, something of its own existence, and you couldn't help but adore it.

A stillness found itself between the both of you. The awkwardness that would have followed never came. Adler pondered to himself for a moment. You could see his Adam's apple move underneath the stubble as he wondered what to say next.

"If it makes you feel better… Here."

He adjusts his weight slightly, shoving a hand into the collar of his shirt and pulling out something metal from underneath. Adler dangles his dog tags above you, waiting for you to hold your hand out. When you do, he lowers it gently.

You didn't even know he wore them. The tags were a bit rusted, dirt and dark spots situating itself into the little imprints of lettering and edges. Your thumb brushes over the protruding words, reading them. His name, blood type…

Did he want you to keep this?

Adler notices your complex expression as you gazed up at him. "What? Is there something on my face?"

"No…" You grip the tags in your hands, afraid to let them go. Adler was out of his mind— for giving you a sentimental object like this, and for believing in you. But… If that's what he wanted, then you will respect his wishes. "Just thinking how I haven't seen you smoke for a while."

“Just trying to kick the habit,” he discloses.

You roll your eyes. “Knowing you, it goes way deeper than that.”

He smirks slightly to himself. There really was no use hiding things from you. “Just thought it would be rude to do it around you, seeing how you reacted that morning.”

"Am I supposed to thank you for that?"

"Hey, I'm just helping you live longer."

"I don't die that easily."

He returns a small grin. "I know."

Whenever it was just the two of you, it felt like you were on cloud nine. With the walls gone, you found yourself falling heads over heels once again. It was such a complicated thing, and yet you felt more relaxed and stable, knowing that you didn't have to spend any more energy just being apprehensive.

"What're you listening to now?" Adler asks softly, and you take an earbud out, holding it out to him.

To be able to spend a moment like this with him was something you never imagined doing in your lifetime. Much or less, falling in love with a person like him. You had spent endless days counting bodies and shooting guns since you were young, to a point it had hardened you emotionally. Climbing up the ranking ladder was a challenge on its own, as not everyone was keen on having a younger soldier commandeering their lives. There was no time to maintain deep relationships then; you were too busy for that.

But after meeting Adler, you felt more… Humanized. He was like your bridge to stability. One look at him and a wave of calmness would wash over you.

Was this what Mason meant about Hudson and Woods keeping him grounded to reality?

Now it was just you two sitting on a roof in private, with one earbud in your ear, the other in his, just listening to Dreams by Fleetwood Mac. Adler was humming to the lyrics.

"Russell?" you call.

"Hm?" He tilts his head downward, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. His striking blue eyes meet yours. He notices the corners of your mouth were upturned slightly into a small smile. The look in your eyes was something he wouldn't forget— filled with a new light, mixed with an unyielding devotion.

“Do you really trust me?”

There wasn't a trickle of doubt in his mind.

“With my life.”

#the next chapter there's going to be a fat timeskip #russell adler x reader #adler x reader #russell adler x bell #cod black ops cold war #black ops cold war #call of duty #call of duty x reader #bo:cw #text #fanfic #bell #russell adler #abcd briefing #call of duty imagine #these chapters are getting shorter and shorter again OTL #ahh i gotta stop lingering on chapters for too long or else they start to get cringey to read

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