#it's not normal sustaining yourself with one or two small meals

[mynameisbillandimaheadcase]

Cw

[diejager]

if you’re still writing for the monster 141, what about a bay hybrid reader, who is just on the edges on going into hibernation because the base is in a colder area/remote snowy location

I’m gonna assume you mean bear?

Cw: bear hybrid!readr, hibernation, binge eating, hoarding, tell me if I missed any.

Winter was creeping closer and closer by each day, your instinctual need to sleep away the cold calling to you louder than the prior days. There was a bone-deep exhaustion that clung to you, the heaviness that cold weather brought to you was a constant and nagging feeling that urged you deeper in the nest you’d built yourself in your dark room. Your curtains drawn, lights often closed and locks installed, you’d spent the weeks preparing, hoarding soft pillows, thick blankets and clothes from people you were familiar with. 

They were surprised when you brought it up, blinking tiredly and occasionally yawning in the afternoon, stumbling between everyone’s rooms with a small plea on the tip of your tongue. You took whatever they were willing to give you: a blanket from Price and Rudolfo, a shirt from König and Gaz, a jacket from Ghost and Horangi, and a pillow from Soap and Alejandro. As long as it smelled like them, a lingering reminder that you weren’t alone in your humid room, their musk grounding and safety. You wouldn’t be alone.

Price had known you were - like most bears - prone to hibernation, taking between one to three month of your year sleeping away the cold, sinking into your mountain of fabric and sleeping off the coldest months. Your time depended on the year, the warmer it was, the less you slept, and the colder it was, the longer you slept. It might’ve been a bother in people’s eyes - humans - but it was instinctual, a primal part of your brain that still clung to your ancestors who strayed from the path of being normal bears. You couldn’t ignore the pull, the call to sleep, it wasn’t possible for a bear like you, and you were fortunate to have such accommodating teammates.

You grew hungrier, your stomach becoming an endless pit, an abyss that kept taking dish after dish, stocking up in fat and calories that you’d burn during your sleep, keeping you sustained and alive without having to wake up. You ate whatever you that was within your reach, the cold bread, the warm milk, the leftover of two days ago or Soap’s surprisingly good cooking, nothing was safe when you were a big and grumpy and hungry bear near hibernation. Ever supportive and helpful, Soap and Alejandro would jump in to cook for you, hooking Gaz and Rudolfo into being their sous-chef whenever they were free. It was the delicious scent of home cooked and warm meals that brought you to the kitchen, if it wasn’t a call for fixing up someone, it was the smell of good food. 

You were ravenous, gulping down the many, many plates the duo - occasionally quartet - placed on the table, their chests puffed up pridefully at your quick eating, you were practically breathing them in. Your constant eating helped you pack some weight, your skin stretched to accommodate your growing amount of fat that would ultimately burn over the months. And when the day came, you were low on energy, grumpy and easy to anger, your patience running paper thin, bidding your goodbyes and see you soon, wrapping your arms around them and teasing them about missing you during your lockdown. 

You’d sleep through the cold winter months and wake up to a warmer and busier time, to a welcoming and excited team that had spent the better half of winter waiting impatiently for the TF’s medic to wake up.

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[blushcoloreddreams]

My favorite ways to relax after exam season

1. A long shower / bath - after a few days of late nights because of studying, worrying about the tests themselves or both I crave the hot water on my body. This is the moment I go all out, use my favorite soaps, body scrubs, shampoo, hair mask and sometimes even a nice candle too and then treating myself to a good lotion, perfume and pretty pajamas after a long week or two this feels almost magical. Maybe it’s just in my head but I really feel like I cleansed myself of all the stress and I feel a thousand times lighter without the weight on my shoulders.

2. Getting myself a little treat - you don’t need to break the bank for it, no just getting some nice food (I personally have 0 energy to cook something nice after that) and something small like a new book or a new hair accessories is enough to reward yourself for your hard work

3. Do a longer call with my friends - During these times it’s normal that our priorities are not on socializing and moments with family and friends become more rushed. I love to call them just to talk about little things in life and another day (as I said before, I’m usually exhausted after so usually I’d rather stay home with cozy blankets and go after another day)

4. Clean my apartment - a clean house brings me peace of mind, a deep clean after a long week brings a sense of renewal just like the first item. If you feel super tired it’s okay, you don’t need to do it right after. Sometimes the first thing that I do is clean the table that has an array of study materials over it and then I’ll start cleaning up gradually for the next days or I’ll take one or two to just rest and then do a deep clean.

5. Start a new book - it is a great feeling to be able to do the things you love (reading or not) without the feeling of something really important you´ll need to get back soon quickly and i feel the days i get to have a more relaxed routine as the perfect opportunity to open a book and encounter a new adventure or learn about something i have been curious for a while

6. Trying out a new recipe - I specially love cooking when i don´t have a restricted time to be in the kitchen and i can go beyond my staple meals. It´s not about taking forever or being lazy, no it´s about being able to explore something new and possibly more time consuming without rush. Taking time to explore new ingredients will always bring me joy either baking some treats or having a delicious homecooked meal the flavors and the little pride in making something good (specially when you share it with your loved ones) is unmatched

7. Take some extra time to take care myself - I think most of us heard Rory Gilmore’s “who cares if I’m pretty if I fail my finals” before but long term thinking like this is not sustainable. Yes, i´m not going to do my most elaborate makeup, hair treatment or spend hours at the gym during this week (that is different than letting yourself look completely unpresentable) but being happy with what we see in the mirror is really important for our selfesteem and how we present to each other. So one of the things i like to do the following days is getting my eyebrows threaded, my nails done and exercising more often

8. Going to church - time with God will always bring me peace of mind and remind myself of what really matters in this world. Take this opportunity to thank him for the blessings and opportunities you have

[pangolinheart]

FFXIVWrite 2023 DAY 19 - WEAL (AKA THE GLEANER AND THE FROG PART 2)(MAKE-UP)

The continued adventures of Erenville and F'rhiki (Frog Rhiki).

(No one asked for this, but it's all I could come up with for "weal", as in "a sound, healthy, or prosperous state; well-being". Please enjoy Erenville's attempts to create an environment for his frog-ified friend.)

Rating: General Genre: Fluff, nonsense Characters: Erenville, Warrior of Light (Z'rhiki Irhi) Word Count: 1,334 Content Warnings: None

“There, it is finished.” Erenville said as he gently placed the frog (the Warrior of Light, he had to remind himself) into the habitat he had assembled. The substrate he had managed to source on short notice wasn’t ideal, but it was serviceable. There was a driftwood hide, a shallow dish full of water, ledges and sticks for climbing, various small plants to add interest to the space, and a warming lamp overhead that could be adjusted for optimal brightness and temperature. He was a bit unsure which of these things a frog possessed of a humanoid consciousness would need, so he had procured them all for good measure.

The Warrior of Light looked around the tank, then back to him. She cocked her head.

“I will admit, it is likely quite different from the accommodations you are accustomed to,” he explained, “but this is the sort of environment that is recommended for keeping frogs of your type in domestic or research settings. It has all of the things you will need for the night: soft, damp soil, water, and a place to sleep. I… included some things to climb, in case you become bored, but I must confess, I am unsure what other elements would be beneficial for entertainment purposes. Normal frogs do not require much enrichment, but your mind is a great deal more complex than that of a typical frog. It is possible you will become bored.”

He eyed the frog knowingly. “And your other friends have led me to believe that you are inclined to cause trouble when you are bored. In this, I must ask for your patience. You need only endure for a few short hours. Do you understand? Croak one time for yes, two times for no.” He had elected to adopt Alisaie’s approach for rudimentary communication.

The frog croaked, though shuffled about in the substrate rather dejectedly.

“Good. Now, you must be hungry.” This was the part he had been dreading. He sighed, and plucked up a cricket from a dish in his hand with a small set of tongs, holding it up for her to see. While he imagined many parts of being a frog would be uncomfortable and perhaps demeaning for someone used to a humanoid form, eating insects and mealworms seemed like one of the more difficult adjustments. He did his best to look regretful as he lowered her meal into the tank. “Now, I know you may not find the idea of eating vilekin appealing, but you will need to sustain yourself until a solution is found, and your stomach is not adapted to digest the food you are used to. I may be able to find you some nutritional pellets given time, but in the short term this is the best I can- oh. You are already eating it. That is well, then.” He wasn’t sure whether or not he should be perturbed by her complete lack of hesitation, but he reasoned that there were places in the world where insects and other vilekin were eaten as an alternative source of protein. Or perhaps she was simply very hungry. Either way, it made his evening easier than he had anticipated. He dropped a few more crickets into her enclosure before explaining:

“Now, I am going to eat my own dinner, do some paperwork, and go to bed. In the morning, we can decide what we will do with you during the day.”

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

Erenville squinted at the scribbles on the page, tapping the tip of his quill on the ink blotter beside him. “I cannot read this Archon’s handwriting,” He complained to the spectating frog.

There was only so much surface space in the room, so the tank he had procured now took up a sizable portion of his writing desk. She had watched as he sat down with his various request forms and maps to chart the course of his next excursion. He had not anticipated that he would become so self-conscious with her observing him. There was no reason for the feeling; he was merely filling out itineraries and budgets and she was, well, a frog. But the discomfort persisted, so he had taken to idly commenting on his work to her to both ease the discomfort and entertain her.

He picked up the form with his free hand and held it in front of the tank for her to see. “What do you think this is supposed to say?”

“Ribbit.”

“As I thought,” he said, pulling the paper away and setting it back on the desk. “Totally illegible.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Warrior of Light nod in agreement.

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

He was awoken in the morning by the chiming of the small clock at his bedside and the first traces of dawn trickling in past the partially drawn curtain. He sat up, groggily, and reached over to silence the bells. After staring blearily ahead for a minute or two, he rubbed the rest of the sleep out of his eyes and stood up to begin his morning routine.

This familiar ritual eventually led him to the tiny kitchenette, where he set about making himself some morning tea. He plucked up the kettle he had left on the countertop the night before, popped open the lid, and began filling it with water…

And almost dropped it when the kettle croaked loudly and jolted in his hands. Startled, he fumbled the teapot and sent the small amount of water within it sloshing. When he regained a steady grip, he peered inside to see his new friend staring up at him, affronted, skin glistening with moisture.

“What…?” It took his tired thoughts a few seconds to catch up to him, and when they did he found himself both bewildered and annoyed. He reached into the kettle and scooped the Warrior of Light out of it. He held her up to examine her. “How did you find yourself in my teapot? And, if I may add, why?” The frog squeaked, but he found  he was unable to interpret an answer. From the evidence, he could only surmise that at some point in the night she must have escaped her habitat, hopped into the kitchenette, climbed up onto the countertop, and then climbed or leapt into the kettle. Presumably, the jostling of the frog inside it had caused the lid to fall closed, trapping her.

He narrowed his eyes at her, but he couldn’t tell if there was any contrition in her frog-y expression. “You are lucky I did not accidentally boil you alive, my friend.” He scolded as he turned back towards the writing desk.

As he drew close enough to see it, he stopped and groaned. In the light of the growing sunrise, he could see the branch she had used to climb out of the tank…which had evidently been positioned directly over where his inkwell had been sitting, because it appeared she had knocked it over in her escape. The papers and maps on his desk were now covered in black frog-prints from where she had explored. It appeared from the tracks that she had gone back and forth a few times, though whether it was in an effort to locate something, to clear the ink from her feet, or to make some sort or abstract artwork he wasn’t sure. From there, she had jumped to the floor, and had also knocked over the small wastepaper basket beside the desk for good measure. It looked as if she had rifled through its contents, though he couldn’t fathom why she would do so. Scraps of paper and other detritus were strewn about the foot of his desk.

He stared at the mess, then back down at the frog squirming in his hands. “I see you found yourself bored in the night.” He observed, deadpan. He was silent for a moment, then heaved a sigh. “Well, I suppose leaving you alone here during the day is not an option.”

[jerryantiques]

All-transactions House Worth Index For Model Spanking New Jersey Njsthpi St Louis Fed

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For example, you possibly can count on to see furniture, electronics, clothing, home equipment, linens, dishes, instruments and many other widespread home items at each sale. You haven't got access to a big customer base and do not know the method to convey tons of of consumers to your sale every single day ... Depending on the size of the estate, the sale is usually a one, two and even three day occasion. I would go air tags, however because of privateness issues, air tags can't do is sharing since they are locked to the people AppleID.

[paatmccashin]

How to Transition to a Whole Plant-Based Diet

Introduction

Are you tired of the same old carnivorous diet and looking to make a healthier, more compassionate choice? Transitioning to a whole plant-based diet might be just what you need. By eliminating animal products and focusing on nutritious fruits, vegetables, grains, and legumes, you can experience a wide range of health benefits and become part of a growing movement to protect animals and the environment.

The journey from carnivore to herbivore may seem challenging at first, but with the right strategies and guidance, it can be a smooth transition. In this article, we will explore the steps you can take to adopt a whole plant-based diet and thrive on this new lifestyle. From finding plant-based protein sources to creating delicious and satisfying meals, we will cover everything you need to know.

Steps to Transition to a Plant-Based Diet

Transitioning to a plant-based diet is a personal journey, and there is no one-size-fits-all approach. However, the following steps can guide you towards a successful transition:

1. Educate yourself. Take the time to learn about plant-based nutrition, meal planning, and cooking techniques. This knowledge will empower you to make informed choices and create delicious plant-based meals.

2. Start with small changes. Begin by incorporating more plant-based meals into your existing diet. Replace one or two meat-based meals per week with plant-based alternatives. Gradually increase the number of plant-based meals as you become more comfortable.

3. Experiment with new foods. Discover the wide variety of fruits, vegetables, grains, and legumes available. Try new recipes, explore different cuisines, and experiment with plant-based substitutes for familiar dishes.

4. Find support and community. Connect with like-minded individuals who are also transitioning to a plant-based diet. Join online communities, attend plant-based events, or participate in cooking classes. Having support can make the transition easier and more enjoyable.

5. Be patient and kind to yourself. Transitioning to a plant-based diet is a process. It's normal to have setbacks or moments of craving certain foods. Be patient with yourself, focus on progress rather than perfection, and celebrate small victories along the way.

By following these steps, you can gradually transition to a plant-based diet and discover a whole new world of flavors and possibilities.

Building a Balanced Plant-Based Meal Plan

Creating a well-balanced plant-based meal plan ensures you're getting all the necessary nutrients for optimal health. Here are some tips to help you build a balanced plant-based meal plan:

1. Include a variety of fruits and vegetables. Aim to fill half your plate with colorful fruits and vegetables. These provide essential vitamins, minerals, and antioxidants.

2. Incorporate whole grains. Choose whole grains such as quinoa, brown rice, whole wheat bread, and oats. These provide fiber, complex carbohydrates, and essential nutrients.

3. Don't forget about legumes. Legumes such as lentils, chickpeas, black beans, and tofu are excellent sources of plant-based protein, fiber, and iron. Try to include them in your meals regularly.

4. Add healthy fats. Include sources of healthy fats such as avocados, nuts, seeds, and olive oil. These provide essential fatty acids and help with nutrient absorption.

5. Balance your macronutrients. Aim to have a balance of carbohydrates, proteins, and fats in each meal. This helps provide sustained energy and keeps you feeling satisfied.

By incorporating these guidelines into your meal planning, you can create balanced plant-based meals that nourish your body and support your health goals.

Essential Nutrients to Focus on in a Plant-Based Diet

While a well-planned plant-based diet can provide all the necessary nutrients, there are a few key nutrients that require extra attention:

1. Vitamin B12. Vitamin B12 is primarily found in animal products, so it's important for plant-based individuals to consider supplementation or consume fortified foods such as plant-based milk, breakfast cereals, and nutritional yeast.

2. Iron. Plant-based sources of iron include lentils, beans, tofu, spinach, and fortified cereals. Consuming vitamin C-rich foods, such as citrus fruits or bell peppers, alongside iron-rich foods can enhance iron absorption.

3. Calcium. Calcium-rich plant-based foods include leafy greens, fortified plant-based milk, tofu, and sesame seeds. It's important to ensure you're meeting your calcium needs through food or supplementation.

4. Omega-3 fatty acids. Plant-based sources of omega-3 fatty acids include flaxseeds, chia seeds, walnuts, and hemp seeds. Consider incorporating these foods into your diet or supplementing with algae-based omega-3 supplements.

By paying attention to these essential nutrients, you can ensure you're meeting your nutritional needs while following a plant-based diet.

Conclusion:

Remember to start with small changes, experiment with new foods, and seek support from like-minded individuals. Building a balanced plant-based meal plan and ensuring adequate intake of essential nutrients will help you thrive on this new lifestyle. Don't forget to explore plant-based substitutes for meat and dairy products, and enjoy the wide variety of plant-based recipes and meal ideas.

[sanjosenewshq]

Earth Motion: Recycle Sweet Wrappers

To honor Earth Day’s 52 years of environmental motion, Earth911 is presenting 52 Actions for the Earth. Every week by Earth Day 2023, we are going to share an motion you’ll be able to take to spend money on the Earth and make your individual life extra sustainable. Even in case you don’t have a candy tooth, you in all probability bask in a couple of items of Halloween sweet annually. However all these little sweet wrappers add as much as a scary waste drawback. This week, you’ll be able to spend money on the Earth by recycling Halloween sweet wrappers. Motion: Recycle Wrappers Wrapper Waste There’s quite a bit to like about Halloween, and sweet lands close to the highest of the listing for lots of people. However Halloween sweet poses a quandary for moral shoppers. You don’t wish to be a part of the issue of childhood weight problems in America or world youngster slavery on cacao plantations. You possibly can provide trick-or-treaters more healthy and extra sustainable snacks, and even some enjoyable options to meals, however utterly avoiding individually wrapped, fun-sized candies in October is fairly exhausting; Individuals purchase 300,000 tons of sweet and 90 million kilos of chocolate simply throughout Halloween week. Recycling Dilemma You’re going to must cope with some sweet wrappers in October. However you’ll be able to’t put sweet wrappers within the recycle bin. These little plastic wrappers normally comprise a number of supplies, which makes their restoration tough and costly. Recycling can also be difficult by the truth that particular person sweet wrappers are a low-volume product, which provides to the technical and financial challenges of assortment and recycling. Sadly, their small measurement additionally makes them extra more likely to escape the waste stream and find yourself within the ocean as plastic air pollution. Even paper cartons like those containing Nerds and Milk Duds might not be recyclable both. Lots of them are plastic-coated. Vacation Alternative It’s not cost-effective to separate the odd KitKat wrapper all year long from the recycling stream, however the sheer numbers of Halloween sweet wrappers make it attainable to bundle them. There are two mail-in recycling applications that settle for source-separated sweet wrappers. TerraCycle presents each pay as you go bins and pouches. The bins are available three sizes (the smallest is 11″ x 11″ x 20″) with costs starting from $86 to $218. The pouches are 7.5″ x 10.5″ and price $43. Rubicon’s Trick or Trash bins are the identical measurement as a small TerraCycle field and price $100 for particular person buy. Neither firm’s possibility is reasonable, however they do higher mirror the true value of the sweet we devour. Neighbors could wish to pool their sources to share a field. Luckily, Rubicon presents an possibility that doesn’t put the burden of disposal prices on particular person households. They provide their bins at no cost to varsities, group organizations, and companies that wish to function assortment factors. Mother or father teams might manage a post-holiday wrapper assortment at college, or retailers that take part in neighborhood trick-or-treat applications might select to be a part of the answer free of charge. Act quick to obtain your field in time for Halloween, and if the system works for you, take into account repeating it at Easter – the one vacation that consumes extra sweet than Halloween. Originally published at San Jose News HQ

[demonslayedher]

How Does Eating Humans Work?

Hello, Gotou here. We’re shamelessly borrowing from the format of a KnY Fanbook #2 comic to launch an investigation into demon metabolism and development by crossing the Sanzu River again to interview demons in the underworld. While we’ll be using canon materials as a base, the analysis and conjecture herein is personal, so we ask for your understanding. Also, please note that consuming any food in the underworld will make you unable to return, and we cannot promise your safety even though the interview subjects are dead, so please come along at your own risk.

Some of the questions we’d like to answer are, why do demons need to eat humans? How much do they need to eat to survive? Are there factors that influence how eating humans makes them stronger? If they don’t want to kill humans, what are their other options? We’ve rounded up some special guests below the cut (hidden for length and grossness), everyone from the lowly Temple Demon to the lovely Tamayo, to see what their actions in canon might tell us.

First, a review of what canon tells us, mostly as summarized in Fanbook #2: 1. With one exception named Yushirou, all demons were created by Kibutsuji Muzan, for his own purposes. They all have some amount of his blood, and can be divided into four classes depending on how powerful they are. From top to bottom, the Upper Moons, the Lower Moons, demons with special abilities, and other demons without any special characteristics. 2. Demons may be stronger depending on how much of Kibutsuji Muzan’s blood they have. Most beings’ cannot handle a large amount of his blood, and it will rupture the cells and that being will die, but there are demons who adapt well to it. 3. Typically, sunlight is the only way to kill a demon, by either bathing them in sunlight or cutting of their head with a Nichirin blade. However, there are powerful demons for whom chopping off their head does not work, and if it’s strong enough, demons can also be killed by wisteria poison.

4. Demons eat human blood and flesh. The more they eat, the stronger they become, and the faster their regenerative abilities become. Some humans have “Marechi,” a rare blood type, which is especially nutritious to demons, and eating one Marechi is the equivalent of eating several humans.

That’s an interesting thing we’d like to come back to, especially since we’re looking for quantitative information about how demons gain nutrition (though I have my doubts we'll get enough for statistical analysis). As an interesting note, Fanbook #2 also tells us that if demons try to consume the same edibles humans do, they’ll vomit it back up.

I’m told that Miss Tamayo drinks tea, though. That’ll be an interesting question for later. In my notes, it seems she’s also explained to Tanjirou back in Chapter 15 that demons will normally go berserk if they go a long time without consuming any blood or flesh. Berserk is one thing, but I wonder if they can starve to death? We’ll see if these canon clues will lead us to anything. We’ll begin now in an interview format. Hopefully this will go smoothly, but I’ve got a feeling it won’t. First up, we’ve the Temple Demon.

Temple: Who were you calling ‘lowly’ just now? Up there, above the cut?

Gotou: That was in a literal sense, not having Blood Techniques means you’re in the bottom common tier of demons.

Temple: Argh. Fine. What do you want to know?

Gotou: In Chapter 2, you were spotted with three human victims. However, it seems you left their bodies mostly intact and only ate small parts instead of consuming one full human at a time. Could you comment on this?

Temple: I’d have gotten to more later if that whelp with the strong legs didn’t interrupt me! Who’s got time to eat entire humans anyway? I went for the easy stuff first.

Gotou: I see. It appears you might had focused on key organs, like the heart and the liver. Would you say these are especially nutritionally dense?

Temple: I guess. If I’m going to eat humans, I’m going to start with what’s worth bothering to digest. Blood’s easier on the stomach, so that’s what I was busy with on the lady there.

Gotou: Then it takes effort to digest? Hmm. Let’s come back to this later. How many humans would you say you consumed, including these three?

Temple: Not a lot… I tried to get a variety so I could get stronger faster, but…

Gotou: I’ll put down a guess as ten or less. Let’s move on to someone who has a sharper memory for numbers. One of our longer-lived guests at Mt. Fujikasane for 47 years, the Hand Demon. While most of the demons on the mountain had only eaten two or three humans, you’ve eaten a whole 50 of the children who headed into the Final Selection, didn’t you?

Hand: Yes, that’s right. It was hard at first since I wasn’t very strong, and the demons usually all went crazy there eating each other, just like that one brat who got away in Chapter 7 said. If you could manage to kill any of the kids, you had the other demons to fight off to even get a piece to yourself. That was enough to get me by, and stronger, little by little. Your body learns to make your meals last, and make the most of what you can get. I usually only had a bite of one child a year, can you imagine how horrible that was? Most demons who survive usually figure out some way to develop and survive better, and once my cells found something that worked for me, I kept doing it. I got really good at snatching away prey from other demons, and soon enough I was a bigger threat than any of them. None of them could, you might say, lay a hand on me.

Gotou: That’s an interesting point about self-development. A demon named Nezuko was spent two years doing that in her sleep.

Hand: She must have had a big meal before that!

Gotou: Well, anyway. It seems that in near starving conditions, your metabolism made the most of what you had, leading to the most efficient use of whatever food was available to you.

Hand: That’s right, I got really good at it. Wasn’t always pretty, but I made it work. I got to a point where I could go two years without eating and still keep my wits about me while the other demons were going mad. But I chose to eat. I liked to keep my appetite for specific children.

Gotou: That smile is not reassuring. Some humans taste better than others, I guess?

Hand: That’s for sure. This one kid tasted awful, like rust and man sweat! I still don’t have that disgusting taste out of my mouth! But he was one of my more satisfying meals, so I ate more of him.

Gotou: Then why would you… nevermind, I don’t like that smile, no further questions. While I had hoped to keep these interviews focused on quantities of humans consumed, it does seem personal taste is worth asking about. I had tried to invite a Swamp Demon from Chapter 11, but it kept arguing with itself and it felt like I’d be wasting my time. The one definite thing I learned was that this demon is picky, with a distinct preference for 16-year-old girls. Based on the number of trinkets he kept, it seems he had consumed at least seventeen of them, including several in one town. Sheesh, that’s sort of a rough mission to send a first-timer on. I’ve got a more cooperative guest here to discuss her tastes, a Snake Demon who, according to Chapter 188, has a special taste for baby flesh.

Snake: Thank you for having me here. It’s good to be appreciated again.

Gotou: Did you only eat babies?

Snake: Goodness, no. Babies are delicious, but they aren’t very nutritious. And their skulls certainly aren’t that big, the ones I lounged around with were from the people whom I killed and stole from. But you know the nice thing about baby skulls? They’re still soft. They take a long time to digest, but I can swallow them whole.

Gotou: Like… like a snake, then. Sorry, I’m a little ill hearing that. Let’s back up, were all those skulls the remains of adults you ate, then?

Snake: Meh, I ate some of them of better-looking ones, but most of them I only killed. I could usually kill a lot more at a time than I could bother eating, my killing record was fifty women all at once.

Gotou: And you didn’t find that wasteful?

Snake: Wasteful? Not at all. I wasn’t exactly in dire straits, I lived a more luxurious life than most demons do. That meant I could afford to wait for a truly delicious meal, like how you humans might leave something in a slow-cooker to enjoy the perfect combination of doneness and tenderness, plated in the most appetizing of ways.

Gotou: I guess demons and humans are similar in that regard.

Snake: I’m so glad you can relate! Then you understand the frustration of a meal you’ve be preparing for years opening up the slow-cooker and running away right when they were just about done.

Gotou: I have never had that experience.

Snake: I’ll get you, my pretty. And your little snake, too.

Gotou: I think we might have gotten a little off-topic here. It does seem digesting humans comes with some difficulty. I’d like to invite the Drum Demon in next. Your name is Kyougai, I hear?

Kyougai: !!

Gotou: Kyogai, right?

Kyougai: You’ve heard of me! You know my name!

Gotou: I happened to, yes.

Kyougai: What have you heard???

Gotou: That you were kicked out of the Lower Moons for being unable to consume enough humans.

Kyougai: Oh. ……..yeah, that’s me.

Gotou: I thought demons go berserk if they go a long time without consuming humans. Wouldn’t that make an inability to consume them problematic?

Kyougai: It wasn’t that I couldn’t eat them! Like I said in Chapter 24, I had to in order to sustain myself, just like any other demon. But, at some point, I couldn’t eat as much as I used to. That happens to humans too, doesn’t it? When you just can’t stomach anymore?

Gotou: You mean like when you’ve overeaten? In a human’s case that feeling may go away within a few hours.

Kyougai: Sort of like that, but you know, humans reach a time when nothing is appetizing or the thought of eating makes them feel sick, right? Isn’t that the human condition?

Gotou: …uh… maybe if they have a medical condition? Or anxiety? Do demons get anxiety? Or eating disorders?

Kyougai: I… I don’t know. I just wasn’t good enough.

Gotou: I think it’s plenty good if you stopped eating humans. Though to have developed Blood Techniques and been a Lower Moon in the first place, you must had eaten a great number of them.

Kyougai: You think I’m great?

Gotou: What?

Kyougai: No, sorry, I was getting ahead of myself. It’s true, I used to be able to eat as many as the other Lower Moons always consumed. Our stomachs were stronger, you might say. Demons got strong by eating humans, and then the more you did that the better you usually got at it, so the strong ones would eat more and more and keep getting stronger and stronger. At least, that’s how it usually worked. I’ve seen other demons below me reached that point too, where they feel the drive to eat, but then they have trouble digesting it for a long time, so they don’t wind up eating that many people.

Gotou: Then it would make sense to eat the most nutritionally dense parts first.

Kyougai: Or a Marechi.

Gotou: Yes, or a Marechi.

Kyougai: It was a great idea, wasn’t it?

Gotou: I cannot condone any consumption of humans as a good idea.

Kyougai: I knew it. I’m nothing. Go ahead, stomp all over everything I ever tried to accomplish.

Gotou: I think I’m going to move on to my next interviewee now. It looks like we’ve got… oh, would you look at this? Lower Moon One. Enmu, I believe.

Enmu: You can believe whatever you want. I’m happy to help.

Gotou: I don’t need any help, thanks. I’m curious, since you were one of the stronger demons out there, it seems you had a stronger capacity for consuming humans.

Enmu: I did, I was always careful and paced myself so the Demon Slayers wouldn’t notice me. I took my time. I liked to enjoy e-e-e-a-c-h one.

Gotou: Then you had tastes too? Like babies, or 16-year-old girls?

Enmu: I could season any human to my liking. They’re all very easy to prepare.

Gotou: I’m still trying to get quantitative data. Can you tell me at least a rough estimate of how many humans you consumed?

Enmu: I told this more precisely to that boy with the earrings back in Chapter 59, and I can tell you this too. At my best, I could had eaten over two-hundred people at once if I took my time.

Gotou: OH MY GAW----sorry, I dropped my pen. Two hundred, at once?

Enmu: Yes. If I had just. Had. A little. More. Time.

Gotou: Clearly there is a huge difference between what common demons are capable of and what the Twelve Moons are capable of.

Daki: Psh, those were all any random common people. That’s nothing to brag about.

Gotou: Excuse me, and you are?

Daki: Daki, Upper Moon Six. You want something really impressive, you talk to the Upper Moons.

Gotou: I’m sorry, I don’t see you on my list.

Daki: What! Your list is stupid. Look me in the eyes, I’m Upper Moon Six!

Gotou: Very well, then. What can you tell me about your diet, Miss Upper Moon Six?

Daki: That’s more like it. It’s true that digestion takes a while, and takes some effort. Even though we Upper Moons may have eaten hundreds of people in our lifetimes, it’s not as if we gorge ourselves. The clever ones among us save prey for later to eat when we feel ready for it.

Gotou: Food storage? How do you keep them fresh?

Daki: You leave them still alive, numbskull. Nobody wants to eat something cold, that’s gross.

Gotou: I see, so that’s why demons prefer to go after new kills instead of saving what they’ve already managed to kill. That also might explain why the demons on Mt. Fujikasane wouldn’t had eaten many humans, if they found long dead ones in edible.

Daki: You want to know the real secret to eating humans? You can eat what you find tastes good, sure. But to get stronger, you eat strong people. Like your Corp members, the ones besides chumps like you? Using all that Breath makes their muscles really lean and potent, it’s like they come offering themselves as protein bars for us.

Gotou: You make them sound like a fad diet…

Daki: The real secret is eating Pillars. Besides Marechi, they’re the strongest meals out there. Guess how many I’ve eaten?

Gotou: I don’t have the data to make an educated guess.

Daki: Then get educated! Look back at Chapter 88! I’ve eaten seven Pillars, and my brother has eaten fifteen!

Gotou: Your brother? Who is he, then, Upper Moon Five?

Daki: What? Ew. Gross. Gross! No way, ew!

Gotou: Hmm… eating Pillars, huh? Well, I can think of one Pillar who was…

Douma: Me too!

Gotou: Speak of the devil.

Douma: Actually, we Upper Moons can! And he's not Satan, that's not how this works. But I guess Muzan-sama’s curse doesn’t effect us now. Ask me anything you want!

Gotou: That Chapter 143 reference was such a rude entrance. I understand that Pillars are particularly nutritious—

Douma: Oh, please don’t misunderstand! I don’t even eat all the Pillars I’ve encountered. There was the one Flower Pillar who got away from me, but some of the boy pillars I just leave around. What’s really the key to consistent nutritional intake is women! It’s really unhealthy for a demon not to get enough women in their diet, that’s why even if you’re only looking for Marechi or Pillars, your metabolism is going to get thrown out of whack with sudden big meals. You grow a stronger metabolism with consistency, I believe!

Gotou: If I could stop you there, I had an image from Chapter 142 I preferred to focus on for this case study. I see you keep a wide collection of skulls, from victims whom I assume you ate.

Douma: Yes, they all stayed together inside me for eternity, but the room looked lonely without décor.

Gotou: It seems other demons usually go for nutritionally dense organs like hearts or livers, or easy to digest parts of the body, perhaps just blood sometimes. Eating the entire victim, bones and all, doesn’t seem to be the norm.

Douma: Bones are organs too, you know! That’s where blood is made, at its freshest. They do take more practice in learning to digest, and I had to find a way around not having to chew them, but the bone marrow is very, very good for you, so I make sure to consume it frequently. It may take more time and it causes some of my followers to panic more while they wait, though, that’s a bit of a downside. Oh, and I guess bones can make good storage for some sneaky poison. Even fingernails and hair follicles, who’d have thought?

Gotou: I don’t think hair would have much nutritional value in the first place. In all my years, I can never recall seeing a victim with their hair eaten.

Douma: Tsk, tsk! Clearly you haven’t done much metabolism research in advance. I was really impressed by how well Shinobu-chan understood how my digestion would work. Eating hair can do amazing things! Isn’t that right, Genya-kun?

Genya: ?????????

Gotou: Genya-kun!?

Genya: What am I doing here?

Gotou: I don’t think you’re supposed to be here. Isn’t there, you know, another side? The other direction?

Genya: What are you doing here? Did you die?

Gotou: I’m here doing research on demon metabolism and how they get stronger by consuming flesh.

Douma: What can you tell us about what up with having your friend feed you hair you found on the floor in Chapters 170-171, Genya-kun?

Genya: I’m not a demon!! Why the hell are you asking me?

Douma: ‘Hell’! Haha, good one!

Gotou: How do you even know about that? You were dead almost a full volume before that. And Genya’s different, he’s not a case study in how demons consuming humans works!

Douma: Are you certain?

Gotou: I hear the term get thrown around a lot that he’s ‘half-demon’, but—

Genya: I’m not a demon!!!

Gotou: --how would that even work? That would imply that one of his parents had to be a demon, and that—

Genya: What did you say about my mother!?!

Gotou: What? Nothing—

Genya: You say that to my face! You just trying saying something about my mother to my face! My mother never actually ate any flesh, you got that? She doesn’t deserve any of this!

Gotou: Genya, calm down, what—

Douma: I see we’re learning nothing about hair at all. Maybe Kokushibou-dono would provide better commentary on that?

Genya: Mom? Mo-o-o-o-m? Are you down here somewhere?

Gotou: And there he goes… wait, did you say Kokushibou? Upper Moon One? Oh no—he—he didn’t want me bothering him, he did not agree to another interview—

Douma: He-e-e-e-e-y, Kokushibou-dono! How did that work with Genya-kun eating your hair? Hair can be nutritious, right?

Kokushibou: You would gain… nothing… from consuming human hair… it’s not… flesh… you wasted your energy digesting it…

Douma: Aww, cutting it off them would had been sad, though.

Kokushibou: Demon hair… like demon weapons… is made… from our unique cells. It’s not dead… like human locks. Because that boy ate my live cells… it affected him…

Gotou: Yes, because he had a very, very unique metabolism, analyzed separately in this post. To be perfectly clear, Genya is completely human with cells that could temporarily transform, and he never consumed human flesh.

Kokushibou: He… vexes me…

Gotou: Um… while I’ve got you here, you’re one of the longest lived demons, clocking in at over three, maybe four centuries. Do you have any estimate of how many humans you’ve consumed?

Kokushibou: ……I see in… Chapter 100… that you are 23 years old?

Gotou: That is correct.

Kokushibou: Do you bother… remembering how many meals… you’ve had in a mere 23 years?

Gotou: I’m very sorry to have bothered you.

Douma: Kokushibou-dono’s ancient compared to the rest of us! But if I tried, I could probably recall. Let’s see. One, two, three, four…

Gotou: Is that? Your finger in your brain? Oh—ohhh—that is disgusting---I really don’t need to know numbers that badly, please stop. Is there maybe just some average you can give me for the Upper Moons instead? Like how many you’d eat in a month?

Douma: I wish I could, but a certain someone was an annoying outlier and didn’t like to eat so many humans. He made me worry all the time about his health.

Gotou: Really? Who might that be?

Douma: Hello-o-o-o-o-? Akaza-dono? Yoohoo! He spends all his time with his wife now and never answers when I call, it makes me so sad. Akaza-dono did eat humans, plenty of strong ones, but any time he wasn’t under orders from Muzan he liked to spend his time training instead of eating. Fanbook #1 says he did that way more than eating!

Gotou: Training? What sort of training?

Douma: Similar things to what your Corp members did, I imagine. Doing squats, throwing punches, things like that.

Gotou: Then demon muscles had similar function to human muscles, and could be strengthened through hard work? That’s surprising.

Douma: I know, right? I’ll let you in on a secret, I don’t think it was the physically repetition that did anything. I think it was his willpower getting honed and shaping his muscles.

Douma: I had to focus when I acquired new skills too, like breaking down poisons. A lot of sad, lowly demons, like that Hand Demon fellow? They focus as hard as they can in their desperation, or focus on some strong emotion or attachment or whatever, and they grow and develop because of it. Sometimes all their weak bodies can manage is an ugly mutation, but that’s proof enough of how much focus they had.

Gotou: That sheds a lot of light on Nezuko, actually.

Douma: Shed “light” on Nezuko-chan, hahaha! Sunlight! You humans are all so witty!

Gotou: Speaking of willpower, I’ve got one more interview I need to get to down here. Of all the demons I have records of, only Nezuko went her whole time as a demon without consuming any human flesh, although she did go through moments of berserk cravings for it. It’s possible that other demons were killed before they could consume anything, but typically they will consume flesh as soon as possible, which is why its common for their family and close relations to be among the first ones killed. Tomioka-san even mentioned in Chapter 1 that these close relations are especially nutritious.

Gotou: A demon about as old as Kokushibou, if not older, is a special case of her own. She was one of the only demons we know of to have escaped Kibutsuji’s curse and acted in dependently of him, including having created a demon of her own after two hundred years of trying. Most notably to our purposes, she trained herself to subsist on small amounts of blood, after having survived on corpses and wild animals for a time, according to the extensive Taisho Secrets at the end of Volume 21.

Tamayo: I explained this in more detail to Tanjirou-san in Chapter 15, but I went on to purchase blood from poor people, and extracted it in ways that wouldn’t be harmful to them. The one demon I created, Yushirou, could subsist on even less. I gained enough self-control that I could treat injured humans without feeling tempted into a berserk state.

Gotou: I was just talking to Douma about willpower making demons capable of accomplishing new physical developments. Was that how you were able to gain this state? I heard you even enjoy a cup of tea now and then.

Tamayo: Yes, I’ve taken a liking to it. I’d offer you some if not for this, you know, being hell. It’s nothing like the hell I went through when first resisting consuming humans, though. My demon body refused to take anything but fresh human flesh at first, but in the hardest moments, I always remembered a kind demon hunter who said he believed in me and my desire to defeat Kibutsuji Muzan. I believe Nezuko may have summoned her strength to resist the call of her demon cells in a similar way; she knew she had her brother there to rely on. Once she mastered something as remarkable as resisting the need for human flesh, it gave her the freedom to prioritize other developments.

Gotou: You spent centuries researching demon cells, especially how demons may break down and metabolize poisons.

Tamayo: I had not studied the metabolism of poisons until working with Shinobu-san. The medicine we concocted for Kibutsuji was only possible thanks to her work, and I couldn’t had worked with many of those wisteria-based substances on my own. I feel I was only there to fill in the gaps of her brilliant understanding.

Gotou: You’re very humble. I would pass along my thanks and compliments to Shinobu-sama too, but I’m pretty sure she’s not down here. On that note, did Genya-kun go back home?

Tamayo: He did after a nice reunion with his mother just now, it was very sweet. Shizu-san and I get along well, after all, we both carry similar guilt.

Gotou: Wait, was his mother a demon? That means Wind-sama’s mother was too? Wait?? What??

Tamayo: The worst hell I went through, or that any demon has gone through, is to realize what you’ve eaten after the hunger-driven madness clears. Being similar to your own cells, they’re easy on a volatile new anatomy to break down and digest. That’s why many demons may have driven themselves to forget everything all over again, or to twist their personalities to justify the horror, saying that because they ate the hearts of their loved ones and because demon flesh can live forever, then they never truly killed them. The truth always remained untwisted for me, and to this day, it torments me more than anything in this underworld can try.

Gotou: …

Tamayo: You should wake up now, Gotou. You’ve been through a lot; the nightmares must be taxing on your health. Please remember to eat well.

[after-witch]

Sweet Escape [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: Sweet Escape [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: Escape isn’t easy. Nor is it very long-lasting. When Overhaul’s men drag you back into captivity, you brace yourself and wait for what your captor will do with you. 

Word Count: 7,592

Notes: yandere, kidnapped, humiliation, degradation, mentions of eating disorder behavior, improper use of household cleaning products, Overhaul is a mean man 90% of this fic is just Overhaul being an asshole to you

There are going to be bruises on your shoulders. Fingerprint shaped bruises from the men holding you steady, afraid that you'll try to sprint off--maybe afraid that you'll try to spring at their boss, disobedient, unruly possession that you are.

You know that Overhaul won't like it when he eventually sees those black-and-blue fingerprints marring your skin--he might kill them for it, or worse. They're digging in too hard, but you don't warn them to ease up lest they find themselves on the wrong end of Overhaul's hands; they brought you back to this place, after all, and they deserve nothing but your hot, raw contempt.

You could run. You could slip out of their grip, if you put your mind to it. Your clothes are wet and the medical table that you're sitting on is slippery from the rainwater that's dripped out from your soaked clothes. But Chisaki Kai--no, Overhaul, you remind yourself, for the energy he’s exuding now is very much that of a foreboding boss--is standing in front of you, and you'd never make it to the doorway.

"Leave us," Overhaul says, not bothering to move as the men gripping your shoulders release their painful hold and swiftly leave the room. He tears off a sanitizing wipe from the ever-present canister on his desk and wipes down the doorknobs that they touched, before locking the door. An unnecessary precaution, given your nerves, given your state, given your realization that your escape attempt was a massive fluke that would never be allowed to happen again.

You numbly watch as he gathers up supplies from around the makeshift clinic he'd created in the small suite of rooms he allowed you to exist in. The canister of disinfectant. Medical-grade soaps. Sponges. A bucket. Needles, needles, needles... you remember the feel of the syringe you'd stolen in your hand and distract yourself from the fear of what he's going to do to you by retracing the steps of the past day.

**

You got farther than you thought you would--really, you did. At every stage of your plan, you expected Chisaki to suddenly reveal that he knew every step you'd taken so far. That he'd catalogued every act of false obedience to lure him into relaxing the rules, that he saw you swipe the syringe of tranquilizer from the clinic when he'd left for a moment to grab a fresh pair of clothes for you, that he knew you asked to sit with him at his desk only to sneak a glance at his calendar, so you could sweetly plead for an afternoon in the garden when he would be busy, when he would surely ask a highly trusted subordinate to watch over you.

A highly trusted subordinate who knew all about your weeks of good, sweet behavior and who was none the wiser when you'd jabbed him with the syringe, plunging the medicine, the same kind your captor once used to 'calm you down' when you were having fits, right into the man’s thigh. 

You didn't hesitate: you'd dipped your hands into the man's pockets, pulled out his wallet and ran. You barely remember anything until you were in the forest--you vaguely remember using the key card to open the gates surrounding the base, you remember the fear that at any moment you would hear an alarm sound; but from there, everything was a blur as you sped into the forest wearing only the soft day shoes you'd been given to go outside.

You made it through the forest, though not without bumps and cuts and sore feet and a dimly throbbing ankle that was thankfully only turned. You ran until you reached a small town, one you'd never been in before. You buried your first instinct deep, deep, deep: do not contact the authorities. Who knows what connections Overhaul had, especially in a town so close to where he operated? So instead you waltzed into a little corner shop and made a beeline for the bathroom--where you promptly vomited out your breakfast as all of the anxiety and fear and adrenaline caught up with you in an instant.

You remember staring into the bathroom mirror afterwards, your face cold with splashed water. It was then, staring into your pale and anxious face, a face you hadn’t been allowed to see in a mirror for ages, that you felt freedom slamming back into you. You could do what you wanted, now. You were going to get your life back. You could make your own schedule and have your own hobbies back and eat what you wanted and--your stomach had gurgled, as if on cue. You had to get something to eat. But how would you pay?

The wallet you'd pilfered felt heavy in your pocket, and you opened it without a second thought. No cash. But a credit card. It would do, until you were able to get some cash of your own. You wandered back into the shop and even now, you can still feel how struck you were by how cozy, how nice, how different it felt. Just a small general store with big open windows and soft music in the background, and an old woman behind the register who immediately asked you if you needed any help finding this or that.

You smiled--a real smile, how nice that felt--and shook your head and loaded up a basket. A first-aid kit, a large water bottle, a toothbrush and toothpaste... then came the snacks. Candy. Chips. Soda. Things you hadn't tasted in so long. You even grabbed a pointless fashion magazine. The old woman had glanced at the name on the card and you offered a sheepish smile, a fake one that made you feel a pang of guilt for lying to her: "My boyfriend sent me to do the shopping. He's no good at this stuff." She'd smiled and nodded, oh I understand dear, before packing up your order.

You stepped out into the sunshine--you can't pretend like you remember how it feels, right now, shivering from the damp rain on this table--and took a deep breath of fresh air. It smelled crisp and sweet and clean. Not the sterile cleanliness of your captor's clinic, but truly pure--real. There was a slight tinge to the air, and you spotted grey clouds on the horizon. Not an omen, no: just another sign that you were outside, you were in nature, you were free. The smell was the promise of thunder, of electricity, of cool rain.

It also smelled like... well, lunch. Or more precisely, you smelled the vague scents of the little pizza shop a few shops down.

And here is where you made, looking back, your biggest mistake. You should have headed to a bus station. Or called for a taxi. You should have gotten the hell out of there right that second. But your mind flashed back to Overhaul's little calendar, the words printed neatly in the little square for today: he would be away until the evening, which meant you (surely, surely) had a few more hours before he came back and discovered your escape.

He’d ordered no one to bother you and your now-unconscious guard in the garden, so if no one saw you run out, then an alarm certainly wouldn’t raised for a while. You had time, didn't you? Time to grab a meal? You could always get it to go, and you could even ask an employee inside about buses or taxes. Yes, it was fine--you would get a few slices to go and hop on a bus and leave forever. More than that, it was practical. You needed energy, and the junk in your bag--while undoubtedly delicious--wasn't going to be enough to sustain you for long.

The door to the pizza place dinged when you entered, and you almost teared up at the normality of it. It was a buffet style place, with rows of pizzas under yellow-cast lights and rows of red booths and people lifting slices onto their plates with shared tongs. Unusual for a small town, but maybe it was a remnant from a more bustling time, when American-style pizza places were all the rage. For a moment, your thoughts had turned back to your captivity: Overhaul would have never set foot into a place like this--nor would he have let you. Germs, germs, everywhere. And you loved it.

You paid with the card, but there was no need for excuses this time--the young man behind the register didn't even check for a name or signature, much less ask for identification. You asked about a to-go box and he'd shrugged, mumbled out an apology--they didn't do that here. You have to eat inside.

For a moment, the rational part of your mind screamed: get the hell out of here, then! But your stomach growled, and hunger beckoned, and damn if that row of glistening pizza slices didn't make you want to eat. And eat.  And… eat. You shoved repressed thoughts deep down, your heart hammering all the while, and took a tentative step towards the buffet. Thunder rumbled as you debated. You could be out of here in... 30 minutes? Enough time to eat--to binge, your mind whispered, you can now--and maybe get it out after? Yes, it would be fine. (It would not. Future you, the one sitting on the table and watching in increasing anxiety as Overhaul finishes up his tasks, wishes she could tell you.)

You should have seen the start of the rain, sudden and relentless, as a bad sign. Instead you ignored it and filled up a large cup with diet soda that spilled a little when you forgot to let go of the button. You ate without thinking, not even really enjoying the taste of the first greasy pizza slices you’d had in ages.

You were on your fifth slice when the restaurant doors dinged, but the sense of small town charm was overrun by the immediate realization that you were caught. You were fucked. The air thickened--were you the only one to notice?--as two men in slim suits entered the restaurant with an air of immediacy. You were spotted in a second, if that. You thought about running.

But then you thought about the bored teenager behind the register and the old man cutting up his wife's pizza slices because she had trouble chewing and the little girl stacking up pepperonis while her mom chatted on the phone and you resigned yourself. You didn’t want anyone else to get hurt…even if it meant giving in. You didn't struggle, couldn't struggle, and let them lead you swiftly outside where the torrent of rain soaked you immediately  as they pushed you down the block, where an unmarked car waited. You glanced up helplessly as the cloudy sky and rain streamed down your face before you were unceremoniously pushed into the backseat.

Overhaul was sitting inside, staring at you with an intensity you've never seen before.

**

Your backpack drops with a thump next to you and you flinch out of your memories.

"Let's see what you bought with that stolen card during your little adventure."  His voice is deceptively calm. He must be furious with you, you think. And you can't believe you didn't think about credit fraud alerts before you used the damn card.

The noise of the zipper is thunderous and you scoot yourself back on the exam table, pressing against the wall to put a little more room--even if it's only inches--between you and your captor. He begins to pull everything out of the bag, one by one, and seeing it all lined up makes it clear what type of lecture is coming.

A few bags of chips, a bottle of soda, bars of chocolate, all junk, junk, junk. All food he would never permit you to eat, and certainly not in such quantities.

"Disgusting," he murmurs, before tossing each item into a trash bin kept against the wall, one by one. You cringe at the sound of each bag, each bottle, hitting the bottom of the trash. You didn't even get to taste them. He stares at the trash, eyes narrowed, as if the food itself was worthy of his venom. "Full of unnecessary sugars and fats and oils. Eating so much of this will make you sick. We've talked about this."

You say nothing. You press your lips together. You won't give him the satisfaction of argument. You won't let him pretend like he has any right to lecture you on what you eat, and certainly not what you eat after you've escaped (however briefly) from his clutches.

"At least you didn't have time to ingest them during your ill-planned escape, hm?" He replaces his previous gloves--tainted with the thought of germs on the junk food bags, no doubt--and your stomach flips at the sound of the medical gloves he's snapped on in their place. "Which is more than I can say for the pizza." You never knew someone could say pizza with such a ridiculously nasty tone, but you've learned a lot of things during your captivity.

"You weren't content with this junk hoard," he says, gesturing towards the trash while keeping his eyes firmly on you. "You had to gorge yourself on greasy pizza from a dirty buffet, too? We are going to clean your mouth out, by the way.”

You hate the way he says gorge--you hate the way he says greasy--you hate the anxiety that comes with wondering what he’ll do to ‘clean’ your mouth. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him. The hate makes you answer defensively, despite your earlier resolution to stay quiet. You can't help yourself, in a lot of ways.

"I was hungry," you say, still feeling defiant.

"No one working on their fifth slice of pizza is hungry," he answers, simply. You feel diminished, but not enough to shut you up.

"So? It's not your business what I eat anyway.” A familiar tightness is springing to your throat. You don't want to cry in front of him ever again, so you clip the words out, fighting to retain control.

He presses a fist to his forehead in a sudden, rather surprising show of frustration. "Not my business? Not my business? It's my business to take care of you. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you out there?"

The fullness in your stomach, the cold rain soaking you, the remembrance of the wind and branches lashing at you as you ran hours before, all these freedoms have made you feel bold. Or maybe you're succumbing to the effects of an adrenaline crash and you just can't control your mouth.

"I could have been free. You can’t--you can't just keep me here. You can't just kidnap someone and decide you know what's best for them."

There's a long, steady pause as he stares at you. His expression--what you can see from his eyes--is blank, and you almost wonder if perhaps you've stumped him.

"I can," he says, lightly. Easily.

Fucker.

He sighs, and you get the distinct impression that you’re a nuisance, something to deal with, something he’s having to deal with instead of doing far more important things. "You’re showing a severe lack of appreciation for all the work I do to take care of you."

You don't know how to respond to that. "You kidnapped me.” It’s all you can think of--the bare truth.

He doesn't speak at first. Then he lifts something from the supply tray he's set up--a blue hospital gown, thin and short, and tosses it towards you. You catch it instinctively, feeling the thin, feather-light material in your fingers. He tosses a towel, next, and you hold it against your damp chest. He turns around.

"Change."

You don't want to. You don't want to. But you've never pressed your luck on what would happen if you refused to get dressed before, afraid that he might do it himself, and that fear overrides any thoughts of outright rebellion. For now. You slide off your wet clothes and push them towards the end of the table, then use the towel to dry off your skin. There are scratches and bruises, including a nasty looking one that's already turning green on your ankle. Your feet are swollen from running on the hard forest floor with your thin day shoes.

When you're finished, you clear your throat, and he turns back around. He tosses your wet clothes right into the trash--damn, you liked that shirt--and wipes off the table with a separate towel. You sit, legs dangling off the table, and wish he'd just get the punishment or examination or whatever it is he has planned over with. You can feel the coldness of the table through the medical gown, and its thinness makes you feel even more helpless. Weak. You want to retain that feeling of freedom that you had earlier in the day. Even choosing to return without a fight, choosing to avoid hurting the innocent people in that town, made you feel bold.

He stands in front of you until you force yourself to look up, to get it over with. He's swapped out his mask for a medical one.

"Have I ever hurt you?"

You hate this.

"No," you admit, voice tight. "Not physically," you add spitefully, because fuck him for trying to make himself sound like a decent person because he kidnapped you but didn't happen to hit you.

"Do I take care of you?" His tone is firm, commanding. It leaves no room for silences. Instead, it makes your stomach feel light, makes your heart feel like it wants to race.

"I can do that on my own," you counter.

"Can you?" He says, voice dripping in condescension.

"Yes," you spite, bile rising into your throat. "I can take care of myself."

He reaches back and grabs the little stool he keeps in this room, rolling it up to rest in front of the table and in front of you. He sits down and cups his hands together, resting them on his thigh. He leans forward. An easy gesture. Like he wants to have a conversation. But something about his movements sends out warning signals. Big, glaring, flashing warning lights that scream DANGER.

“You can take care of yourself.” It’s a statement, yet the way he says it is brutally mocking.

“I can,” you insist, your voice cracking just the slightest bit under his gaze.

"So, where would you live?" He watches you intently and it takes a moment for you to realize what he just asked you. He isn't offering you freedom, no. But maybe you can win an argument, just this once, and forcibly stop his delusions that he's "taking care of you."

"Anywhere," you say, but he looks unimpressed. "An apartment," you correct. "Like my old one. Doesn't have to be big." Your heart pangs with nostalgia for your old place, for your independence, for your life.

"Ah." Overhaul brings a gloved finger up to his chin and rests is there, nodding, as if he's seriously considering your words. "And how will you pay for rent at this apartment?"

You can't resist the snarky tone. "A job."

He rests both hands on his thighs. "Tell me, how much did you make at your last job, again? No--tell me, how long did you hold your last job?" You cross your arms defensively around your waist as he continues. "If I recall correctly, you were fired rather quickly from that one... and the one before."

You squeeze your waist, hoping for the tiniest bit of comfort from the gesture. "I... it wasn’t my fault.” You feel like you’re under a magnifying glass. “The first time. And the second, well, I was looking for something better, anyway."

He raises his eyebrows, curious. "Looking where? At the bottom of a bottle?"

Your entire body tenses.

"After all," he continues, voice almost taking on a syrupy sweet tone. "Your fridge was so well-stocked with them. Hmm. Do you think it's responsible to spend so much money on alcohol when you're behind on rent payments?"

"No," you say, voice tighter, "But--"

He doesn't give you a chance to finish. He stands, and you immediately squeeze your arms again. "And how much were you spending on other luxuries? Those clothes you kept carelessly shoved in your closet... they were a name brand, weren't they?"

Your throat is dry and your mouth is dry and you lick your lips. "There were sales," you insist.

"Ohh," he says, his voice lifting in mockery. "And I bet there were sales on the jewelry, the trinkets, the--" his eyes drift upwards, an implication of his disdain, "--figurines."

You lift your chin in defiance. "I'm allowed to buy things that I like."

He begins to pace. Not aimlessly, no, nothing with him is ever aimless. He paces until he stops in front of you, turning to face you for effect.

"What happens if you're late on three rent payments? Remind me of the policy that decrepit building you called an apartment complex had."

You squirm on the table. "I was only behind on two--"

"What happens?" His voice is firm. You can't avoid it.

There's a pause before you murmur, unwillingly. "You get evicted."

"So." He takes another step, and turns back towards you. "Do you think it's responsible to spend money you don't have on luxuries, when you're behind on rent?"

You want to run. Maybe you should have run at him earlier. Getting tossed into a solitary room after attacking him might be better than this interrogation.

"No," you admit. You swallow, dry and thick and a bit painful. "Okay. I'm not great with money. I bought things to make me happy because I was stressed out about---life. It's not that big a deal. I--I didn't get kicked out, anyway."

He sits again, but keeps himself upright, the air of faux casualness replaced with an air of command. "How did you catch up on your rent? Tell me."

You hate him. You stare at him, hoping he'll end this, but he simply stares at you until you blurt out the words. "You paid my landlord. Anonymously." You stare down at the floor, at the drops of water still there from earlier. "I didn't ask you to. I would have figured something out."

"I'm sure."

He stands, and you stare at the wall until you hear him roll the tray of supplies towards the table. Your body trembles of its own accord when he grabs your arm firmly and wraps a blood pressure cuff around the top. You sit in silence as the cuff gets tighter then mercifully deflates.

He tsks at the number, and jots it down on the pad resting on the table. For once, you're not tempted to peek.

"I need to take some blood," he says, and you stick out your arm in automatic, habitual compliance before your brain even realizes it. He grips your wrist firmly while he swipes your arm with an anti-bacterial agent.

"How much do you weigh?" He asks suddenly, voice nonchalant.

You stare at him, incredulous. He's never brought up weight before. He’s always been careful to avoid details about weight, nutrition--calories. The most he would do is point out that you need a well-rounded diet with the right vitamins and nutrients, and ignore your questions about sauces and cooking oils and grams, all attempts to find out something that could give you an ounce of control over what’s going into your body.

"I--I don't know.  You don't let me look at the scale when I step on it." He knows this. He knows that he's forbidden you from seeing the number, because he knows about your past, knows your tendency to get obsessive and strict and focus on food and weight and worth.

"Why don't I let you look at the scale?"

Your stomach feels like it's twisting.

"I don't know." The lie is bitter on your tongue.

The casual tone in his voice when he replies is far more biting than any cruel insult. "Yes, you do." 

His words are punctuated by the harsh medicinal smell of the next wipe. But you're in no mood to appreciate that he's still choosing to numb your skin despite your earlier transgressions.

The tears you felt building earlier begin to prick at the corner of your eyes. You don't want to cry, you don't want to cry, you don't want to cry.

“Why don’t I let you look at the scale?” He repeats, firmer, more insisting. He winds a band around your arm and taps at your veins.

Your arm looks fatter, like this. You swear it does. You look away to avoid your arm and the needle and his gaze.

“Because, um, I sometimes have problems with food. Or weight. Or whatever.”

“You have an eating disorder,” he tells you, all business as he plunges the needle into your skin; there’s only the ghost of a sting as he begins to slowly draw your blood. But you barely feel it, you can only feel the impact of his words, blunt and hateful.

"You were going to throw up in that germ-infested hovel. Eat until your stomach was distended, then head into a bathroom--which I'm sure the staff hadn't cleaned in ages--and stick your unwashed, greasy fingers down your throat until it all came back up. Am I correct?"

You can't tell if you feel woozy because of the needle or the way that your heart is racing at his words. Throw up. Greasy. Disgusting. You're disgusting.

"Stop it," you say, voice muddled with humiliation and anger.

He pulls the needle out, and quickly presses a bandage to your skin. He keeps a finger there, firm and pressing. He looks up at you, now, as he continues his onslaught.

"And then what? Let me make an educated guess. You were going to get on some filthy bus and open up all the junk you bought earlier? Perhaps," he muses, as he rips off a piece of tape to keep the gauze in place, "you could have asked the bus driver to stop at a public bathroom for a vomit break. And you'd probably make sure that whatever flea-ridden hotel you found along the way had a scale in the bathroom so you could keep track. And another one of your delightful," he practically spits the word out, "cycles would have started, hm?"

"Stop it," you repeat, voice breaking. "I wasn't--I wouldn't have--"

"You were going to," he says simply, interrupting. "Thankfully, we got there in time. Although I'm sure now you will endure a stomach ache after your reckless indulgence. A lesson, perhaps, though not the exact one I would inflict myself."

As if on cue, your stomach rolls and clenches. You’re keenly aware that you’re going to have digestive problems tonight, and the thought of being at his mercy while you’re dealing with them threatens to send you over the edge.  Could you get even more disgusting? The thought of how you look right now, stomach no doubt bulging, hair disheveled and damp, covered in ugly bruises and cuts--combined with the fear of spending the night on a toilet sends you over the edge.

You press your knuckles against your mouth and squeeze your eyes shut and try to force the sobs down. Your body begins to tremble, even more so as he lifts your leg. Without warning, he begins to unceremoniously scrub it down with a sponge dipped in disinfectant.

It stings and your eyes feel like they might pop at the sudden pain. You hiss at the feeling of the liquid on your cuts and try to pull away, to no avail. Your legs feel like jelly in his grip.

“That hurts,” you whine. 

“It can’t be helped,” he tells you, holding your leg firmly as he scrubs the sore bottom of your feet. Any sensitivity you had there is overruled by the soreness and pain from running, from the stinging aches that remain in your cuts. “I have to clean every cut or you may get an infection.”

He sets your leg down and lifts up the other, and you cringe before he even begins to move. You can’t help but whimper as he scrubs your leg, and the helpless stings of pain only increase when he moves on to your arms.

“Please,” you say, feeling low, nearly flattened. “I can’t… I can’t take this.”

He pauses, and the seemingly genuine concern in his eyes (it’s not, you remind yourself, it’s not--you think of the shop and the pizza place and the old man cutting his wife’s food, that was concern, that was care) has you feeling sorry for yourself.

“The stinging will go away in a few minutes. You chose to run away, you can certainly deal with this minor consequence.” He retains his grip on your upper arm and he swipes the sponge across your shoulders, briefly pushing the fabric aside as he does so. He pauses when he sees the blooming fingerprints on your shoulders, but says nothing.  You wonder if those men will survive the night.

There’s a a cut, thin and long, dragging from your collarbone down across your chest. He dips unceremoniously below the gown, touching you in a spot he normally avoids. The feeling of him so close, touching you--not quite on your chest, but close enough--only intensifies your humiliation. You whimper again and try to pull away, but his grip offers no room to move.

“I can’t--” You don’t finish. Your throat is so tight and you hate it, you hate that you can never talk about anything with him, never argue with him without clamming up with tears and a thick throat.

You bring your hands up to your hair, tugging on it until it prickles. Your breath starts to come in short bursts, your chest having as you pull on your hair and will yourself to be anywhere but here. For a flashing moment, you wish you’d never tried to escape. If you didn’t, you’d be getting ready for bed right now. Things would be--not okay. Never okay. But you wouldn’t be here, on this table, cold and stinging and in pain and utterly despondent from having your failures shoved in your face. But then you remember that if he’d never kidnapped you, you wouldn’t have had to try to escape in the first place, and the wish fades.

He remains silent, and instead simply keeps a steady, firm grip on your upper arm until your breath slows, until you can control yourself. Your skin feels at once numb and prickling in anxiety and adrenaline and emotions coursing through you.

Overhaul gives your arm a squeeze that is, perhaps, meant to be reassuring. “Are you suitably recovered?

You nod. Your stomach feels sour. You want to ask if you’re done, if you can just go sleep or get sent (you dread the idea) to solitary confinement or whatever it is he has planned in the wake of your escape. Anything would be better than this room and this soft, thin gown and his bright blue surgical gloves and your failure hanging in the air.

He extends his arm out and you pause for a moment before you grasp it, holding tight as you get off the table and stand on wobbly legs. You’re loathe to touch him, but you’re even more loathe to fall flat on your face on the hard floor.

He speaks before you get a chance to ask if you can change out of the medical gown.

“Now, we’ll go to the bathroom.”

Your knees suddenly feel like they might drop out from under you. “The bathroom?”

He nods, and pulls himself away from your weak grip as he begins walking towards the door. You follow without thinking, pausing when he stops to slide his medical gloves into the trash before slipping on another pair.

“We’re not finished here,” he tells you, and you swear his voice is almost giddy as he turns his head to meet your questioning face. “I told you earlier, we’re going to clean your mouth out.”

He can’t mean--

You take a step back, and your knee buckles. He’s quick--he catches you before you fall, but doesn’t let go. His pulls you upright and pulls you along. Your legs have no choice to walk--walk or be dragged--and you struggle for words as he leads you out of the clinic. Before you know it, you’re back in your room (familiar, warm, the same as it ways this morning) and led swiftly into the attached bathroom.

He pulls you in far enough that he’s able to shut the door behind him, trapping you inside. As if you wouldn’t be trapped by his mere presence. For a moment you wonder if he was bluffing, trying to scare you into submission, but by the time you take another breath he’s running the sink water and tearing into a new box of bar soap.

Your voice catches as you finally speak up. “You--you can’t be serious.”

“What makes you think I’m not serious?” He doesn’t even face you as he speaks. Instead, he turns on the tap and fills a paper cup with water before setting it on the sink’s edge. Next comes the bar of white soap, which grows slick underneath the water. He turns off the tap and lets the excess water drip off, before turning to you, soap bar in hand.

“Open your mouth.”

Your lips press together automatically, and you shake your head. No, no, and no. This isn’t happening.

He sighs, and again the feeling that you’re annoying him creeps under your skin. Why does it bother you that you’re annoying him? It shouldn’t bother you at all, but somehow you feel a pang of regret at how much has changed in less than 24 hours. 

“If you don’t open your mouth willingly, I will open it for you.” He takes a step closer, but your legs feel heavy now, rooted to the spot. It isn’t like there’s anywhere you could run, anyway. “I don’t want to do that,” he continues, voice slightly softened. “Cooperate and open your mouth.”

What choice do you have? You could protest, you could argue, you could leap into the bathtub and make him fight for what he wants. You could keep your mouth shut tight and force him to find a solution. But he is stronger than you, in more ways than one, and he would get his way in the end.

So you make the only choice available to you. Your entire mouth shakes and seems to fight against you as you slowly open your lips in compliance. You feel stupid, standing here with your mouth hanging open.

You can’t reflect on the feeling for long, as he wastes no time in shoving the bar inside your open lips. You can’t help but whimper at the intrusion, but he doesn’t let up and begins methodically scrubbing at your tongue. At first, there’s no taste--then the built-up slick of clinical soap makes itself known, and you take advantage of the soap slipping out of your lips to press them together again, denying him entry.

“Open,” he orders, soft and firm.

And you do, heaving your shoulders in an unreleased whimper. What else can you do but listen? He continues to scrub, this time moving the bar into the side of your mouth to scrub at your teeth. The clammy, greasy feeling of soap coating your teeth makes you curl your wide open lips downward. You must look ridiculous, in all respects, lips gaping in an unpleasant frown as your captor mercilessly soaps the inside of your mouth.

“Do you not like the taste?” His eyes glance over at your frown, and the mockery in his tone is more than blatant. 

“Uhh-uhh,” you mumble, open-mouthed, shaking your head. The position you’re in--Overhaul scrubbing into your mouth, your shaking body, the dim feeling of your bruises and cuts from earlier--makes you feel so painfully exposed. So painfully helpless.

He hums and rests the soap against your tongue. Before you can attempt to move your tongue, lessen the feeling of the taste of the soap against it, he gives you a command.

“Bite down.”

Your teeth sink into the soft bar, keeping it in place, and your whimpers grow stronger at the humiliating order you’ve just obeyed. Could you sink any lower?

You watch him through tear-brimmed eyes as he moves to stand in front of you. You know what’s coming before he even speaks and when he does, it’s no surprise.

“Have I ever hurt you?”

Back to this, again.

You shake your head, mumble around the soap: “No.”

“Are you capable of being on your own?”

You hesitate, and he merely jumps to another question, one far more pointed.

“Have you held a single job for longer than a year?”

You want to protest, but any attempt at complicated speech is marred by the soap--the weight of it, the taste, and your need to keep it steady in your mouth.

“No,” you admit, hating the feel of the bar as your lips press against it with the effort of speech.

“Would you have been evicted if I didn’t pay off your debts?”

“Yes.” Tears sting at your eyes. You want to wipe them away but you’re afraid you’ll get soap in them, somehow.

“Are you responsible enough with money to hold a job, maintain an apartment, and buy yourself the necessities for life without someone else stepping in?”

The soap somehow tastes even more bitter. “No, I can’t.” Your tongue pushes up against the soap at this, and you resolve to keep it to one-word answers only.

“If we didn’t intercept your little outing, would you have attempted to throw up at that restaurant today?”

You shake your head, but it’s a lie, and you know it’s a lie--and he knows it’s a lie. So you nod, weakly. “Mm-hmm.”

“Have I been feeding you healthy meals? Have I been ensuring that you don’t engage in disgusting self-destructive behaviors?”

He has, but that’s not--your mind wants to argue, but you’re so tired and sick and your stomach hurts and the taste of the soap is too much. So you nod, instead.

He nods in response, and you pray that he’ll take the soap out and end this. Instead, he lifts your chin with a single finger, making you keep eye contact as he speaks.

“Do I take care of you?”

“Yes,” you cry out, your words garbled around the wet soap bar. He releases your chin and it’s these words, this final question, that make you break entirely. Your shoulders ache from bruises as you cry, hunching over slightly and watching as some drool-laden soap droplets fall on the floor. “Yes, yes, yes,” you repeat, mechanically, crying around the bitter soap that’s digging into your front teeth.

Satisfied, he takes hold of the bar and waits for you to release it, then tosses it with ease into the trash. You blubber and spit, only succeeding in releasing a trail of soapy drool down your chin. Your tears are hot and stinging as they roll down your cheeks. You open your mouth, you try to say something, but all that comes out is soft cries punctuated by your attempts to spit out the soapy film.  

“Look at you,” he murmurs, bringing a gloved hand up to your cheek and wiping at the tears. “My poor thing. You can’t even speak. You can’t even articulate yourself. How could you ever hope to make it on your own?” His words are soft and cruel and you merely cry harder, humiliated and helpless.

Your throat is sore. Your stomach hurts. You want your warm nightgown on. You want to be in bed. You wish your stomach didn’t hurt so much from eating junk. You wish you weren’t covered in cuts and bruises. You wish you’d just enjoyed the garden and went back inside. You wish you’d never done this at all. You’re so stupid. You’re so stupid.

And you finally say so, all of it, blubbering, bits of soapy drool dribbling out of your mouth as you cry and admit your faults out loud.

After your wrought-out apology dissolves into meaningless whimpers, Overhaul finally grabs the glass of water he set on the edge of the sink, and you gratefully swish the lukewarm liquid with earnest. You lean over the sink and spit, body trembling, then fill the cup again and repeat the gesture again and again to get rid of every bit of white soap stuck in your mouth. Even as you spit, you realize that the taste isn’t going to be completely gone anytime soon--it’s stuck in your mouth like a bad memory.

You jerk when his hands are suddenly on your back, rubber gloves sliding up and down the thin medical gown covering your cold, helpless body. But he merely keeps rubbing, gentle and soothing, while you swish and spit, and cry and cry.

His hands leave your back only to grab a washcloth from the built-in shelves across from the toilet. You watch as he wets the cloth and you stand silently, allowing him to wipe up the drool and soap from your chin, your neck, even a bit on your chest where it dribble-dropped downward.

When you’re all cleaned up, he fills up a cup with mouth wash and silently hands it to you. You gratefully swish it for as long as possible before spitting it into the sink. The soap taste is still there, but lessened somewhat by the overpowering mint of the mouthwash. He gestures to your toothbrush and you pick it up, and begin mechanically brushing your teeth, stopping when the 2-minute timer flashes on the bottom. You instinctively grab your floss without having to be told and make quick work of that, too.

He opens the door to the bathroom, but gestures for you to wait. You do, standing numbly, wishing that he let you have a mirror so you could see your own state. But he doesn’t, and you can’t, and so you wait until he returns with a bundle in his arms.

It’s your pajamas. A soft, pink nightgown--he didn’t pick the soft blue one, tonight, and you’re grateful to avoid any reminders of the medical gown you have on--with matching socks and underwear. You nod and accept the bundle meekly. He turns around and you make quick work of the medical gown, tossing it in the trash yourself before you get dressed for bed.

“M’done,” you mumble, though you quickly realize speaking makes the lingering soap taste stronger. You follow him silently out of the bathroom and into your bedroom, which is just as you left it that morning. The only thing different is you. Subdued, humiliated, helpless.

Overhaul pulls the cover on your bed and you sit down, numb and chastened. You pull your legs up and tuck them under the soft comforter. You’re forcing yourself into the routine you’ve been following for the past few weeks, but the secret thrill you once had of obeying with ulterior movies is no longer there. It’s been replaced by a heavy stillness, the knowledge that you failed in more ways than one. The occasional roll of your stomach reminds you that the night may not be over, bedtime routine be damned.

But you ignore it for now, and you lean your head back on your pillow as he pulls the comforter towards your shoulders, tucking you in. Rather than leave immediately, he sits next to you on the bed, looking down at you with an obsessive, possessive expression in his eyes.

You force down an instinctive flinch when he suddenly begins to stroke the top of your forehead, moving up to pet your hair softly. His gloves are gone. While not completely new, it’s rare--rare enough that the feeling of his bare fingers is still an unusual sensation.

You close your eyes. It usually makes him leave faster. Your heart begins to pound as you hear him stand, as you sense him leaning in, as you feel the ghost of his breath against your face.

“Sweet dreams. We’ll start fresh in the morning.”

What a silly thing to say, you think. Your dreams are never sweet anymore.

[brrahbrrahcharacterimagines]

Groceries (Might Guy x Reader)

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Might Guy x Reader

Word Count: 2723

Warnings: very minor angst, food mentions (TW for EDs)

A/N: Hope you enjoy! I've been so thirsty for Naruto characters recently it's not even funny

Also, this was originally two parts but I've combined them into one so let me know if the transition doesn't work!

Growing up in Konoha you always felt safe. You knew there were experienced shinobi there to protect you. As a little girl, you would see them walk down the streets and watch in awe as they passed by you.

Despite everything you had seen in terms of violence, you still felt safe in the Leaf Village. There had been some tense battles, but the leaf shinobi always prevailed.

It was a day more peaceful than most as you made your way down to the store. You only needed a few things, but with the nice weather you decided to take advantage of the day instead of waiting for the grocery list to get longer.

Smiling, you walked into the store to the tune of children laughing and birds chirping. It was like you were in a movie.

You made your way down the aisles, picking up the items you needed as you went. Milk, eggs, noodles, and more went into the small cart in your hands as you browsed. Lost in your own world, you didn't see the other cart as it came around the corner at the same time as your own.

The carts crashed into each other, you and the other person with them. It almost winded you, both from surprise and the force of falling into the cart.

"I am so sorry!" You explained, looking up to the man you found in front of you. Luckily, neither of your groceries seemed to have sustained much damage. You found yourself surprised to be met with the most gorgeous dark eyes you had ever seen.

"It's no problem!" Said the man, flashing you a confident smile with a thumbs up. "No damage done."

You felt a hot flush rise to your face, but thankfully the man didn't seem to notice.

"Thank you," you said in a fluster. You weren't sure what you were even thanking him for, not yelling at you? It was then that you took notice of his outfit, especially the band around his waist. "Are you a shinobi?"

The smile stayed ever-present on his face.

"Yes I am! A jonin of the Hidden Leaf Village!"

If you had just half the enthusiasm of this man, you think you would be running on empty in less than five minutes. Hearing he was a jonin, you were impressed.

"Well, thank you for all that you do," you offered, moving to continue your shopping.

Although your interaction was brief, you couldn't stop thinking about it as days passed. Something about his eyes, and his confidence, drew you into him. You tried to brush it off, seeing as it was such a simple interaction, but it was impossible. Even trying to tell yourself that he didn't remember you wouldn't work; there was still a part of your brain that would never quiet down.

You had never minded being a civilian in Konoha. Sure, when you were younger you had thought about being a konoichi, but those were just the thoughts of a child. You never pursued it. You were happy with your career, teaching young children in subjects other than jutsu.

Despite your happiness, you began to wish that you had gone to the academy. Then you would have been able to find the man who was plaguing your thoughts. Even after that, you might have been a real option for him. You knew shinobi tended to mostly be interested in other shinobi.

You didn't know why it upset you so much. You didn't even know the man's name, and yet you were sad that you might not be his type. Feeling a bit pathetic, you found yourself in need of another grocery run. Trying to ignore the thought that you might see him again, you made your way to the store.

Sadly, at least for that persistent, gremlin part of your brain, the trip was rather uneventful. At least, until you found yourself in front of the produce.

You were trying to eat healthier, but it was hard. It wasn't that you didn't like your body, you just wanted to feel better in your own skin. As you stood there pondering, a male voice scared you from your thoughts.

"Excuse me."

You turned, disappointed to see a man with silver spikes instead of the dark bowl cut you had hoped for. You mumbled a sorry, stepping out of his way.

"Careful Kakashi," boomed another voice, "I'd keep your distance from that woman's cart if I were you."

Now that is the voice you had been hoping for.

As you turned, the tall man immediately caught your eye. You blushed at his words, remembering your initial encounter. The other man, Kakashi, looked at you with confusion. He grabbed what he needed before walking away, leaving you and the other man alone.

"So what brings you back here?" He asked. Normally you would have thought of this as awkward conversation, but your heart leapt at the opportunity to talk to him again.

You sighed, "I'm trying to decide what I want. I wanted something healthy but I didn't want to just start grabbing vegetables."

"Then you're in luck," he grinned, "I'm somewhat of an expert. Try some blueberries, they're a superfood." He grabbed a package, placing them in his own cart. "They're on me today."

You tried to protest, but he wasn't having any of it. You made your way through checkout, paying the rest of your items before meeting back up with the man.

"Thank you," you told him, looking back up at his deep eyes. Pausing for a moment, you realized something. "I don't even know your name! How could I thank you for buying these before me without even learning your name?"

The man chuckled, extending his hand out to you.

"The name's Guy," he said loudly, shaking your hand. "Would it be crazy to ask for your name in return?"

You blushed as you grabbed his hand, his grip firm yet his hands soft.

"Y/n," you told him. He smiled.

"That's a beautiful name." His words did nothing to help calm the blush on your face. You were sure he knew exactly what he was doing to you based on the color of your cheeks alone. Suddenly Guy grew rather sheepish. "I know how this is going to sound, but would you want to come by my place sometime?"

Your eyes widened. After all this time wondering what this man was really like, he was just the type to invite you into bed with him immediately? Admittedly part of you was curious, but you weren't stupid.

"Excuse me?"

Now it was his turn to blush.

"Well I know how that sounds," Guy said quickly, trying to get his words out faster than he could think. "But I just meant to make you dinner. I could show you how to cook some vegetables so that they aren't all that bad."

Immediately you felt bad for assuming the worst, offering him a small smile.

"I would like that."

He smiled back at you. Guy gave you his address as the two of you decided on a time before parting ways. You couldn't help the giddy grin that covered your face as you walked home. Your date couldn't come fast enough.

---

In the days leading up to your date with Guy, it was all you could think about. You told yourself that was fine, since you were obsessing over him already. At least now you had a reason to.

The day was finally here, and as the hours ticked away you found yourself growing more nervous. Deciding what to wear was a challenge in itself. Did you want to try to dress up nicer, or would that be too much? Yet at the same time you worried dressing too casual would give him the idea that you weren't as interested as you were.

You tried on just about everything you owned, settling for a dress that made you feel pretty. It was fancy enough to make you feel like you were trying, but still casual enough that you would be comfortable.

You looked at the clock, seeing that you still had ample time before you needed to leave. Sitting down, your mind wandered. What would tonight be like?

in your mind you ran through a myriad of scenarios. If you didn't like the food he cooked, you would have to just stomach it and hope for the best. Based on what he told you at the store though, it seemed like he would know what he was doing. Still, you worried that something would go wrong.

Above all, there was a bigger question ringing out in your mind. Would he try to kiss you? And, would you want him to?

The seconds turned to minutes as you pondered, the minutes turning into hours until it was time to go. You collected your things, making sure to grab any and all essentials before you left. You had already told your friends who you would be with, going as far as to give them the address should anything go wrong. Guy seemed like such a nice guy, but you could never be too careful.

Locking the door to your apartment behind you, you set off. It was early in the evening, and the sun was just beginning to set in the sky. You were thankful you wouldn't have to walk in the dark. You knew there were plenty of shinobi around, hell, you were even meeting one right now. But even then you felt uncomfortable walking home alone at night, surrounded by darkness.

It was a shorter walk than you anticipated, and before you knew it you were at his place. Taking a deep breath, you reached up to knock on his door. It seemed like a nice enough part of town, and his place itself was well-kept especially considering how much time you were sure he spent on training.

You heard Guy's loud steps make their way to the doorway, pausing on the other side before the door swung open. His usual confident smile was on his face, but instead of moving his mouth into words he just looked at you. You felt yourself growing red under his gaze.

"Hello Guy," you said softly, looking up at him.

-

Guy had been making the same amount of preparations as you, if not even more. He planned the meal out carefully, even practicing it the night before to make sure it went well. He had spent more time than usual perfecting his hair, making sure not a single strand would be out of place. He had even thought of exactly what he wanted to say when he opened the door.

Hello Y/n, he would say as he smiled at you. You look more beautiful every time I see you.

Sure, it was more forward than he had been with you before. This was a date after all, and he wanted to make how he felt about you clear from the start.

That plan went right out the window when he saw you, your sundress captivating him. It looked so cute on you, and at the same time there was something about it that sent a wave of tingles between his legs. To put it simply, he was speechless.

He knew he should say something but he couldn't, enraptured by the way you looked in his doorway.

"Hello Guy," you said to him. That sweet voice of yours would drive him crazy someday, and he knew that. He loved hearing his name fall from your lips, hoping it would be far from the last time. Everything about you made him fall for you more.

Despite his thoughts about your voice, your words were enough to stir him to action himself.

"Hey," he said.

Really Guy? He thought to himself. You're the Blue Beast, a strong shinobi. And yet all you can say to a woman is 'hey'?

You giggled at him, and he felt a smile creep onto his face.

"It's good to see you again," he continued. He decided to dial back the forwardness, realizing he had already kept you waiting outside for too long in his daze. "Come on in."

-

You followed Guy into his home, taking in the delicious aroma filling the rooms.

"I don't know what you're making," you stated, "but it smells amazing."

Guy beamed with pride, ushering you over to the kitchen.

"It's my favorite." He told you. "A spicy, vegetable curry."

Thankfully, you didn't mind spicy. In fact, you enjoyed it. Your mouth watered, taking in the sight and smell of the food in front of you.

"Actually, it should be just about done." Said Guy, stirring it all for a final time before putting it onto beautiful dishes to serve.

He had already set the table, candles and all. He pulled the chair out for you, pushing you back in as if you weighed nothing. He sat across from you, and the way he smiled at you made you weak in the knees. It's a good thing you had already sat down.

You wasted no time, digging in. And it was delicious.

"Oh my god Guy," you said in near disbelief at how good it was. You could see his expression perk up. "This is amazing!"

"I'm glad you like it," he chuckles, eating his own.

The rest of the meal went off without a hitch. You talked about your job and his, bonding over your love for your respective students.

"Maybe sometime I can come watch one of your training sessions," you mentioned. "I would love to see you teach them."

Guy smiled, "I would love that." The sincerity in his tone took you by surprise. While you knew he was never joking with you, there was always some sort of bravado to his speech that now was missing.

You helped him clean up despite his protests. You told him that if he cooked, you would at least clean up. It was only fair, after all. You scrubbed the dishes, oblivious to the way Guy was looking at you.

He never would have admitted it to anyone but himself, but he was falling in love with you. He had no problem picturing a life with you. Coming up to you at the end of the day, sharing a meal together. He wanted everything that life would bring him.

"Well," you said, finishing up, "I should probably get going."

"Let me walk you," insisted Guy. "A lady such as yourself should never walk alone at night."

He offered his arm to you, and you accepted it with a shy smile. You could feel his prominent muscles under the fabric of his outfit, and you could feel your face growing warmer. You were thankful for the darkness for obscuring your face from him, hoping he couldn't tell.

He could tell.

As the two of you made your way back towards your own apartment he would flex his muscles every so often, loving the way your face would flush. A couple of times he timed it right so that you were speaking, making you stutter.

The walk ended much earlier than either of you would have liked it to. Suddenly your heart started racing. You could answer your questions from earlier clearly.

Would he try to kiss you?

You sure hoped so.

Would you want him to?

Definitely.

You paused in your doorway, letting go of Guy's arm. You looked up at him, flashing him a genuine smile.

"I had fun tonight."

He reciprocated your own expression with a smile of his own, "me too."

You both paused for what seemed like the longest second in the world. It was as if he was building up the courage to actually go through with what he wanted to. He cleared his throat.

"Y/n, may I kiss you?"

You nodded your head and he lowered his lips to yours slowly. As you pressed your own lips to his you couldn't help the gasp that escaped them.

That's a sound I'll keep replaying... thought Guy.

He pulled away sooner than you would have liked, but he was a gentleman.

"I'll see you soon." Guy ended his sentence with a wink, sauntering off as you went to go inside.

"I can't wait."

[misssimreno]

Fine Line Legacy Challenge

Sims 4 x Harry Styles 💓 Welcome to a legacy challenge inspired by various Harry Styles songs! This challenge was created by myself and my friend Amy because who doesn’t want to see this kind of crossover? This is a 10 generation legacy challenge with a threaded storyline inspired by songs off of Harry’s self-titled album “Harry Styles (2017)” and “Fine Line (2019)”.

Basic Rules:

You can select who will be the heir for the next generation. There are no restrictions on how many children each heir can have!

Unless exclusively outlined in a generation’s rules, you can marry or divorce whomever and do so as often as you’d like.

No money cheats can be used except for when you move in your very first heir in Generation One (freerealestate on).

You MUST complete all aspects for each generation before moving to the next one.

It is up to you whether or not you want aging on or what lifespan you wish to play on (playing on the normal lifespan could be an added challenge!).

There is an optional aspiration to complete for each generation.

If you choose to play this legacy challenge, post using the hashtag #finelinelegacy for us to see! 💓

Gen 1. "Carolina"

You left your small hometown for the big city of San Myshuno. Having grown up under your grandmother's roof with few simoleons to go around, you are pining for excitement, adventure, and a chance to make it big and become a star. As a Young Adult, you packed your bags and rented a "needs TLC" apartment in the Arts District.

Traits: Ambitious, Bookworm, Creative Aspiration: World Famous Celebrity Career: Musical Genius

Rules:

Reach Level 10 of the Entertainer Career (Musician Branch)

Complete the World Famous Celebrity

Reach Level 10 of the Guitar and Piano skills

Reach Level 5 of the Singing skill

Must start in a needs TLC apartment in San MyShuno

OPTIONAL: Complete the City Native Aspiration

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Gen 2. "Kiwi"

You grew up around fame and fortune, but it has left you feeling a bit empty and unfulfilled. Determined to make a name for yourself and step out from your parent's shadow, you've decided to pursue a different craft - acting. You really love cacti and the color black.

Traits: Non-Committal, Hot-Headed, Self-Absorbed Aspiration: Master Actress/Actor Career: Actor

Rules:

Reach Level 10 of the Actor Career

Complete the Master Actress/Actor Aspiration

Reach Level 10 of the Charisma and Acting skills

Reach Level 5 of the Baking skill

Have at least ONE (1) child out of wedlock

OPTIONAL: Complete the Party Animal Aspiration

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Gen 3. "Sweet Creature"

After having been in the public eye your whole life, surrounded by scandal, you seek simplicity, tranquility, and a way to plant new roots for your family. Speaking of family, you feel quite distant from your parents and hope to foster a strong bond with your own children. You always put family first, though your marriage may suffer some strain.

Traits: Family-Oriented, Loner, Cheerful Aspiration: Big Happy Family Career: Education (Professor Branch)

Rules:

Reach Level 10 of the Education Career (Professor Branch)

Complete the Big Happy Family Aspiration

Reach Level 10 of the Research & Debate and Charisma skills

Reach Level 5 of the Logic and Gardening skills

Sustain a garden of at least five (5) unique plants of Great quality

OPTIONAL: Complete the Soulmate Aspiration

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Gen 4. "Golden"

You always knew you were destined for greatness. Your intellect has opened many doors for you, but led you to a very strange place...Strangerville. Material things mean very little to you and you love the idea of being a bit more "off the grid," and self-sufficient.

Traits: Genius, Clumsy, Maker Aspiration: Outdoor Enthusiast Career: Detective

Rules

Reach Level 10 of the Detective Career

Complete the Outdoor Enthusiast Aspiration

Complete the Strangerville Mystery story-line

Reach Level 10 of the Fitness and Fishing skills

Reach Level 5 of the Herbalism skill

OPTIONAL: Complete the Angling Ace Aspiration

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Gen 5. "Sign of the Times"

After your parents' encounter in Strangerville, you became fascinated by aliens, space, and everything science-y. You know there is more to find out there. but first you need to learn everything you can about the unknown. A bit of an oxymoron, isn't it? When you're not fixated on the stars, you love to dance, tinker, and spend time with your many friends.

Traits: Geek, Dance Machine, Perfectionist Aspiration: Friend of the World Career: Engineer (Mechanical Engineer Branch)

Rules

Reach Level 10 of the Engineer Career (Mechanical Engineer Branch)

Complete the Friend of the World Aspiration.

Reach Level 10 of the Rocket Science, Programming, and Robotics skills

Reach Level 8 of the Handiness skill

Travel to Sixam at least one (1) time using a rocket you constructed

OPTIONAL: Complete the Renaissance Sim Aspiration

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Gen 6. "Two Ghosts"

Ever since you were a child, you knew you were different. You had numerous paranormal experiences, which has led you to dedicate your life to the paranormal altogether. You purchased a haunted house to try and get closer to the "other side," however this has left you feeling a bit emotionally burdened and isolated from those around you. You're reasonably covered in tattoos and are known to always wear a simple, white shirt. You hope to one day form a "Seance" club.

Traits: Adventurous, Gloomy, Good Aspiration: Bestselling Author Career: Freelancer (Paranormal Investigator Branch)

Rules

Complete 10 "Expert Paranormal Investigation" events in the Freelancer Career (Paranormal Investigator Branch)

Complete the Bestselling Author Aspiration

Reach Level 10 of the Writing and Medium skills.

Befriend both Guidry and Temperance

OPTIONAL: Complete the Leader of the Pack Aspiration

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Gen 7. "Watermelon Sugar"

You are a very health-conscious sim. Due to your love of animals, you have embraced a vegetarian lifestyle. Protecting the earth and nature is your number one goal in life, aside from ensuring justice is upheld in the courtroom and you are a top tier parent. You favorite fruit is watermelon and you farm your very own watermelons!

Traits: Vegetarian, Green Fiend, Dog Lover Aspiration: Friend of the Animals Career: Law (Judge Branch)

Rules

Reach Level 10 of the Law Career (Judge Branch)

Complete the Friend of the Animals Aspiration

Reach Level 10 of the Pet Training and Juice Fizzing skills

Reach Level 5 of the Parenting skill

Make your neighborhood's Eco Footprint Green for an entire sim year (4 seasons)

OPTIONAL: Complete the Super Parent Aspiration

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Gen 8. "Sunflower, Vol. 6"

Zen. That is what you embody. Where do you feel most zen? At the beach. This is why you live off the grid in Sulani. You practice yoga daily and find a great deal of joy in cooking homemade meals. In your spare time, you dabble in photography and painting. You love sunflowers and have them growing all around your home.

Traits: Foodie, Child of the Ocean, Art Lover Aspiration: Eco Innovator Career: Civil Designer (Green Technician Branch)

Rules

Reach Level 10 of the Civil Designer Career (Green Technician Branch)

Complete the Eco Innovator Aspiration

Reach Level 10 of the Gourmet Cooking and Wellness Skills

Reach Level 5 of the Photography and Fabrication skills

Marry a mermaid!

OPTIONAL: Complete the Painter Extraordinaire Aspiration

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Gen 9. "Canyon Moon"

Having grown up in Sulani, you're not sure how you ended up in quintessential suburbia outside a large city with a corporate job. Life is comfortable, but it lacks the excitement it once had. You want to travel, see the world, and learn about difficult cultures! You love to document your travels and share them online. Sometimes, you can be a bit neglectful of your responsibilities.

Traits: Kleptomaniac, Childish, Self-Assured Aspiration: Archaeology Scholar Career: Business (Investor Branch)

Rules

Reach Level 10 of the Business Career (Investor Branch)

Complete the Archaeology Scholar Aspiration

Reach Level 10 of the Selvadoradian Culture and Mixology skills

Reach Level 5 of the Media Production skill

Vacation at least once in each world!

OPTIONAL: Complete the Jungle Explorer Aspiration OR Mt. Komorebi Sightseer Aspiration

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Gen 10. "Fine Line"

You were definitely the class clown whilst in school. It was a way to cope with your insecurities, which you haven't been able to shake into adulthood. Nevertheless, your charm and strategic-timing have served you well in your "work," whatever that may be. You know there is always a fine line between life and death, you really live life on the edge.

Traits: Jealous, Goofball, Paranoid Aspiration: Public Enemy Career: Criminal Career (Boss Branch)

Rules

Reach Level 10 of the Criminal Career (Boss Branch)

Complete the Public Enemy Aspiration

Reach Level 10 of the Programming and Comedy skills

Reach Level 5 of the Rock Climbing skill

Graft a Death Flower to cheat death!

OPTIONAL: Complete the Fabulously Wealthy Aspiration

[flowerwrites06]

deathly dry spell — jjk

Plot: When Taehyung is away for months on a trip in the peak of winter, alternative methods of keeping a succubus pleased comes into play. 

Pairing(s): Jungkook x Succubus!OC (Name: Belle) ft. Boyfriend Taehyung 

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 2k+

Genre: Succubus AU | Roommate AU | PWP

Tags & Warnings: explicit smut, spanking, squirting, unsafe sex, coarse language, succubus being angry horny 

Authors Note: idk what’s happening with my writing streak lately but I’m kind of just going with the flow and hoping you all like it lmao let me know what you think!

Another frustrating morning. Belle had taken pills to suppress some of the aching in between her legs but they were only aggravating the hunger. Even her ivory horns began to ache from the increasing frustration and her breasts felt tender than ever before. Winter was always the worst time for her to be away from him. The grey sky framed by the apartment windows and cool atmosphere stinging her flesh made her desperate for warmth. No. Heat. She wanted burning heat everywhere.

“I’m going to be gone a couple of months, sweetheart,” Taehyungs’ voice crackled through the speaker.

“Months?” Belles’ dark brows furrowed looking through the computer screen as her boyfriend delivered the disturbing news. His curls were messy and a loose shirt draped over his body, making her heat up between her legs even more. In turn, increasing her frustration towards him for being so far apart.

If it were a normal relationship with two humans then they would probably just be very saddened. Unfortunately leaving your succubus girlfriend for a couple of months isn’t exactly safe. Especially if you’re desperate to want her faithful. She let out a deep sigh, staring out again at the heavily clouded sky. It was probably going to snow a lot this winter. She clamped her thighs together, cuddled into a crème blanket. “Tae—I can’t.” She buried her lips into the fluffy material. “Maybe I could come visit you.”

“You know why you can’t visit me here.” Taehyung didn’t sound too happy about the ordeal either but Belle had too much on her mind to feel bad for him. “These idiots don’t like magical creatures and you’ll be in danger.”

“But I can’t—”

“I had a suggestion.”

Belle blinked curiously. “What?”

Taehyung bit down his bottom lip, unsure of the thoughts rushing through his mind. “If you start feeling pain or sick at all—Jungkook could—”

“No.”

“You know it can’t be negotiated.”

“No!” she winced.

Taehyung sighed. “Baby…I can’t have you in pain.”

“Well that’s just you have to live with for leaving me.” She sniffled, scrunching her nose as the cold stung her. “Does Jungkook even know about your decision?”

“I kind of mentioned it to him.” Taehyung scratched the back of his head.

Belle’s eyes burned into him. She understood that there was no other choice if she wanted to survive the winter. But to take part in this pact felt so wrong. “So you just discussed it like it was some kind of business transaction.” Her feelings were indifferent. Some part of her still wanted to pretend that she was against it. Succubi were always known to become disloyal to their partners. If she took part in this thing, she’d be one of them.

“You—” Sadness spread across Taehyungs’ face; eyes glossed and features twisted in pain. “—you’ll die. Please…I want to come back home to you alive and well.”

Belles’ expression softened, tightening the blanket around her as she averted her gaze. “I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you.”

-

It kept getting colder and her body kept getting painful. Belle didn’t remember the last moment she sat still. Not having to squirm somehow to be comfortable. Spending nights rubbing against pillows to get some kind of tension but only sleeping with tears filling her eyes. This morning wasn’t helping her mood either when Jungkook made food for the both of them to eat.

Belle hadn’t talked to him ever since the call with Taehyung. Except that didn’t mean Jungkook stopped making an effort to keep some kind of interaction going. Forcing a dinner on them was one of his genius attempts.

Roasted potatoes, chicken curry, spinach paste and a blueberry pie. Hearty enough meals for Belle to sustain herself when she couldn’t be filled in other ways. The scent suffused the cool air, making it homely and comforting. In her stubbornness though, Belle leaned back on the chair as Jungkook tried to start a conversation.

“You’re just not going to talk to me.” Jungkook shook his head.

Belle folded her arms over her chest refusing to eat a morsel of food. It smelled delicious to a point where it could even make her mouth water.

“Look I know you’re hungry.” He gestured to the meal. “If you’re not going to do it the way you have to at least eat the way humans do.”

Belle glared at him. “Don’t act like this is an inconvenience to you. I didn’t ask for your goddamn help!” She never snapped at Jungkook. Or anyone for that matter. Then again, she hadn’t gone this long from getting her sustenance.

“It’s not an inconvenience. I don’t want to see a friend hurt like this.”

“But you’re willing to treat me like a bet in a club.”

Jungkooks’ expression hardened. “Sex means life and death to you, does it or does it not?”

Belle pressed her lips together. “Yes,” she muttered.

“Then why the hell would we not take it seriously?” He stabbed the fork into the chicken. “I can’t force you to get what you need. But I’m sure as hell not letting you leave until you eat something.”

She wanted to stay relentless and keep her arms folded. Except the meal might help sleep at night better at the very best. With a defeated sigh, she relaxed herself and began to eat.

-

“Stop squirming,” Jungkook said.

Belle scoffed, slouching on the couch after a good hour of trying to get into a comfortable position. Even the winter chills were turning into mere summer breezes from the way her body kept heating up. It was strange to have light snow falling outside and her body was adorned with a nightie. “I can’t get comfortable, alright? If you don’t like it, just go to your room.”

“This is my apartment too.”

“And you have a TV in your room.”

“But I want to be here.”

“Then stop complaining.” Belle shifted when the pooling between her legs was getting heavier.

Jungkook scoffed, raking his fingers through his hair roughly. “You know, I didn’t realize you had the potential to be such a bitch.”

“Well, we’re learning a lot of things, aren’t we?” Belle smiled bitterly. “Like how you have absolutely no patience whatsoever.”

“Sorry I’m not Taehyung keeping check on you like you’re a toddler.”

Thick scents of amber suffused the air and taunted Jungkooks’ nostrils. He tried not to scrunch his nose too much but it was strange not smelling the usual jasmine scent from her body.

“Just cause I don’t function like you humans doesn’t mean you get to demean my needs.” Belles’ voice had gotten deeper, eyes burning in anger and frustration. “Especially you. Acting like the nice best friend to Taehyung for months on end but the moment you have time alone with me, you act like I don’t exist. You’re no different than those people Taehyung works with—”

Jungkook grabbed the back of her neck and pressed a kiss on her lips. The desperately loyal part of Belle screamed to pull away. But whenever she tried, the warmth of another’s lips and the grip on her neck only caused her to whimper. He pulled away then. Chests rising and falling in the new brewing heat.

Belle hated her body for trying to grab onto him again. She tried to muster a frown. “Did you just do that to shut me up?”

“I can’t watch you ruin yourself.” Jungkook tightened his grip into her hair. “So please, for the love of god, fuck me.”

Like a trigger pulled on a gun, Belle pounced on the male, lips crashing against each other as her hands moved down to pull her panties off. She threw the flimsy material on the floor without a care before moving to straddle the male on the couch.

Jungkook pushed down his sweatpants and boxers, bare skin meeting the soft surface of the couch.

Belle raised herself until she felt his tip position at her sloppy entrance. She slid down slowly, the almost nonexistent sleeve of her nightie slipping down her shoulders. Without waiting a second longer, Belle moved up and down his cock, snug walls hugging him perfectly. There was no more time to wait. She didn’t want to wait.

He pushed up her dress, kneading her ass and forcing her hips to grind against his own. “F-Fuck…”

Belle threw her head back, hands placed on the back of the couch. Her breasts bounced along with her movements, nipples peeking out a little.

Jungkook growled lightly wrapping his strong arms fully around her waist before pounding up in to her pussy. He moved at a dizzying pace, balls slapping against her ass like a round of applause.

The sounds drowned Belle’s choked screams infused in an overwhelming pleasure as his lower belly roughly rubbed against her clit. “O-god.” She whimpered, gripping at the couch pillow until she scratched one of them.

Slowing his thrusts down, he moved deep inside her, feeling his cock drowning in her arousal. Jungkook kept his hold and turned them around so she was on the couch instead.

She immediately spread her legs apart watching him lean in and drink in her leaking core. Her hand moved to his hair.

Tongue lapped at her clit as he snuck a finger prodding at her slit. Jungkook slid inside with so much ease that a moan emitted in his throat. Then he slid another. Her heat burned against his flesh. Curling his digits upward, he rubbed against the spot inside her. His thumb brushing against her clit, he drilled his fingers into her pussy.

Belle let out a small sob in between her moans. Nails digging into her thigh as she watched her pussy spluttering out her arousal onto his hands moving at lightning speed. The pleasure coiled in her lower belly; tightening beyond control.

Knuckles deep inside her, he felt it getting hotter and more sloppy causing his member to spurt more arousal onto the floor. “That’s right, baby…” He whispered, dipping down and wrapping his lips around her clit, suckling like his favourite treat as his fingers continued to pound into her.

Belle’s body shook like insanity embodied, the heat gathering in her lower belly almost unbearable as she felt a heaviness ready to burst. “I’m gonna cum, Kook—” She cried out, thrashing against the messed up pillows.

The coil then sprung out in a light gush of clear liquid, squirting out of her as Jungkook kept moving his fingers in and out while suckling on her throbbing clit. He felt wetness dripping down his hand, soaking into the couch but it only made him hungrier for more as he growled against her puffy, sensitive pussy.

Belle winced from a slight ache as he continued to go beyond her sensitive point. “Ah-Kook-“ She pushed him away gently causing him to chuckle a little.

“We’re not done yet, baby.” Jungkook smirked, picking her up again, off the couch and turning her around. He bent her over so her breasts pressed against the wet stain. “Look at the mess you made.”

Belle replied in a whimper, swaying her ass his way until she felt his leaking tip brush against her. The stamped down pleasure reignited quicker than her own body could handle it. She wanted more. A sharp pain swung on her ass cheek causing her to let out a throaty chuckle as she swayed again. Much to her pleasure, Jungkook landed another swing on her ass cheek much harsher than the first. “Do it again.”

Jungkook obliged, slapping it once again. His tip rubbed in between her blushing cheeks to gain some friction when he landed another smack. Pressing his sweat layered chest to her back, he jabbed his glistening fingers through her lips. He hungrily watched Belle suckle on her arousal. Jungkook took a cheeky moment to push it down her throat until she gagged. He pulled his fingers out and grabbed onto her neck. “You want more?”

“Yes,” Belle whispered, desperately swaying her hips to gain his fill again.

“Yeah?” Jungkook pushed his length in, moaning at how much her walls still closed in on him, pushing him further over the edge. Veined fists pressed against the couch, slamming his hips against hers.

Belle rested her cheek against the soaked fabric. The smell of her own arousal made her mad with ecstasy, light groans emitted in her throat, her lower belly tightening again. The couch shifted and creaked at every thrust as her legs lost all ability to move properly.

Jungkook growled as the heaviness in his lower belly became hard to control, screaming to release. “I’m coming…” He breathed out.

“Come inside me.” Belle reached behind her to grab the back of his neck. “Please, come inside me,” she cried out.

Forehead pressing against the top of her head, Jungkook gave into frantic thrusts. Pleasure burst out of him in a thickened wave. Fingers dug into the cushion as a shaky moan passed his lips.

Belle grinned in complete bliss as her orgasm pounded through her, knees trembling and her body convulsing until she swore she saw stars. So many days of keeping herself contained. The proper pleasure of Jungkook filling her up brought her to tears, dripping onto the already ruined couch cushions. She giggled through her light sobs.

“Hey—” Jungkook brushed her hair away from her sweat-layered temple. “You okay?”

“More than okay.” Belle grinned, sniffling. “Thank you.”

Jungkook chuckled. “First time I’ve heard that after sex.”

The rest of winter moved a lot smoother and warmer for Belle and Jungkook.

[animefreak1145]

For Whom the Bell Tolls(Adler x Bell!Reader)

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Chapter 4| I Am Thee and Thou Art Me

Chapter Summary:

The action's you do is for survival and no other reason.

You don't understand other's actions though.

Cold War Reset AU| Undertale Reset AU

Warnings: Torture, Brainwashing, Manipulation, Possible Non-Con/Dub-Con, Trauma

Chapter Warnings: Mental/Emotional Anguish, Toxicity, Self-Loathing

A/N: Bottled beer is liquid hope and you love pictures.

Footnote: Translations at the bottom.

“Bell” Second Life 08:16 | February 26, 1981 West Berlin, Anita Wronski Cafe

“Looks like you’ve met death in the face, Bell. Rough night?” Lazar questioned, poking fun as they grabbed breakfast for everyone in line.

You rubbed your eye before pinching between your brows.

“Something like that,” you said tiredly as you  looked around the small cafe. Distantly taking note of Lazar’s statement with a dry smirk. “Didn’t sleep well.”

Small metal tables inside with metal chairs to match, both with interesting swirls for patterns making up the surfaces. There were more outside, the cafe a bit cramped in the first place even with just three tables again the wall. The smell of sweet German pastries and salty breakfast flooded your nose, making you lick your lips despite yourself not being hungry yet.

You were already up an hour beforehand, wondering to yourself how you and Adler could be in the car once more into the safehouse. Only to ‘volunteer’ when Lazar knocked on your door to help him grab food for everyone, apparently Adler already gone and left to the safehouse.

You internally frowned at that, you’re not sure why before you felt grateful. You would rather not talk about. . .whatever happened in his car. Which was nothing.

The flash of a clenched hand on the wheel as if holding back and a taut jaw came to the forefront of your mind.

Marionette’s should stick with their role.

It was nothing.

Lazar snorted, making you turn towards him as they both stepped up to the cashier. Lazar pointing towards the dessert window of what to get in a box as you spoke in German to the woman. Several more items of breakfast were ordered that will take some time to make, so they moved to sit to the only open table inside the quaint café.

“You drunk what—four cups of coffee yesterday, Bell? And looking at a bunch of nonsense for hours as if your brain is steel and your eyes can’t melt out of your head.” What a nice vision. Lazar took a sip of the German coffee he got for himself, eyes lighting up at the taste before looking back at you. “All that must’ve been stuck in your head and probably even in your dreams. Had any floating codes flying around your mind as you slept by any chance?”

That’s not quite right, but you’ll take the excuse handed to you as you shrugged. Lifting your own cup of coffee that you doused in three creams and two sugar’s, humming for a moment in agreement to Lazar at the strong and bold taste before taking another one.

“You can say that. I would have kept going and working until I got tired. You would call me a night owl so to say.”

“You seem pretty alright to me now,” Lazar observed as he leaned back in his chair.

“I have an impressive work ethic. Better than others I think. I’m used to going to sleep late and waking up early.” You can infer that your body is used to this schedule, harsh and strict work ethic that you must’ve gotten when you worked with Perseus. “Although, I admit I’m not very hungry right now. You chose a bad partner in this.”

“But you volunteered,” Lazar stared ever so seriously and another sip to his coffee. You could see he was fighting a smile.

You huffed through your nose, shaking your head.

“Yes. How could I have forgotten. Like I did for Kraus.” Lazar slightly winced at the reminder of how you got kidnapped, muttering an apology which you waved away. “It’s fine. I was the best to do that anyways.”

“You sure are pretty accepting with all this work. Just asking and taking files like nothing, ” Lazar rose a brow, you couldn’t tell if it was for being impressed or disbelief. You didn’t say anything to that, the both of you just sipping on their coffee and waiting for their meals to take to the car before heading back to work. You’ll walk past the center table easily and just sit in your chosen desk. Maybe get a lecture about professionalism which you will just absently nod at since you will make yourself feel numb if you have to, just to get away from the man in any way. Lazar paused at your far away look, your cup by your mouth yet you’re not drinking, instead of looking at a simple framed painting of Germany’s hills at the wall. ". . .As much as the boss man likes to act like it, we're not machines,” you blinked out of your reverie, your eyes flicking towards Lazar. “You're not either. Even though you understand numbers with little pattern and words that would have no connection normally—be able to put it together and have it make sense."

You blinked once more, albeit slower.

"I...I know I'm not a machine."

"Do you? Acting like you don't sleep and eat, besides those seeds of yours like you're a bird yesterday outside of the one meal I brought you. Do you sing too?" You released a surprised laugh at that, short as it was with lips still up. "That's better. Thought your lips stay flat like that. I swear, it seems both you and Adler are obsessed with Perseus. See why you're his protege now."

You were struck at Lazar’s words, focusing on him with a frown. The implications that the both of you were similar making you look down.

“Guess we're two peas in a pod.”

You mumbled the last bit, as if to yourself as you lowered your cup on the table.

"What? Oh. . .guess you could say that. But remember this Bell," He throws a pastry at you as you quickly catch it before it met your face(you would always have to be prepared for that before), blinking down at your hands before looking at the kind faced Lazar. "Lighten up. We'll get him so don't push yourself so much. And eat real food too! Seeds! As if that's food."

Your mind showed you moments from your previous life, Lazar always teasing and making you eat and try as much as different food as possible. Away from your decryption tasks as he would wave your plate under your nose as if to entice you.

“No point in being greedy,” The kind man would say, wry smile playing his lips with a tone to match, after letting you try food from his plate, even encouraging it. “Memories—memories with food should be savored and light and new dishes should be enjoyed.”

You thought of when you first found out the truth, still recovering from wounds of Cuba as you sat—away, away from that gurney—and guilt with Lazar—should’ve been quicker, perhaps you would’ve been kinder, kindness is a lie—and asking Park if Lazar knew. About you. About this. MK-Ultra. Everything.

You stared at the Israeli man for a moment before smiling, a mischievous thing. Genuine. Like the man in front of you.

"I am smaller than you, it's enough for me."

"Now you're just poking fun."

Lazar was always kind.

Oh, how he played his role perfectly for you.

At this point, you’ll take what you can get and stop wondering with him. You’ll go mad.

Foolish американский щеноk. The collar around your neck has choked all the trust for others in you.

Best, you think as Lazar easily teased you again, an unreadable look in your eyes as you take another sip of your drink. To just not feel at all.

The breakfast the both of you ordered came, Lazar grabbing the bag as movement behind the counter caught your eye. A worker bringing in a new dessert towards the other German sweets, yellow and round and looking spongy similar to a cake but with a crust like a pie. You walked back up to the counter, pointing and asking the worker in fluent German what was that. Her replying with a smile that it is their pineapple kasekuchen, the German’s take in a cheesecake.

You turned your gaze to the sweet, lost in thought before raising your hand with two fingers up to order, the worker nodding.

You grabbed the box and walked up to the curious Lazar by the door, his brow arched as if asking a silent question. As the both of you exited the bakery and walked towards the car, you still not saying anything and only periodically glancing down at the box with the kasekuchen, even tightening your grip a tad around it when the crowd around them got a little too close, Lazar decided to speak.

“You know,” he began, and you took note that he sounds amused. Almost knowing. You pretended to stay oblivious. “There was this mission I was on in Thailand with Adler a few years back.” At the mention of Thailand, your memory of yesterday in Adler’s car still fresh, you looked towards Lazar as they walked. “Something covert and recon with the usual stray chance of a suicide bomber. The standard for our great unpredictable job. Keeps us in our toes.” His tone was a mix of sarcasm and easygoing, as if suicide bombing in a country was like if he stated it’s going to rain again. Where is he going with this? “Anyways, when we weren’t doing that—we’d stop at this corner store near the safehouse we were in. Boss man would always buy his precious cigarettes, leaves the other stuff we need to actually sustain us to me. Except, he would get something else too. To eat and I always thought each time I saw that, that Adler is human after all.” He glanced down at you, one brow raised. “Do you happen to know what it is?”

You huffed, turning your head away. Them reaching the car and you going to the passenger side as Lazar stood by the driver’s side—still unopened and leaning his crossed arms on the top of the car.

“You sure like playing games today,” you dodged with quirked lips, shuffling the box in your hands to hold it in one as you moved your free one to open the door. “Volunteering me again and calling me a bird and now having me guess what a man like Adler would get besides his addiction. You want to talk about machines, look at him.”

How the puppet lies so so sweetly.

Lazar hummed, deciding to open the car and the both of you going in and settling as they placed the bags down by you to make sure none of it spills. After they pulled out from the space, Lazar spoke once more, offhandedly and an interesting turn of the lips.

“Pineapples sure are sweet and tart. Pretty good too.”

You don’t say anything.

Just made sure your hold on all the boxes of food for everyone didn’t tip over as Lazar would turn. If your grip with the kasekuchen was firmer than the others, you didn’t notice.

Feed the god and you might get a reward.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯  ◁ ◁ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You squinted behind your closed eyes, shifting in your uncomfortable sitting position in the foxhole with only dirt and soil to help cushion you within the trench like pit. The crickets were loud, deafening in the jungle with a periodic squawk or call from a bird deep within. You shifted, your M-16 moving down in your lap from the movement  despite your lucky green cloth gloves holding it as you blearily opened your eyes, blinking them against the darkness until they got used to it. The half moon helping somewhat in giving light as well as the fireflies flying around in the dance where only they heard the music.

They were still on their way to Hue City, night coming upon them quicker than expected. The jungles are harsh and thick, especially with the route they’re taking due to their stealth and recon mission, but the planned route was still underestimated. It did not help the planned foxhole they were going to got covered, completely useless and the time to make another one is time they don’t have. Luckily, they were able to find another, although this one was tighter. Two small foxholes that barely fit the five of you, hence having to sit basically in a ball against the wall of dirt behind you.

All of you were doing one hour intervals in keeping watch, the watcher usually standing up in the foxhole in order to watch their surroundings. And if an attacker did come, they could duck within the foxhole for cover.

You felt like you should’ve woken up for your  shift already.

Your eyes focused next to you, finding the spot where Larson was supposed to be standing empty. You hastily stood, pack heavy against your back as it tensed in protest at the sudden weight, your hands tight against the M-16 and about to call the other’s names at the missing soldier only to stop.

Your standing position giving you new access to see more besides the sky above you, surrounded by brush and green foliage of all types with high grass upon the ground. Larson sat, just a few inches away from the foxhole a little to your right, staring up in the starlit sky. He turned his head towards you at the sound, seeing you were awake before turning his head back, as if you weren’t there.

“Larson,” you whispered, not wanting to wake up the others in the foxhole next to yours. When Larson didn’t move so the two of you could switch, you reached out to tug on his pack on his back. “You can’t be out in the open like this. You don’t know if VC or NVA might come by in the area.”

“Let them,” Larson said brazenly but just as low, making you release his pack in surprise. “Besides, there’s a bunch of shit around here to cover us. Even this grass is kinda covering my face. Nothing will happen. Now, go back to sleep and leave me be.”

You stared, before sighing. Carefully looking around once, twice, before coming out of the foxhole as quietly as you could—using the open holes on the dirt walls to place your feet to get out. You sat by Larson, who ignored you and went back to staring up at the twinkling sky.

You took a moment to stare at it too. This far in the boonies, away from cities and cars and just filled with wildlife, it has a sort of bewitching air around it. Despite the loud chirp of the crickets, the call of the birds, and how one would sometimes have to smack any open skin for stubborn mosquitos—the trees, the grass, all the greenery that looked dark in the night outside of being lit by the fireflies and the stars and moon above. You were struck once more, just how beautiful this country was. With it’s natural serenity as the moonlight not covered by clouds touched lightly upon to aid somewhat with the darkness but not as much as a flashlight would do, still, the moon did its best even if it was just at it’s half tonight. The stars were there to support it and you wish you learned more about constellations than your books, you’re sure you could spot all of them and weave stories of your own instead of reading them.

“You know,” your attention shifted to Larson, who still gazed up as he spoke, lost in thought and appearing away from here as he spoke quietly. He does not wish to wake the others it seems. “I don’t know if you remember me telling you this, but I grew up on a farm. Small. Not very fancy and it was just me and my family—Ma, Pa, and my two brothers and sister. Out just taking care of our cattle and our horses. Middle of nowhere, we would have to drive about an hour to get to a good grocery store that isn’t just a corner store or gas station. I hated it more that the closest school was about the same length. . . But what could I do? Needed an education, at least some, and than spend the rest of my life worried about a farm. With all it’s cow and horse shit, waking up before the sun does and at the end of the day you smell like all the shit you cleaned up.” He ended, sounding tired and yet with the bitter words it had an iota of equal bitter amusement.

You maintained your silence, instead moving your gaze back and forth around them. Not looking at how Larson’s lips quirked begrudgingly, head tilted up towards the silent night.

“. . .there were a few good things though. When me and my brothers and sister were done with work, and the moon was out—we’d head out to where the cattle were. Laying down on the grass without a care, why bother? We were already dirty with sweat and dirt and shit. And we’d look up—and than—“ Larson reached an arm out, as if to reach the sky, only to clench his hand and put it down back by his lap before gripping his MP40 hard where you could spot how white his knuckles were. “. . .laying down, in the grass, in the middle of nowhere, with just a dark black sky over you. . .it felt like it could swallow us. Whole. Not caring about how we looked or smelled or how old we were. . .it made us feel small. Yet huge. If we pretended enough, we could act like we can really touch the moon. The stars. I guess it just showed all of us there was more, than this little farm. With it’s shit and it’s smell and being in the middle of nowhere. The black sky might just eat us to put us out of our childish misery. Maybe that’s also why we kept going back, not just cause of fucking beautiful it was, but maybe. . .”

Larson trailed off and you decided to speak up, softly. Not wishing to break this odd aura around them, because this was more than talking about how small a human’s life is.

“‘If you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you,’” you quoted, Larson cocking his head slightly and glancing at your from the corner of his eyes. You released a small fleeting smile. “It’s a quote. By a German philosopher called Friedrich Nietzsche. A depressing guy but. . . I feel like his words fit. The abyss swallowing. . . perhaps it is more you become one with it. A fusion. Where you don’t know where you begin and the abyss ends.”

Larson turned his head away, grabbing a handful of some grass and pulling as he moved his eyes back up.

“Who knows? Maybe. . . shit,” Larson dryly chuckled, “maybe, I should’ve stuck with staring up at my family’s farm home—staring up this abyss right here but there instead. Than maybe. . .you know, I would say sappy shit in my letters to her?” You didn’t ask who ‘her’ was, you could fill in the blanks as you wisely kept silent. “All words about the moon and stars and we were staring at the same one so I wasn’t that far away cause we stared up at the same thing’s. That she had stars in her eyes and if I looked up, I could see her in them. That she pulled me to her like the moon does water and just—shit. Fuck. ”

Larson hissed, putting his head to his hands. His shoulders slightly shook, you could barely tell in the darkness but you imagine he is holding himself back.

“I loved her,” Larson said, voice all cracked and broken as his breath hitched. “I love her still. And she’s—she’s leaving. What will I have when I come back? Go back? I—there’s nothing. We were. . .I went to war for  her . Our  country .”

You kept your mouth shut. Letting him release his sorrow and emotionally charged words that made zero sense such as that. You learned, especially on the beach night, it is not wise to depend on another’s support when it comes to actions of war.

You didn’t even give Larson the full quote earlier either. You do not think he needed the full one, but you know yourself what Nietzsche was going for. You think Adler might like it actually.

Eventually, you managed to put Larson back into the foxhole as you took watch by him. Standing in the foxhole as you did your shift. A few minutes officially in however, you took note of noise in the foxhole next to you. You turned your head, noticing Adler’s head was out, helmet on and war paint slightly losing their color. You can see his stubble starting to really come in now. He had his shades on, even at this time, in this darkness—but you could tell he was staring at you. Something clicked as you lightly sighed.

“How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough.”

You nodded, turning your eyes around their surroundings with your M-16 in front of you and gripped at the ready just in case.

“You left something out,” Adler said after a while, voice low to not wake the others that it sounded husky to your ears. You glanced at him, brow raising questioningly as Adler’s lips lifted to a knowing smirk. “I don’t know much, but my high school education isn’t too laughable I think. I know that quote. You missed the whole beginning and just gave him the end.”

You blinked, before shrugging as you peered up at the sky for a moment.

“He didn’t need the beginning. Just the end.”

“Some might call that yellow journalism. Or lying.”

“Others might call it wise,” you retorted lightly. “He didn’t need to know it. It wouldn’t have helped. So why give it? Besides, we know it. We’re the only type of people who need it.”

Adler hummed, whether it was in agreement or in thought, you couldn’t tell. You took note of him shifting, hands a little fidgety around his M60 and you felt sympathy swell in you. He hasn’t been able to smoke since the start of this mission, having to be cautious with any type of smoke. You don’t know personally, but you know that the craving for cigarette’s were mind consuming if you did not have one to quell it. Perhaps this conversation was a welcome distraction.

You wonder if this night is just you going to be playing silent therapist.

“Do you think Larson should’ve heard it?”

Adler answered as he kept his dutiful watch around, him facing the area behind you as you focused in front.

“No. He just needed someone to listen. Poor bastard should ask for R&R after this. I’ll grant it to him, maybe he could go to Australia and just wind down there for a week.” He scratched at his face, the war paint surely feeling a little off since he first put it on. “Forget about all this. All of it. The States. The war. He needs it. Hell, we all do.”

Your lips formed a teasing smile.

“Even shadows and monsters need a smoke?”

Adler chuckled easily.

“Everyone needs a smoke as far as I’m concerned. Maybe less people will act like they’re one push away till they make a shitstorm the rest of us need to clean up. But sure, kid, ” he half shrugged, focusing on the sky above with all its celestial like bodies. “Larson might’ve been onto something though with what he was saying.”

“Which part?”

Adler chose silence as his answer, staring up for another moment or two before huffing and turning his attention back onto the ground.

The two of you stayed guarding for a few more moments. You didn’t bother asking Adler why he was up and you had this watch, just like how he didn’t seem to bother to order you to go to sleep. You felt like once more, there was an understanding between you two. Still though, it didn’t stop you from the question bubbling in your throat.

“Since you know the quote,” Adler hummed lightly, showing he was listening. “What do you think Nietzsche was referring to, that the reader itself hasn’t fought with other monsters yet or from experience because he is a monster to not have other’s fight him?”

Adler scoffed quietly, amused.

“Just cause I know the quote doesn’t mean I constantly wonder about it’s meaning, Bell.”

“Humor me.”

“I thought I told you earlier I’m not here to spoil you.” You threw him a sheepish grin, Adler sighing and shaking his head as his expression turned inquisitive with how he pressed his lips together for a moment. “It’s a warning. That’s how I always saw it. But it’s not one we need like you said earlier, kid.  We don’t need it.”

You didn’t ask anymore. Because as you thought more into it, he was right.

Nietzsche wrote a warning, to the innocent reader and the oblivious society that put emphasis on morals and truth that he did not agree with.

‘Battle not with monsters, lest you become a monster. And if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes into you.’

Monsters do not fret about what they already are. Just as they are not worried if the abyss ends with them or if it begins.

“Get ready, kid.” Adler said much later as they all slowly woke the others up to move, his eyes squinting behind his glasses as he stared past the trees, the bushes, and the greenery as the beginning of dawn started to rise. “It’s going to be a shit show in a few hours.”

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

“Bell”

Second Life

14:02 | February 26, 1981

CIA SAFEHOUSE E9, “DIE LANDEBAHN”

You see yourself as one with patience.

When it comes to this sort of line of work, it is required. A sort of fortitude and composure that not all can be able to acquire but must be needed for this—for lives at stake based on whether you can put up an act or have the tact of an eagle capturing a snake, all sharp claws and silent feathers against the hissing strike. ты хочешь быть американцем товарищ.

“The two most powerful warriors are patience and time,” as said by one one of your favorites, Leo Tolstoy, from one of the best works in history: War and Peace.

You recall last time—stop clinging, you stupid dog—when you stood outside the safehouse in the cold with your head to the book, Adler stepping out and taking note of your book with a cocked brow. Stating his surprise at your book choice as you mumbled something or other as you read, that it is an integral book. You even stating the same quote back to him, a surprise to you when Adler didn’t know of it. Listening as you explained it with a flick of his lighter and calm inhales and exhales of his addiction, showing off where the quote was as he leaned in slightly. Your heart pounding as his warmth was felt without even touching, than a brush of his shoulder to your back as he drew closer. Than it was gone.

“All grim thoughts and wise words with you, eh Bell?” Amused. A fleeting turn of the lips that stayed longer and a gaze that lingered as he stared through you under those shades. “Make sure you take a breather when you raise your nose for air from your books. Can’t do this without you.”

He would tease, but didn’t stop you from taking your reading breaks outside for fresh air. And he’d always ask, curiosity in his expression when you’d show him a line each time. You thought it was special. Their own little thing where you would raise your book and he would lean to you and they would touch.

“Bell, open the door.”

It was just cruel kindness.

Patience, you are using it to your fullest. You can do what you must and see if your actions can work up to something—all your effort and hard work being seen as a good little tool.

Though, time—time is something you may not have. Unless you make sure you’re loyal.

You were quick to drop off the breakfast on the center table, ignoring Adler’s rose brow as you moved. The pineapple kasekuchen in their rightful place. You avoided and didn’t speak outside a quick “good morning” to everyone else and went to work, breakfast by you whenever you got truly hungry.

You didn’t think about why you bought the dessert. Outside the rationalization it shows your loyalty. Perhaps a peace offering to ignore what happened the night prior. You didn’t think much about that at all.

американский щеноk.

Until he called you over to his desk with a wave of his hand, your chest thundering with your eyes wide as you wondered if he’ll say anything. Take you aside in private to talk. About last night or the sweet, you’re not sure. Only for him to motion for you to sit, tapping his knuckle against the file on the desk. You took note the box of the kasekuchen wasn’t there anymore(must’ve already ate it or threw it away) as you blinked, slowly sitting in the seat across from him as he slid the file towards you as he asked your opinion on it.

You scanned, mind wandering and flying, before you glanced up at him. His favorite mahogany leather over him that is second skin, a lighter shade of blue for his collared shirt today under him and his mouth free of a cigarette as well as his hands. Those aviators still on his head, a part of him. Sort of like the beanie—ski—mask over your head as he looked down at another report in front of him. As if he didn’t call you over from your desk to his to help with a file when he could’ve just left it on your desk. As if you didn’t cross a line—you always cross the line, over, behind, or creating a completely new one to do what you must like he does whatever it takes but it was wrong, you are no saint, pitiful mutt—yesterday with your words and questions.

A hand reached towards the file in front of you, knuckle tapping twice, more force this time.

You focused back on the file, only to see Adler already took his hand back. Continuing to read as he patiently waited for your consensus on the file before you.

You were struck than how he’ll handle this, understanding dawning on you as your gaze focused and turned to the file below you and picking it up.

If he wishes to pretend as if it never occurred, it’s fine with you. It’s best either way for both of you. You have too many worries already, Adler included. Best to leave certain things out your mind about the man lest you’ll get clouded. You’re trying to survive. Not get caught up in and tangled in mind games.

You spotted in the corner of your eye Adler give a ghost of a nod, the tiniest tip of the head, imperceptible to others but you knew. He gave a similar one when you captured Volkov, walking up to you with a calm swagger and gloved hands around his weapon, as he moved his head in approval. Such a good girl to be happy with just a nod. Satisfied. He’s satisfied. He knows you understood. Understood him.

“You know me too well.”

“Guess we’re two peas in a pod.”

“I need Bell.”

You raised the file closer, over your mouth formed in a subconscious echo of a pleased smile. You didn’t even feel it. Nor did you feel electric blue eyes behind shades glance towards you before turning back to his work—the silent agreement to keep what happened last night to themselves written and signed without the two of you having to open your mouths.

Coward, you wanted to snarl. To who, you’re not sure. You just focused on what Adler gave you. You’ll need to have Adler let you live so you’ll need to not just be a perfect asset to the others but a person to him.

You have to do what you must.

“Damaged goods.”

You have to.

“You remembered.”

You flicked your eyes towards him, file momentarily forgotten. He didn’t look up from his own file, continuing to read it with the expression he always has when concentrated—a hint of pressed lips that reveals his dimples and brows lowered than usual where it would be difficult to see due to his shades. You would think that mania has truly taken a hold of you, with it’s dark tentacles filled with dark thoughts and mental anguish or rather slithering and multiplying vines where Lykourgos grew mad due to Dionysus’ vengeance except for you it is with choking collars and stifling leashes and cutting strings. He looked as if he didn’t speak at all. All the quiet focus of a war hardened CIA agent that didn’t have a ring on his finger but was married to his job with a badge to show all the same.

But you knew his voice. As if it was your own.

“We’ve known each other for years.”

“Fought together. Bled together. Been through Hell in Vietnam together.”

“We got a job to do.”

“ B e l l,  o p e n  t h e  d o o r . ”

The poor американская сука loves pain like a drug.

“I wasn’t sure what you would,” Adler spoke again, your eyes focusing on him once more. His head still was tilted down and a little to the side, shades facing the paper but you believed he glanced towards you. “The coma did a number on you with your memories. I know you’ve been saying it’s only been about Vietnam but you never specified about what. Or if you happened to remember anything else.” He didn’t state it like a question but he might as well have.

Of course he would ask. Why wouldn’t he?

Nonetheless, you knew what he was referring to in his earlier statement. He ate them. You picked up your file with a small huff.

“Hard to forget, Adler. Of course I would remember. You would hold those cans like a lifeline,” your lips lifted at the memories, of Adler trading with others if he must to get his precious golden ambrosia that would appease him similar to his cigarettes. You kept your lips up despite the quick recall the memories were fake—the trading of trash, the quiet understanding to not speak of it, of beautiful Vietnam foliage and unforgettable talks—just as you glanced at him and continued easily. “Glad you liked them. Wasn’t sure if you would. As for other memories. . . it’s still only been with Vietnam. I haven’t gotten anything else.” Adler hummed, cocking his head a tad before your lips formed more of a smile that you felt. “But at least I still know what I like or don’t. Can’t imagine a clean slate.”

“That’s normal,” Adler said, shades now facing you as you somewhat hid your face with the file. The only thing him being able to see fully was your eyes. “Learn how to calm down and that you can’t take all these shots like you’re a target in a shitty gun range. Might remember more.”

You found yourself snorting, rolling your eyes. Finding dark amusement at his words despite yourself. Perhaps you are growing insane.

“Based on what you told me in the hospital, you would’ve had some holes instead.” The way you said it, it sounds like you still believe it. Like it was real. Dance puppet, dance. You turned up your lips into a semblance of a smirk as you looked over the file towards him. You maintained it even though you think the both of your eyes connected despite the shades hiding. “You don’t have to worry, Adler. I got your back. Always. A few shots is nothing.”

It’s what you would’ve said before. It scares you how much you meant it previously. As if your life was forfeit if it came to having Adler live longer. Nothing else would matter as long as he lived. Nothing. As if the world would come to an end if he fell—the only one that could hold it and keep it straight.

Perhaps he is Atlas after all. . .

The loyal dog with the pretty collar will always protect the master.

Cursed due to his cruelty.

What are you, Russell Adler?

Adler stared at you for a moment, as if assessing your words. Scrutinizing them. He than reached into his jacket, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. Once he did the first drag and released his puff, away from you as you observed the smoke curl around them, he looked back down to the papers on the desk.

“How lucky am I that I got you around than, kid,” he replied, all low and earnest as he took another drag. “Just don’t go dying on me. Can’t have Sims talk to his shrink about something else. He’d be heart broken.”

Adler said that sentence a little louder, so it was no surprise that Sims by the desk put down his magazine and called out.

“I resent that!”

Adler’s lips twitched in response, but kept his gaze down as your heart thundered.

You thought of an explosion to the chest, your heart open and bare for more reasons than you planned. Of soft words to your ear that sounded like regret and something else as you coughed. Of a gentle touch that held you up, hands wandering from your waist to your stomach—stopping just short of a bleeding chest as if they wanted to stop the red—redredredredred—from flowing out but hesitated. An encircling of arms that released heat as you grew cold—you don’t like the cold much anymore—while an expression was carefully guarded with eyes hiding behind a shaded curtain.

You felt your throat tighten. The need for answers to unanswered questions reaching a head.

“Just Sims?” you asked softly, a little breathless and a little confused at said breathlessness.

He glanced up, aviators slightly down and you could barely see his eyes as he exhaled a puff, eyeing you. You staring as his brow lifted for a moment before it settled, an interesting look in your eyes that one might call forlorn. And something else that is dangerous and not meant for monsters who are better alone.

“Maybe another life, kid.”

Mind thine eyes dog, for they show you yearn the impossible.

“You know the answer, Bell. Everyone would be,” Adler leaned slightly back in his chair, cigarette between his fingers in his customary hold between his ring and middle finger. “You’re part of the team. What kind of question is that?”

“You’re still one of us.”

He knows what he’s doing. Just as he knows what you mean.

You bit the inside of your cheek, looking down with squinting eyes at the file. Your hand making it a little wrinkle and you don’t know what you expected. What you’re expecting. He hurts. He pretends. Why would he even answer truthfully when he can dodge and feel less guilt about a hole in you caused by his hand?

He’s—

You felt a nudge against your knee, you looking up in shock with a quick inhale at the unexpected touch. It staying there—his knee, he’s touching you—as you watched Russell tilt his head at you, brow up and lips quirked with a cigarette around it and looking wry and relaxed—what is this, why, what could this be for, why is he doing acts that are pointless yet mean everything when he could just be distant, you are getting worked up over just knees touching, you touch starved little thing—as he motioned his head an iota to the left. Your eyes following the movement to see Park where she was, nearby with her desk and a headphone to one ear but the other still able to listen in despite how naturally quiet you and Adler are with your soft voice and Adler’s low tone.

Park? What does she have to do with anything? And why would Adler of all people care?

You frowned, only for your lips to flatten in realization of her words to you about Adler. To stay away. You now wonder if she did a similar warning to him.

“Insanity breeds insanity as they say.”

You wonder if the pissing match that was imperceptible and the slight tension was more than just two agencies trying to come to an accord.

But why would Park warn Adler?

You glanced back at Adler, who gave a half shrug as if to answer your silent question. It only raised more. You moved your knee back closer to your form and Adler didn’t react as you did so. The both of you turning back to the files that Adler requested your assistance.

Not thinking in the back of your mind of fleeting touches, lingering looks, or a voice to your pounding ear that tinged with remorse even though you couldn’t see his face.

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You and Park just recently finished going through the report you and Woods got from Ukraine. Sims and Lazar were in the back rooms where the gun range was while Park was in the Red Room. Last you checked, Adler was still in his office with a call while Mason and Woods were by the weight lifting equipment and taking turns to work off some steam due to what was discovered. You were putting the findings up on the evidence board with tacks, careful to not stab yourself. You wouldn’t be as concerned if you were wearing your gloves which you put away earlier by your bunk bed, but than again, you’re quite careful with your gloves. Not only because of the quality, but who got the leather gloves for you when you were just recently discharged out of the hospital back in the States.

You smiled, putting the last tack on the board only to have a sudden weight around your shoulders. You widened your eyes, briefly alarmed only to turn your head to see it was a smirking Woods.

“Done? Good! I’ve been holding off till now but it’s time to fucking see what you’re  really  made of Bell.”

You blinked, confused and still reeling at the fact you didn’t sense his approach at all. Your mind will zone out over the littlest of things lately. It concerns you. But it hasn’t been a problem so far out in missions, so you think it’s alright.

“And how exactly I’m going to do that? Thought I showed you enough back in Ukraine.”

At that, Woods laughed as he basically tugged you to where Mason was, who was shaking his head at his friend and shooting you an apologetic look as you just smiled that you were okay with it. Their van door open in the back as well as a table and chairs in front. You took note of the packs of beer and you see what Woods meant as he sat by Mason in the van on the floor, you sitting down and observing as Woods took a hefty gulp of a beer.

“I think I know now. But,” you glanced to where Adler’s office was, “is this wise? Isn’t Hudson coming over here soon?”

Woods slammed his beer down, causing some of it to come out as Mason sighed at the wastefulness.

“Man,  fuck  Hudson!” Woods wiped his chin harshly, irritation coloring his features. “I want to forget about that nutsack for the rest of the day. When he comes, he better not say shit or I’ll punch him again. Maybe with that shit will stop coming out his mouth.”

Mason chuckled, having his own beer in his hand as his eyes wandered to his longtime friend, shifting as he got comfortable in his seat.

“How’s the hand?”

Woods scoffed.

“Pfft. Nothing fancy,” Woods looked at said hand, clenching it as he moved to crack his knuckles as he grinned wildly. “Ready enough, like I said, if Hudson says something smart.” He punched his fist against his hand, muscles flexing noticeable despite his jacket as you couldn’t help but laugh along with Mason.

“I still can’t believe you punched him yesterday,” you spoke up, shaking your head in disbelief. You can’t even imagine anyone punching the intimidating harsh man that is James Hudson. Soon after your discharge, you had to meet with him back in Langley for the mission before all this Perseus business—although you suppose supporting the Polish union Solidarity in fighting back communists have everything to do with Perseus. You don’t understand why the man seems to dislike you so much, especially if the two of you worked briefly before which you sadly can’t remember. He must always be like that with others, Woods doesn’t seem to like or appreciate Hudson’s icy countenance either way. You don’t quite appreciate the man’s secrecy about the nukes, so you see why. “If I even breathe the air wrong around him, I think I will be dead come morning. I don’t think I’m exaggerating.”

“You?” Woods asked, amused incredulity in his tone as he faced you. “The one who basically took out three Heavy’s by your lonesome? Scared of that ball face? You’re shitting me!”

Mason rose his brows as he turned towards you.

“You didn’t say that in the report. You holding out on us, Bell?”

“Right?! Now open a bottle and tell Mason here everything that happened.”

You rose a brow, amusement shining in your eyes, your hand moving to the pack of beer before stopping. The memory of the arcade room making you smile knowingly.

“Everything?”

Woods made a face, cheeks looking an interesting color that Mason caught as he nudged his friend with his elbow.

“What’s she talking about Woods?”

“Nothing! Jesus Christ Bell, didn’t know you could be a little shit like Adler can.”

The words bounced off you easily, already used to the man’s vulgar personality from the mission and even before the mission to go over details, as you shrugged, smirking as Mason kept pushing Woods on what happened as Woods would grumble or drink his beer to avoid answering. At Adler’s name however, you looked back at the office, slightly biting the inside of your lip.

Your breaks thus far outside of eating has just been reading your books or a quick game in the back room. Never for a drink like Lazar would do with Sims and Park at times. Adler, at least what you know of, hasn’t drunk and just has stuck with his cigarettes. You don’t even remember the last time  you  drank. All you know is that you like it.

But. . . you’re not sure if Adler would approve. You’re always focused on your work and great at it, he depends on you to maintain your focus to catch Perseus.

You subconsciously put your hand in your jacket, feeling the polaroid as you thought.

Woods noticed your apprehension and called out to you, you turning your head back.

“Whatcha fuckin’ worried about? You’ve been working all day from those codes and whatever the shit you put on the board. I don’t think Adler would want you to be worked dry where you don’t even think straight.”

“Only booze can do that,” Mason added helpfully.

Woods nodded, looking too serious it was almost comical since they were just trying to persuade you to drink.

“What he said.”

You took a moment before you shrugged, grabbing a beer and opening it as you stated that you guess you could drink with legends. Woods huffing at you, soon calling you cocky in realization as to why you made fighting Heavy’s not a big deal and not impressed with him. Mason seeming to find it funny as the three of you drank and talked about the mission more freely and colorful words with Woods. You did slightly flush when Woods told Mason you were a nerd for playing a quick game while there were Russians preparing for their training course, Mason snorting as you hushed them when Park grew near them. Not wishing for her to find out.

Quickly hiding it by inviting her to join just as Lazar and Sims came back, the two men seeming to easily join in as Park contemplated as she stared at the beer. With a sigh though, she sat by Lazar as she took one.

“Next time, I’m buying the alcohol here. You bought rubbish, Woods.”

“‘Rubbish?’ And beer is beer, nothing wrong with good ol cheap beer sometimes,” Woods defended. “Adds to the flavor.”

Lazar smiled, raising his bottle.

“Cheers to that.” Lazar and Woods tapped their bottles in the middle when they reached over, an easy aura settling between the group.

Sims got a bottle, assessing the name as well as the pack as he did a dog whistle.

“Germans know how to do one thing right, and that’s beer. You’ll be fine Park. It could be worse,” Sims took a drink, humming as he did so while Park frowned at her bottle when she took a few sips.

“Worse?”

“It could’ve been canned,” Mason answered, speaking from experience that made you raise a brow as you took a drink, settling further into your seat. “Canned cheap beer you can basically taste the metal. There was one time back in the States where I practically shitted myself due to this cheap beer I got at this random gas station in the middle of nowhere. Ruined my night.”

“And your pants it seems,” Lazar commented, mirth clear in his tone before he released a laugh along with Sims guffaw at the Israeli’s words. Park shaking her head but anyone can see her smile on her lips as Woods stated that’s what happens when you’re in “bumfuck nowhere” and probably got experimented with weird moonshine.

You snorted in surprise, covering your mouth as your imagination pictured the soldier rushing to the bathroom lest an accident happens. Mason? He seems so serious all the time, which you can understand why. You’ve read up what you could on everyone here, the description’s were small but you could fill in the lines. He’s lucky that he has such a good friend like Woods.

It soon became a trading of stories between everyone about drunk nights and how they reached that point, Lazar running with a bowl of chili and Woods determined to make condom water balloons and Sims was just finishing his own passed out in random deck chairs story when the door of the office opened.

You immediately turned towards where Adler now stood, staring at all of you as he closed the door and currently free of a cigarette. Your anxiety only grew when Adler turned his head towards you, as if he was asking you personally on the situation as you could only throw him an apologetic yet impish smile. Adler’s brow rose.

“Adler!” Woods called, raising a hand and motioning it for the man to come over. Adler approaching the group as you could only stare and tried to get a read on him. Alas, it was hard to discern his mind even if you could spot him glancing at everyone and the table with bottles. “Join us while there’s still beer left! Planning to drink all of this before Hudson comes. He can’t say anything if there’s no evidence.”

Adler hummed, stopping behind you and Sims as he appeared in thought. A trickle of hope coming up your chest at Woods offer.

“All of you are in luck,” Adler eventually answered, the subtle amused tone not lost on you as you intently focused on it. “Hudson isn’t coming till early in the morning tomorrow. Got caught up with something with Black. Can’t imagine how he would react if he saw all this.”

“Fuck ‘im,” Woods spat, reaching for a bottle and throwing Adler one. Adler catching it with his hand, shaded eyes turning towards the bottle to read the label. “We’re not here to please his every whim and cater to him like we’re his butlers. I say it’s a perfect time to wind down. We were just trading stories of getting shit faced.”

“All of you were,” Park corrected easily, “I don’t plan on sharing any such event.”

“Never say never, Park,” Lazar said, a grin playing on his lips as he winked at the British woman. “I’m sure a lady like you has quite a collection of stories.”

“A lady never says her secrets.”

You were still staring up at Adler as Sims playfully groaned at Lazar’s flirt tactics that Park didn’t seem to mind, Adler tilted his head down and met your eyes. Seeming to assess before turning his gaze towards the evidence board, which now had additional papers than previously since he entered the office, assessing. He than turned back towards you, you impatiently waiting as you shifted in your seat to see if he would let all of you continue, his eyes seeming to follow when your hand went to your jacket pocket.

Adler released a huff of soft exasperation, a shadow of a smirk playing on his lips.

“Don’t see the problem. We can all use a break from all of this.”

You practically beamed as Woods whooped, you moving a seat over where you were now next to Woods. Adler taking your seat as he sat by Sims now, opening his bottle as he asked whose story they were on. Sims continuing it and finishing before Lazar had another one. You listening with a smile or laughter, feeling the most at ease since this whole mission started you think. You believe that Adler must feel the same way, appearing relaxed as he sat and leaned back against the chair, beer forgotten and customary cigarette on his lips as he listened.

It made you want to take a picture of this moment. You standing up and announcing to the others you’ll do just that, Woods raising a brow at you.

“You and pictures. You a photographer or something? I hope you’ll at least show me what pics you took of me instead of those Red’s building.”

Your cheeks felt heated as you turned towards Woods, standing over him with fists clenched by your side as you called his name, askance. Making the man laugh at your expression, your irritation leaving you due to it but you gave him a warning look and call of his name which he caught. Not wishing for you to say the story, as Adler watched nonchalantly.

“Pictures? Got distracted again, Bell?” He asked, almost sounding like a tease only for the others to join in that you really loved that camera. You pursing your lips and appearing like you were pouting, as you turned away and got the camera from the Red Room quickly. Taking the picture of everyone only for Woods to motion his hand for it to your bewilderment.

“What? Don’t you want one with you in it too?” Woods asked, grabbing the camera from your hands as he grinned up at you. Adler and Park glancing at each other behind you, Adler flapping his cigarette hand uncaringly in answer. Mason raising a brow at the exchange but staying silent as his eyes moved back towards his loud friend.

You didn’t think of that but you stated you wanted one with everyone than, Park raising her hand for the camera to do the setting for it to be timed and placing it on top of Sims car he was working on earlier. All of you turning your chairs slightly, getting close with beers in hand and you trying to maintain a perfect smile even with Adler’s knee touching yours. The camera flashed, you feeling something by your head only for you to lightly punch Woods shoulder once you saw he must’ve gave you bunny ears in the photo. Him laughing away as you fought your own smile, his rugged charm rubbing off on you as Adler inhaled quietly as he watched the exchange.

The stories than eventually moved to mission stories, and than, unsurprisingly—to Vietnam. At this point, Park and Lazar retired for the night—Sims eventually doing the same when he noticed it turned to Vietnam. Which left you, Mason, Woods, and Adler—Adler just finishing up the story about what happened in Hue City, leaving a few details out you noted but loyally and wisely kept silent, as Mason took it in with a slight nod of his head.

“So that’s what happened on your side. Shit. . . that whole place was a shit show since the beginning. Lucky I only had to do a quick in and out by just getting a dossier.”

Woods snorted, nursing his fifth beer.

“That whole war was a shit show. Only good thing that came out of it is telling stories about it years later in a depressed warehouse. While a whole other type of war is happening.”

At the mention of the reminder of them losing that war, you spoke up.

“Not the only thing,” you couldn’t help but say, lost in thought as you looked at the ground.

Adler turned his head towards you as Woods and Mason did the same, curious.

“And what’s that, kid?”

You kept your gaze down for a moment more before flicking your eyes to the side towards Adler.

“We’re all still here, aren’t we?”

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Ȳ̶͇̝͐ó̶̘̈ṵ̴̡͑͒ ̴̯̗̅ŵ̴̭͘â̸̭̼̤n̵̼͚̘͑t̶̠̮̯́̏ ̶̭̝̱̄́̅ţ̶̠̑̈̚ǫ̶̳̉́ ̴̘͖͊͊͘ͅ ̵̡͋́ṣ̶̞̆̚ ̴͚̲̕ț̸̓ộ̴̍̐p̴̣͓̾́ ̴̫̗̆͜ḫ̴̛̦͓́́ẽ̴̛̻̋ṛ̵̲̞͈̅͠ę̷̼̯͔̍̌͌?̶̫̩̆͆

̷̼̈́

̵̣̽̉͛

̶̝͋͂B̷̝̾̾u̸͚͊̕ţ̷̛̭͖̈́̾ ̶̱͑̔i̷̩͇̤̐ṯ̴̪̓̓ ̷̜͊d̸̆͜į̶̩͔̉̏d̵͔̓͝n̴̨͇͒’̵̰͑́͂ţ̸̯̯͋ ̷̧͖̣̿̒e̴̥͋͝n̴̘̱̿̕d̸̛̤̹̔ ̵̡̡̩̈̐h̷̫͔͂͜ë̴̺̜́͑͊ȑ̶̺͉͠ĕ̴̥̉.̴͕̭͌̕͠

̸̠̹̿̊̿

̸̠͊̅

̸͙͓̬̂͒͝Ë̶̼̙̭́͘̕ ̶̳͆v̵̱͙̿̋ ̴͔̇̋ę̷͚̫͆̃̈n̵̥̣͈̏̅ ̷͇̮͒͊ ̴̛̺ ̶̡͆t̶̢̘͒ḧ̷̺̉ě̸͓̼̂ͅ ̶̬̲̫̈b̶̟̪̒̒ę̵͊͝s̶̟̱̐ţ̴͙̳̆̚ ̶͔̈́d̸̝̭͑̈́͒o̸͖͑̓g̸̨͌̈́̀s̴̹̫̖͗̅ ̶̯̝͛ḷ̶̬̔͌̐i̷̘̥̓́k̴͕̓͝ĕ̷̡̿̽́ ̵̖͗̾͘ţ̵̟̤̈́́̽ö̴͖͕͙́͗͝ ̴̦̂͊͝r̶͉͈̊̆̔ų̴̝̋̈ņ̶̼͛ ̶̭̦́.̶͔̇̄

̶̫̘͒̌̿

̵͓̱͇̆̕͠

̷̧̰̙̇͝B̶͕̐̐̓e̸̖̟̋ŝ̶̨t̵̗̎̀,̴̯̥̐̕ ̶͚͓̓̀́ť̶͐̂͜ŏ̸̢̿̉ ̵̨͎̄̿͆ć̷̣̓͑́ơ̶͔͓̋̿̔m̵̧̢̩̃ê̸̘̠̠ ̴̰̫͠͝ͅb̶͇̔̒ą̶̤̯̰̽͊c̸͈͗k̸̩͉͙̓̿ ̷̻̼̰͆ẃ̶̞͙̃͒͌ḧ̵̘͑̒̃e̵̜̰̓͘͝ń̶͙͒̚ ̵̪̖̥̊̈́ȑ̷̢̌̎ẽ̸̛͇̂ͅà̴̞̖̫d̸̤̺̽͛ỳ̴̰̊͝ ̷̠̌͝f̴̢́͊o̴͉̒͠r̷͕͙͙̽̋́ ̶͈̾̉t̴̥͒͘r̷͉̘̐́ų̸̠̔̋́t̴̨͚́̾h̷̖͕̯̀̒͛.̵̫̟̬̄

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“Bell”

Second Life

15:47| February 26, 1981

CIA SAFEHOUSE E9, “DIE LANDEBAHN”

Soon after you said your thoughts to Adler about the file, you moved to go back to your desk only to pause by the T.V. You turned back, Adler raising a curious brow as he put out his cigarette with his ash tray nearby. You asked him for any other files he may need help with, Adler saying nothing as he reached another file by him and handing it to you. You grabbed it, your black leather gloved hand grazing against his bare one as you took it. Taking note of what he said about it before turning to your desk and staying there. Ignoring a probing stare in the back of your neck.

You’ll do what you must, but if he expects you to stay by his side when he inconvenienced you earlier by making you come to him. . . Well, you think a little petty action is worth it.

Besides, you have to think by yourself for a moment. The call about Volkov squeaking his rat mouth should’ve came already. By nighttime—you, Adler, and Park should already be on the way to Ukraine and meet up with Woods and Mason.

Woods and Mason, you think fondly with a sad smile of a whirlwind of a man drinking back beer after beer like water with a deep throated laugh and the silent soldier with sad eyes yet listens attentively and a kind smile that brightens. Oh, I’ve missed you guys.

They were barely in the safehouse, out in missions constantly when you would decode and just being the team’s powerhouse duo. When they were here though, the safehouse was louder. More easy and free, less stifling and grim due to the work they were doing. They had a certain charisma very different than Adler’s, one’s that captured you in a different manner so it is no surprise you managed to get close and hang with them more than anyone when they were here. Sims being distant, Park communicating with MI6 about the CIA, Lazar determined to woo the agent when he wasn’t cleaning and prepping weapons, and Adler was. . .busy watching you were in line you suppose.

Card games and stories being shared, Woods and Mason not seeming to mind when you were around them. You suspect Woods let you get close to make sure you don’t tell his precious secret and blunder back in the arcade room in Ukraine. Although you would tease him that you might at times.

You feel like that in your other life, Park was right. You don’t think those two knew about your situation. It just made you like them more.

Because at least with them, you’re positive it was real.

“I knew I could count on you.”

You wished they were able to save you from Adler though. But they were tired and celebratory of what they accomplished. They took in Adler saying you and him were just taking a detour at face value.

“Do not trust Adler. He is lying to you.”

Adler always lies.

You have to remember that. And to just brush away any kindness he may show.

It’s not real.

Is it?

A loyal and trained dog through and through.

When you saw it was nearing 1700 hours, you looked around where Park was. Seeing she was with Adler in the corner by the weights, conversing with him with a crease in her brow while Adler looked as if he was only mildly taking note of her words as he puffed along his cigarette. A trait of his you knew frustrated the British woman. Adler likes to feign disinterest a lot. It could be seen as a weapon to make others talk due to how irritating it could be or make one cautious at how apathetic the man can act or look.

You walked over to them, your ears getting the tail end of whatever was ailing Park.

“—not making light of this and reign it in. Oh, Bell.” Park’s tone softened, a sharp contrast that stood out to you as she noticed you step up to them. Adler not even glancing at you as he continued his smoke, or at least not turn his head towards you. It’s dark in this corner so you wouldn’t be able to tell if he turned his eyes towards you or not unless he moved his head or body in your direction. “What’s wrong? Any new updates on the decryptions?”

You shook your head, looking between the two of them before settling on Park.

“What’s the word on Volkov? He talk yet?”

Park sighed.

“I’m afraid not. He’s proved himself stubborn despite his tastes being similar to what makes the U.K. great.”

You cocked a brow, a teasing smirk playing on your lips.

“Medieval torture devices not his style?” You asked, calling back to what Park said about Volkov’s hobbies.

Park matched you, amused as she shrugged lightly.

“I believe the lack of scotch is what will do him in personally.”

“He has to talk soon,” Adler cut in, exhaling a puff as you and Park turned towards him. Adler faced Park, arching a brow as he continued calmly. “Your guys over there aren’t giving him a good time right now, I imagine. The last thing we need is for him to be tight lipped.”

Your throat turned dry. You think you regret mentioning this as Park answered.

“He’s not the type to remain loyal if his back is to the wall. His selfish demeanor and arrogance will what cause him to try to strike a deal with us. It will benefit us than him in the end once he breaks.”

“If he breaks,” Adler added with a frown. “If he still doesn’t talk by the next two days, we might as well have killed him once we saw him. He’s useless.”

“She’s of no use to us anymore.”

You swallowed, moving to pocket your hands in your black bomber jacket as your hands clenched along with your jaw.

Park frowned at Adler, disapproving.

“He knows a great many things. Not everyone can handle interrogation for so long and be able to stay silent about anything that might give them reprieve.”

Oh, look, you thought sourly, bitterness starting to rise once more as you maintained your blank expression besides your taut jaw. They’re complimenting me. How nice of them to say I wasn’t easy for them.

Control your tongue, you stupid dog.

Adler huffed, it almost sounding like one mixed with amusement and exasperation as he shook his head slightly.

“Perseus’ people are almost as slippery and conniving as Perseus himself. And dangerous.” Adler took another inhale and exhale, the smoke curling around them and going over your head as your gaze lazily followed it to distract yourself while Adler did the same, tipping his head up to watch. “Perhaps he knows if he talks, he might as well be dead. We don’t need an Aldrich in the MI6 either.”

Park’s demeanor straightened at Adler’s accusation, the possibility of having a traitor or spy in her agency a great insult. She was about to say a scathing retort surely, but you cut her off.

“He’ll talk,” you say cooly, unreadable gaze towards Adler as he finally turned his head in acknowledgement towards you.

“What makes you so sure?” He asked, curiosity lacing his tone along with intrigue as he moved to place his cigarette for another puff.

You straightened your shoulders as you stared deep into his aviators that shadowed him properly to be America’s Monster.

“They all eventually do.”

Adler paused his hand, lips not around his craving as he stared towards you. Both your gazes not breaking even as Park looked between the two of you before settling with staring at Adler with slightly narrowed eyes.

Adler pressed his lips, a whisper of a smirk as he did it and nodded towards you once more before turning back towards Park.

“You hear that, Park? No reason to worry. Everyone talks. Right, Bell?”

“Yes, sir.” You say, ignoring how your stomach churned yet your heart pounded. You’re no saint. “We both know how to make them.” You slipped out, knowing eyes not leaving his face as you twisted a knife.

Adler didn’t seem to notice, or care really as he seemed to throw Park a mildly triumphant look. You don’t know why it would. You wouldn’t either and can care less about those you tortured—whether false or real.

Monsters do not worry over every drop in the red ocean they created.

Y o u’r e  n o  s a i n t, д е м о н.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You had headphones in, listening to the audio log to finish up the decryption despite the lack of other Intel so you could put all your focus on Operation Red Circus. Instead of the exchange earlier, all of them.

So you didn’t hear when the garage door opened and a van to come in, but you did when it got slammed closed. You jumped in your seat in the corner on your desk, hidden behind the evidence board and the T.V. You lowered your headphones, curious to see what was going on and if Sims brought in another car, only for your breath to hitch in your throat. You standing up so quick your chair almost fell back as you stood next to the T.V., heart thundering only for it to stop as you stared avidly, wildly, madly, hopefully.

Adler moved his hand to guide the red van in, sighing out a puff of smoke as the driver came out.

“Hudson barely gave me any warning about this before you guys arrived. Didn’t think he was going to give the okay on this based on the latest call on Volkov.”

“Well, you know Hudson,” the voice that spoke was quiet yet deep with how it spoke in easy amusement. If one strains their ear, you could spot the reserved soldier with sad eyes and a kind smile. “Always the one that loves to talk.”

“Pfft, yeah,” this one, this one was all rough and throaty as if it got abused in the past from events unknown but one can guess. If one just takes a glance, you could discern the storm stuck in a body yet does a light drizzle for friends despite the thunder. “Hudson’s a real charmer. Don’t tell me that the Russian Godfather decided to finally open his mouth right when we got here.” At Adler’s nod, the one man army groaned. “Man, jet lag is going to be a fuckin killer! Forget hotels, I’m sleeping here until we head out.”

They’re. . . Your hands shook by your side. Not paying kind to Park who stepped out the Red Room, head turned towards you and approaching you as she called out to you. You only stared as you bit the inside of your lip.

Sims, who helped pull the van in and was now leaning against the side of it, shook his head amiably with a chuckle.

“I wouldn’t do that unless you’re fine with a raggedy ass mattress that looks like hasn’t seen the light of day since the ‘60s.”

“I believe the ‘70s personally,” Lazar spoke up as he sat on his desk, empty plate of takeout near him. “It still has potential if one’s desperate.”

“Yeah, well I’m desperate. Now where is it?” He turned his head along with his friend, comrade, forever ally just as they took a few steps close to where Park’s desk was and seeming to notice you the first time. Adler tilting his head at you, you silently just staring at the two as if you haven’t seen them in years, puffing silently as his brow rose curiously. But you could only look dumbly, eyes feeling a little pressure. They’re here. “Who are you and what the fuck are you looking at?” Woods asked sharply.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

Your lips lifted into a smile before it opened, letting a loud bark of a laugh come out. You’re laughing.

When was the last time you laughed? Genuinely?

You could practically feel the stares, but you didn’t care. They’re here.

They were real.

Once your laughter calmed to chuckles and giggles, clearing the corner of your eyes for any possible tears, Adler stepped up between you and the two soldiers. Giving you a quick once over behind his glasses, you waving your hand at him dismissively slightly at his unanswered question, his brow furrowing before relaxing as he put an arm out towards you.

“Woods. Mason. This is Bell, my protege. I spoke to you about her before.”

You quickly fixed yourself and your expression as you took a polite step forward, you probably look absolutely insane. They don’t know you despite you knowing them. Calm down. You just didn’t expect that a change like the others would be this.  Oh god, you looked insane.

“Sorry,” you began, a tiny sheepish play to your lips, “I just—you guys are both legends and I just didn’t expect to see you guys here. At least, so soon. You could say I was a bit. . . excited to put it lightly. Hope I didn’t scare you off?”

Woods and Mason stared at you, Mason having distant amusement playing in his brown eyes as Woods non-subtly leaned towards Mason, a hand slightly covering his mouth.

“Careful Mason,” Woods falsely whispered as he eyed you with suspicion. “We have a rabid fan on our hands.”

“I think she can hear you,” Mason didn’t try to whisper but it didn’t matter as Woods suddenly snorted as he crossed his arms.

“Listen here, Bell. The last thing that’s gonna scare us is someone who got excited about seeing us like we were the fucking—what is it these days? Someone gimme a hand.”

“You talking about bands?” Lazar questioned, Woods nodding as he glanced behind to where the dark skinned man stood by his desk, Lazar staring up in thought. “There’s Fleetwood Mac still going on.”

“Not like how the Beatles was going on,” Woods answered, a little too seriously as you fought a smile while Mason moved and leaned against the evidence board.

“Hear there’s growing popularity with AC/DC and Kiss. They’ve been on the radio a lot lately.”

Woods swiped his hand back and forth as he made a sound of disgust.

“You comparing us to those guys that look like they came out of hell, Mason? What do we look like?”

“I think it fits,” Adler dryly stated, clicking his lighter on to light his cigarette. Woods telling Adler he’s not helping as Park came by next to you with a hand to her hip.

“If demons don’t work, there’s always the Queen. And I’m not talking about the one I serve.”

“Queen is pretty good,” Sims said from behind, “but you guys had to have heard that new song Celebration by the Kool and the Gang. That shit hits.”

“Whichever!” Woods turned towards you asking you how exactly you know about them, you answering honestly that you read up on them on the computer. Seeing no point in hiding it as Woods gave a vicious grin towards you. “Well, aren’t you a nosy little shit. You always read up on everybody?” You were once again honest, saying you like to be thorough with everything but you only had a brief description to go off about them. Whatever secrets they may have is safe with them. Woods sniffed, slightly backing off and Mason appeared to have relaxed his shoulders. “A nosy shit with manners at least. And balls to say all of that to our faces despite what you read.”

True, if you did not know Woods and Mason. Despite that one time where you truly felt their intimidating aura on you, once you get to know them, they’re softies that are loyal. Even with Woods barbed and vulgar words and Mason always observing quietly behind with an assessing look in his eyes, you know they’re shields. Walls. To help with whatever occurred before—just like everyone else here.

And, just like there’s walls. . .

“There’s no innocence here,” you answered, shrugging with a bitter smile.

Woods stared at you for a moment before guffawing, pointing in your direction as he turned to face Adler who stared at you behind his shades as he inhaled his addiction.

“Where’d ya find her, Adler?” Woods asked, before than flapping his hand. “Answer that later. I need food and to knock the fuck out for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” You repeated, even though you already knew as Adler answered.

“Let’s go over the details briefly. You were right, Bell. Volkov talked.”

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▌▌ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You watched after the meeting how Woods moved, all loudness and an army in one body with the propriety of one would find in any soldier—none at all. Refreshing. Needed. Even though he looked at you strange when you offered to help with setting up his bed that was all dust and old in the storage room by the generator.

You wonder in the end, after the cliff, how Woods reacted after just saving you from a large sheet of metal debris. Is it naive thinking that he might’ve been mad?

You looked at Mason, more careful with your approach as you smiled softly at him while you gave him the quick rundown that everyone has a spot chosen for their work. That they could use the desk by where they put the projector if they want. Mason raising a brow at you but letting you once you wisely gave him his space.

Would Mason be furious? You were unlucky because you were under the wrong flag. You were born a Russian. If you weren’t than, maybe, they would’ve kept you like they did him.

Meanwhile, Adler—a gaze that never falters, and eyes that are all-seeing with how hawkish they could be, does he see(?)—observed you silently as you moved to and fro with an energy that wasn’t there before. And a smile that looks genuine. He sits back, and watches.

“Shame you were born in the wrong country.”

There’s a lot of shameful things that are tied to you. But like any good monster, any foolish Icarus, and any stupid girl—you’ll ignore them.

.

.

.

American pup—американский щеноk

American bitch—американская сука

You wish to be American, comrade—ты хочешь быть американцем товарищ

Demon—демон

I don't know if it's been too subtle--but Bell isn't exactly. . .mentally/emotionally healthy right now. Adler is just everywhere. But maybe Woods and Mason can help now by just being there.

I love those two a lot.

This Second Life of Bell is coming to a close soon, this has gone longer than planned but thank you for everyone that has been with me so far! ^///////^ Happy Late 6th Anniversary of Undertale that inspired this story's plot <3

I am having trouble contacting my beta due to Tumblr being stupid with messages. Maybe I can reach them here, please contact me on Discord under username: Animefreak1145 (Code #8517)

*PM me if you wish to be Tagged*

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[imaginativeamateur]

[Kakashi Hatake X Reader] Burnt Eggs

Pairing: Kakashi Hatake x gn!Reader

Note: HELLO! This is my debut:)) Enjoy!

In the breezing morning, without any tasks waiting, you felt extra relaxed as you strolled through the empty streets, heading to a nearby market. It was still early for the sun to shine its ray through the clouds, you unconsciously appreciated the surrounding dimed with little lingering lights from the lampposts.

Humming as you made your way through the food stalls at the market, hands gathering any ingredients that came across your eyes, making a mental note of what you were planning to make later. On your way back, you noticed people starting to set up tables and chairs in the morning cafes as the humid wind slightly passed against your cheeks. It was summer, the flowers were blooming wide between the green leaves, bright red, white, and yellow flowers weaved your way back home.

You opened the door to your apartment and dropped your grocery bags on the kitchen counter. Taking a few steps to the window sill, you slid the clear panel aside and allowed the natural sunlight to beam inside, dancing on the floor. Little specks of dust rose from the sudden disturbance, glimmering in the morning’s light. Pulling your hair up into a messy bun, you switched the fan with your toe and as you waltzed to the kitchen. You enjoyed the wind billowing into your apartment, a morning like this was rare, the office hours and piles of paper had been dragging you for a long, long time. You started by washing the fresh vegetables and set them on the counter to dry, moving on to cooking rice, beating eggs.

After one hour of diligence, you found yourself staring at a full table of food, not to mention the slightly burnt pans in the sink. This had always been your bad habit – making more than what you could probably eat. You planned to get Ino or Sakura if they wanted to come over and share the food with you, only to realize that they were both on their missions. Being extraordinary Shinobi they were, you sometimes could not help but compare yourself with the young girls. Even though you had only been friends with them for around a month or so, they saw you as a sister and helped you a lot in making this place feel like home. Naruto was off with Jiraiya already, Kurenai was definitely with Asuma and you did not want to third-wheel their date, it was the weekend after all. You could certainly refrigerate the food, only if you would be home that night, unfortunately, you needed to attend a random dinner with your committee.

Sighing, a thought came across your mind, maybe you could bring some over for Kakashi next door. You heard he was back from his mission yesterday night.

“But I don’t really… know him!” your inner-self doubted.

“What if he thinks I am poisoning him?” You asked yourself, rolling on the couch.

“This is ridiculous! It’s just a normal meal, it should be fine!”

“What will I reason if he asks?”

“Well, just say that you made some extra food, there’s no need to freak out!”

You hesitated slightly as you knocked on his door, once, twice, and waited for the silver-haired Ninja to open it. You had seen Kakashi before, conversed with him quite a few times, but you two were not especially close for you to do something this intimate. You had known his students, but not especially Kakashi himself. At least, you considered cooking for him to be intimate. At this point, you started to regret your decision when the door remained still, with no signs of movement. Just when you were about to turn your heels, Kakashi opened the door, his masked face poked out through the thin creak. You jolted at his sudden appearance, not knowing what to say. He stared at you, shifting his gaze to the container you are holding in your quivering fingers, the mood grew more awkward as none of you decided to speak.

You could not deny that you find the masked Ninja oddly attractive, especially the way he held his gaze half-lidded. Yet, you were determined to affirm yourself that it was only a mere thought of arousal and that it would go away soon.

After you made up your mind, you get up from the couch and scooped heaps of food into a plastic container, secured the lid, and dawdled your way over to Kakashi’s.

Finally, you parted your trembling lips, not able to sustain his intense stare, “I made some food earlier. Ugh, I guess we can eat to…, I meant I wanted to bring you some. Um, hope you will like it!”

You briefly shoved the container into his hands and bowed with nervousness before you sprinted back to your apartment. After two long strides, you stumbled upon your slippers and headed straight to the ground, bracing yourself for a rough landing. This was another reason why you would never belong to the Shinobi world: you would likely shove your face into the dirt before the opponent could even pull out a kunai. But when you were about to kiss the ground, a strong grip pulled you back to your feet. Kakashi fully appeared… in his tight, sleeveless tank and long pants, his half-lidded eye still cloudy from being wakened up early in the morning, you assumed. His tank’s material hugged perfectly to his lean built, outlining the defined muscles underneath. You could not help but be flustered at your thoughts and blamed the summer’s heat for them. You glanced down to his hand holding onto your arm and gulped, “Thank… thank you!”

Thoughts were going wild in your head. How did he know that you had not eaten yet? Did he stalk you or something? That was creepy! What did you get yourself into?

He released his hand, fixed his posture straight, and murmured under his mask, “Bring your breakfast over and join me!”

You look up, stuttered, you did not hear it wrong, did you? “I’m fine, I… already ate, I’ll take my leave now!”

The silver-haired Ninja tilted his head to one side, “What do you get by lying to me, Y/N?”

What happened to Kakashi? What were you supposed to do?  Was he literally asking you to eat with him? What if he kidnapped you to some weird places? While questioning, you still could not deny the butterflies welling up in your stomach as you get back to your apartment, maybe it was not bad at all, to spend your breakfast with a mysterious yet attractive Ninja of Konoha.

Seeing the confusion written all over your face, his visible eye crinkled, “You had your curtains opened.”

You closed your eyes, wanting to escape this great embarrassment, “You have been watching me?” You, of course, did not want to use ‘stalking’, especially in this context, but still shuddered at the thought that he had been observing you for Kami knows how long.

Still giving you his eye smile, Kakashi dropped a bombshell, “Right when you burnt the eggs.”

You froze, asking yourself what you did to get into this situation. Looking at his smile made you want to dig yourself a hole and disappear right away. You raised your voice a bit, “Did I wake you up? I’m sorry if I -”

“Nah, I just went back to sleep. But whatever you have in here smells good,” he shrugged, eyeing you, “why are you still here? Go back and get your breakfast!”

You exhaled heavily and take your leave, “Okay, I will be back shortly.”

It took your eyes several minutes to adjust to the darkness inside his apartment. Kakashi was seated – actually perching would be a better word to describe his posture – on the edge of his sofa with his Icha Icha firmly in hand. You silently wondered how he could possibly read with such little light.

“So you’re not going to turn on the light,” you chirped, “at least open your curtain, Kakashi-san.”

You finally got his attention as he placed the book on the low table beside and went for the window, “Welcome to my apartment!” The radiating light now allowed you to fully capture his apartment in sight, simple, and a bit… plain if you were to say.

“I saw you beating eggs earlier,” he raised an eyebrow, “what did you make?”

Opening your containers, you both settled down on the sofa, sitting across from each other. You amusedly explained, “Just traditional dishes, healthy and delicious, I hope!”

You clapped your palms together before starting to dig into your food, you were starving and practically drooling at the smell of your own crafts. “Oh, I don’t have my chopsticks,” you looked up, smiling warily at the masked Ninja. He pointed to the kitchen and motioned you to go get a pair of chopsticks. You made your way into his kitchen, there was literally nothing present on the kitchen counter, except for a kettle in the corner, a small, single stove, and a sink with bowls neatly stacked on the drying rack.

“Kakashi-san, I don’t see the chopsticks!” you called out to the Ninja.

“Sixth row from the left, second last drawer from the bottom,” he elucidated in a neutral tone, “make sure you are pulling it out, not swinging it open.”

It would be an easy task locating the right one until you glanced down at his endless rows of drawers, all matching in design and color. Mumbling his direction, you traced your index across the rows and counted your way through, and stopped at the one that seemed to fit his description. You were just about to pull the drawer open, he added, “Be careful, you don’t want to open the wrong one!”

You flinched at his words and lifted yourself up, starting to count once again, this time, paying closer attention. “It must be some weird stuff that he stores in there, maybe deadly weapons” you whispered, “or Icha Icha, maybe. Why on Earth does he even store such things here?”

“Can you locate the chopsticks?” he rang from outside.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming!” you quickly pulled on a drawer after already making sure that it was the right one twice and sighed in relief to see chopsticks lying in a metal box. You grabbed a pair and hurried outside without forgetting to push the drawer back in its place.

When you plopped yourself onto the sofa, Kakashi brought his palms together and bent his upper body down to the empty container, “Thank you for the meal, it was delicious!”

“Wow, that was fast,” you acclaimed, the thought of seeing his bare face shattered into pieces, “is my cooking okay?”

“Not bad, it somehow reminds me of something familiar…” he drifted off.

Seeing the man in front did not one to further the topic, you began eating, feeling glad that the burnt eggs turned out edible. “Do you often cook?” you initiated.

“Not that frequently, but I know how to cook though,” he replied.

You nodded at his answer, eyes wandering around the apartment to fully take in the sight, this time more carefully. “Do you especially like a certain dish, Kakashi-san?” The questions slipped out before you actually noticed and smiled hesitantly. Too fast, you noted.

“I’ve grown attached to eating basically anything for survival,” he shrugged, “but I recently found Ichiraku’s quite good of a ramen shop.”

You saw his lips curved under the mask at the implicit mention of his student’s obsession with ramen. You had heard of Naruto before, and of course, Team 7, well, without Sasuke.

“How about you?” he suddenly asked.

“Oh,” you shifted and leaned back a little bit, “food is my guilty pleasure.”

“Hm,” Kakashi looked up in question.

“I like anything from curry to sushi, or any kind of soup and noodles,” you exclaimed in joy, delighted to talk about your love for the place’s varied cuisine, “Konoha is such a great place for gustatory satisfaction!”

“Glad that you like it here! How long have you been here for?”

“Not very long, probably three months?” you tilted your head to one side and tapped your chin.

“It must be difficult to adjust to the place at first.” He commented.

“It was, I grew up in a rural area and Konoha seemed to be a busy place when I first came,” you admitted, “but I was lucky to meet, well, Sakura-chan and eventually Naruto-kun and their fellow Shinobi friends.”

“Sakura mentioned you several times, how did you two meet though?” the silver-haired Ninja leaned back onto the couch.

“Not in a very optimistic circumstance, I suppose,” you inwardly spoke, “I got myself into some villagers’ heated argument and one of them threw a punch in my face when I was trying to pacify the situation.”

Kakashi’s eye sparked a light but he did not speak.

“I ended up in the hospital with a swollen cheek, slightly fractured bone, and Sakura eased my pain.” You unconsciously reached for your face and rubbed against your cheek, silently admiring Sakura’s skills as a young, successful Medic.

You two kept talking for a long time, Kakashi did not reveal his past too much, it was mainly you answering his random questions. You were quite surprised that you both shared many similarities, the same dislike for sweets and crowded places, the same love for dogs and silent strolls in the forest, to have the same background as orphans and self-reliant individuals. He even promised to bring you to their training session one day. Within that mere hour, you sparked a strong bond that you never knew would last for a long time, neither did Kakashi.

[shoichee]

teiko manager anon back ~ my juicy part 2 will disappoint bc guess what: we're skipping two years into the future. akashi never found out what happened, and by third year the gom were the epitome of cruelty. so reader picks a fight with them after meiko game, only to collapse out of stress after. they graduate, she follows kuroko to seirin and they train to defeat gom. but why is she so insecure and easily sad when gom is mentioned? they get their answer when they catch her overworking

oh teiko anon, so so bold.... really out here stirring the pot of chaos with this part 2 huh KEK alright folks BUCKLE IN YOUR SEATBELTS IT”S TIME FOR PART 2 and part 1 is right here ! part 3 will be here ! update: part 4 is here !

Akashi x Reader

Part 2

[Teiko!manager Headcanons]

remember how I said in part 1 how Akashi would find out sooner or later? this would normally be the case, but in this exception…

you came back to school pretty quickly and restored, only to be in shock when Akashi himself confronts you about where you’ve been… like hello? YOUR CRUSH?? is? talking? to you? about your wellbeing?

here’s the thing, Akashi can easily detect lies through body language because he has an extraordinary sense of kinetic vision and critical thinking, but he’s still a human, not to mention… a middle schooler, and he’s not a true mind reader as some teammates would wholeheartedly believe

still, after some easy sleuthing he easily drew out confessions from some teammates who badmouthed you, although every single one were some type of half-truths and inconsistent testimonies that didn’t really make sense in painting a big picture

instead of incorrectly assuming things, he wanted to hear what’s been going on from your own mouth (keep in mind, this is still Oreshi, the guy who’s still cordial and wants to confirm this with you out of respect)

when he asks you some questions, he doesn’t detect any physical signs of lying from you, which only makes him believe that there wasn’t anything wrong to begin with other than you being under the weather and the other teammates saying utter nonsense either out of fear in his presence or using you as a scapegoat to cover up other delinquencies that he may have yet to discover

“(l/n)-san, I take it that you’ve been resting well? I heard from Kuroko that you were absent due to the seasonal flu.”

“Ah, y-yes! I’ve actually gotten plenty of rest and proper meals, so I’m back on my feet quicker than expected.”

“I actually also wanted to ask you something, if you don’t mind?”

“What is it?”

“Has anything odd happening to you lately? Anyone who has given you trouble or has been uncooperative with you as head manager as of late?”

at the question, you only frown in genuine confusion before you answer no; you genuinely believed that these teammates weren’t in the wrong for “speaking their mind” and if anything, you felt like you were the problem in not being capable enough in managing your own job and your health in the process (despite being knowledgeable in health yourself)

because Akashi saw that you weren’t lying, he dropped it completely out of respect and asked you that if there was anything troubling you that you could reach out to him

oh how he was so, so close to finding out the truth

this wouldn’t be brought up ever again because you and Akashi only continued to grow busier and busier with your own duties; eventually, your fears came true when the Generation of Miracles had in fact “left” you behind when their talents blossomed too fast and left unchecked

honestly, you developed a horrible habit of overworking despite Kuroko’s and Kise’s constant checks on you

what do you know? of course the coaches and faculty members would ignore your opposition against putting the GoMs in every game; after all some of them had been quite dismissive of you already

it’s kind of ironic because if Bokukashi was the one interrogating you back then, he would’ve either easily (correctly) assume based off of the teammates’ testimonies alone, or he’d be a lot more insistent in discerning the truth of the situation and nipping it right in the bud to stop the “nonsense”

but at the same time, Bokukashi has a lot more pressing priorities than a few poor-attitude teammates when he has the entire reputation of Tekio’s legacy on his shoulders; anything pertaining to you never crossed his mind ever since his domineering side emerged

you were really excited for Kuroko since he was gushing about playing against his old friend, since his friend couldn’t make it to finals the first time // needless to say, you were also Kuroko’s mental support when he felt really down at that time

after Kuroko sustained an injury in the game before Meiko, you immediately accompanied him to the infirmary

there, Kuroko requests you to go watch the game and you only reluctantly agree because you wanted to see the game just to relay back to Kuroko just in case if he couldn’t make it, and you were still a manager with a job to fulfill; you’d figure leaving Momoi to watch over was sufficient enough

when you walk out the door though… you bump into Akashi, which is the first time in a while where you two were face-to-face like this; your heart sank when you realize that you had to accept the fact that he’s changed and allowed the distance to grow between you two

but a small part of denial makes you quickly turn and flee out the hallway, but you really begin to evaluate your crush on him as you scurry away; Akashi just stares at you for a moment before he enters into the infirmary where Kuroko is

you’ve distanced yourself from other people (GoMs in particular) in basketball out of denial of the fact you were really left behind (plus, you already dread attending to their games because it’s always a cruel reminder that you’re not working hard enough to achieve results of the same level), which is why reality slapped you in the face after the aftermath of the Meiko game… when you witnessed the full extent of their cruelty on the court

you were really hurt—in fact, you looked more distraught than the Meiko teammates themselves

especially, since the fact that Kise himself, who you thought of him as someone you can trust in, partook in this as well (this is actually your first time in seeing his cruel side in action, since he’s always been very sweet and helpful to you because he respects you)

you first confronted Kise when he was alone for a bit, sounding absolutely heartbroken and on the verge of tears; you shocked him out of his cold side and he immediately becomes a mother hen and asking if you needed water or a seat to calm down before you overexert yourself

after telling him your feelings about the game and your growing distance in the friendship, he sincerely apologizes for making you feel in such an awful way and tells you to let him know next time before a game, so that he wouldn’t suggest this type of entertainment for the game again.

you were in complete disbelief… the fact that your best friend suggested this himself? You dumbly asked for his reason, and he only says that you wouldn’t understand it because no one ever gives the GoM a proper challenge

even though he didn’t intend anything bad when he said this, it just made you feel worse, but you still accepted the apology to get it over with

the other GoMs come and you immediately become angry again and tension just skyrockets; Midorima simply looks away and says nothing, and Murasakibara and Aomine do most of the talking back/arguing… and Akashi only impassively stares at you

later, when Kuroko himself confronts them while everyone was walking in the hallway, you completely lagged behind on the group, tearfully staring at the backs of the GoMs and how you felt really alienated and unmotivated to continue being a manager for a team you don’t even recognize anymore

you grew dizzy again, and you knew your body was dealing with too much at once but you willed your body to at least last the trip

at least you gave a warning when you assumed that you were away from the GoMs at Teiko before you went unconscious; Kise happens to catch you before he brings you to the school infirmary

he does stay with you the entire time, knowing the reason for your collapse was all the extreme emotional and mental toll accumulated in such a short time; he feels absolutely guilty, and when you were about to stir awake, he simply leaves a lighthearted note and a cutely shaped bread before he leaves, knowing that you’d be stressed again if you saw him (around this time is when Kuroko confronts Akashi to quit the team, which is why he was nowhere near you at the time of your collapse/rest)

you felt better that at least Kise still sees you as a close friend when you see what he left behind

you still feel awful, to say the least

it felt wrong of you to quit mid-season, since you felt that you were simply giving up and further perpetuating the fact that you weren’t doing the most that you could

but you didn’t feel like staying for the rest of the season, so you decided to overwork yourself again to get the rest of the paperwork and training plans out of the way for the remainder of the games; you even left detailed instructions to Momoi in how to relieve certain pressure points and muscles for instant relief in case someone hurts themselves

a little timeskip where you decided to tag along Kuroko in attending Seirin High, but you were more reluctant in joining basketball again because you didn’t want to re-experience the stress and burdens in Teiko

well, until you made friends with Riko, and her story in how she was skeptical about basketball at first too inspires you to give it a try again

Kuroko feels really happy that you’re at ease again for the first time, but he definitely notices how you grow gloomy when the Seirin teammates praise the GoMs

you slowly relapse into the habit of overworking to “compensate” for your lack of contributions to Seirin’s team, but this time, every member DROPKICKS you to stop working and relax sometimes (Riko and Hyuuga are the main culprits)

even though you never tell them the reason for your poor habits, the Seirin team members just SENSE and KNOW what to say to make you feel like you’re doing more than enough to support the team in their own unique ways (Mitobe giving really cute shoulder pats and thumbs-ups… Koganei giving you slaps on the back and high-fives… Riko bluntly telling you to relax and giving you encouraging winks… Hyuuga being a roundabout in his praises… Teppei openly praising you… and Kagami telling you that you were doing too much LOL)

Kuroko gives you the SOFTEST SMILES (everyone freaks out every time he does that, it’s hilarious)

however, wounds slowly reopen more once again every time Seirin goes against schools that the respective GoM plays for

after every win Seirin achieves against the GoM’s respective school, each GoM would eventually learn a little tidbits here and there about your tendency to overwork and collapse and possible speculations of why, but you never confirm anything with them

even though you easily forgive Kise after the Seirin vs. Kaijo match (seeing how he interacted with Kagami and Kuroko in the park), for the others… you weren’t so ready to confront…

… particularly with Akashi

[casuallyimagining]

You and Me

Min Yoongi x Reader

Summary: Yoongi has something he needs to ask you before the Grammys. Genre: slight angst, kind of fluffy at the end? Word Count: 1,865 Rating: T (there’s some swearing) Notes: Part of the Long Term Couples series. Read more here.

As he was leaving to go out to lunch with Namjoon and Jin, Yoongi told you that he had news he wanted to tell you when he got home. Which, of course, is possibly the worst thing to leave a person with.

What could he want to talk to you about?

You had a feeling you knew. Physical therapy had been progressing well for Yoongi, and while he still had a lot of healing to do, he was to the point where he could do almost all normal, daily tasks without help. He still had to wear his sling when he went out, and he was still in quite a bit of pain, but it was to the point where he would probably start back to work soon. And, of course, he would probably be moving back to the dorms again, and you would return to your lives pre-November.

Which meant you would go from seeing him literally all the time to only seeing him a few times a week--a return to taking him meals in your spare time, to sitting in the studio watching him work, to short dates to go grab coffee or a milkshake on his rare breaks. Thankfully, you had written the code for the Genius Lab down in your notes app, because after almost two and a half months of not using it, you weren’t confident that you remembered it.

Honestly, you weren’t sure if you could go back to sustaining yourself on text messages, and video calls, and brief, 15-minute meetings. Adjusting to him being there constantly--underfoot when you least expected him to be, but always there to lend an ear or a hand or just generally be there for you--had taken some time. Your routines had melded together so quickly, that having him wandering around your apartment at two in the afternoon was no more uncommon than you not being able to find a series to watch on Netflix. You knew it was coming eventually, but you weren’t sure you could stand the separation.

You would, though, for his sake. You would walk through fire for him.

And it would only be for a short time, right? He had promised you on Christmas. As soon as he was able, he was going to start moving out of the dorms and into his own apartment. He wanted you to join him, wanted you to move in with him. But you weren’t sure when that would be. He had never given you a timetable for when he expected to start moving. Which was fine, you supposed. He could take his time.

But the whole thing made you anxious, even though you knew it shouldn’t. What if he got too busy once he got back to normal life and forgot? What if he decided he wanted to stay at the dorms indefinitely? Worse, what if he changed his mind and he decided he did want to move, just not with you?

Your mind raced as you sat in your office at your piano, trying to lose yourself in the music. You wanted to believe that you had nothing to worry about, that even though things would change, you would continue to be a priority in Yoongi’s life, that you wouldn’t be taking a huge step backwards in your relationship. Somehow, you managed to distract yourself enough that you barely noticed you were playing “Spring Day” until you were almost done with the song.

You continued to play through some of the other songs you had memorized. Most of them, you noticed, were BTS--a strange side-effect of who you spent your time with and your students, the most prominent of which was, of course, Jimin.

As you played the final chord of “Black Swan,” the sound of gentle clapping made you jump, causing you to hit your knee on the bottom of your piano.

“Fuck,” you hissed, rubbing where the corner of the wood caught your leg. Now that you weren’t so surprised, you could see Yoongi standing in the doorway of your shared office, a look of concern barely masking his earlier amusement.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me come in,” he said softly. “I put some leftovers in the fridge, and Namjoon made us stop for hotteok on the way back, so that’s in there, too. Are you okay?” He crouched down beside you, his hand falling to your knee.

“Unsurprisingly, that is not the first time I’ve done that,” you said with a laugh. “I’m honestly kind of shocked there’s not some sort of dent in the wood.”

Yoongi offered you an amused smile. “Well I’m glad there’s no damage. To you or the piano.” He leaned in to kiss you as he stood, the action quick and easy--like he had done it a thousand times before--but contained no less love. “You’ve been holding out on me.” You could hear the mirth in his voice as he moved one of his paintings to pull the office chair closer to the piano.

You waved off his comment, shutting the lid on the keys of the piano. “I don’t take credit for the things Park Jimin forces me to memorize.”

“Maybe you should start.” He shrugged, and the two of you fell silent. After a moment, he wiped his hands on his thighs and looked at you, though dropped his gaze to his lap the second you made eye contact. “So, I was talking with Si-Hyuk-hyung, and he had some… news he wanted me to pass on.” You raised an eyebrow in curiosity. Was this what he was talking about before he left?

“News?” you question, trying to play it off like you hadn’t spent the past few hours in a downward spiral of anxiety. “About…?”

“He and I were talking about us.” Yoongi gestured to himself and then to you. “He asked me if we wanted to go public any time soon.”

Your eyes went wide. “I… what? Why?”

“He apparently talked to Jin, Namjoon, and Jungkook about it, too.” He shrugged. “Si-Hyuk-hyung didn’t say why, but we think it’s because of the Grammys.” When you continued to look confused, he elaborated. “I mean, that’s kind of the thing, right? If you win an award, you turn and hug the person you love and then you go to receive it?”

“Oh, so you’re expecting to win?” you teased, trying to pretend like your cheeks weren’t a little flushed.

“Well, I think…” he stammered. “I think we should be prepared. Just in case.”

“So what did you tell PD-nim?”

“I told him I would talk to you about it.” You hummed. “He said he’d leave it up to us, but he’d like at least three days’ notice so they can prepare a statement.”

You stayed silent, unsure of what to say. Of course you had thought about it, about what going public would do to your relationship. You had considered the potential hate from the fans you would receive, and the fact that your private life, no matter how hard you tried, would never be fully private after. You knew about the strain it could put on your relationship with Yoongi, about how the saesangs and the paparazzi drove a wedge between many idols--particularly male idols--and their significant others.

But at the same time, you wanted to be able to go out with Yoongi without having to constantly look over your shoulder, without having to worry about someone from Dispatch seeing, or a well-meaning fan posting on social media. You wanted to be able to go with Yoongi to events, to publicly support him at concerts.

You sighed and reached for his hand. “What do you think?”

“It’s what you want, jagi. My life won’t really change much,” he said, squeezing your hand.

“Yoongi, please.” You didn’t like how exasperated your voice sounded, but you could feel your anxiety starting to spike again. “I need to know what you’re thinking.”

“Honestly?” You nodded. “I don’t know. It actually kind of terrifies me.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I’ve seen idols’ careers die when dating scandals come out. But at the same time, I want us to have a normal life.” You snorted. “You know what I mean.”

“It’s very sudden,” you said softly, gripping his hand with both of yours. “The Grammys are in a few weeks. We’d have to do something in the next few days.”

“I’ll tell him we’d like to wait, then.”

You hummed, tracing his hand with your index finger. “We’d be able to do it how we want?”

“That’s what Si-Hyuk-hyung said. I imagine there’s a limit, but I don’t think he’d lie about that.”

“How much of an advanced warning did he say he wanted?”

“Three days.”

Would it really be that bad? You weren’t a stranger to hate comments and wildly unfounded criticism, although not quite to the scale it might get to. Yoongi rarely looked at social media, unless he was posting a selca to Twitter. And what? You might have to private your Instagram? Delete your Twitter? Honestly, it might do you some good to get away from social media. You trusted Yoongi to not drop you the second things got tough, and there were six other members of BTS there to help lessen any damage his career might take. As long as the two of you could weather it together, you were confident that you could come out on the other side relatively unscathed.

“Fuck it.”

“What?” Yoongi’s eyes were wide.

“Fuck it. Let’s do it.” You squeezed his hand, a small smile starting to form.

Yoongi’s eyes locked on yours. He was smiling, but you could see him hesitate. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Ask PD-nim if we can do something right before they send out their release. I think it’ll go over better coming from you.”

“You’re already planning this?” It wasn’t a question. He laughed, a sweet, gummy smile spreading across his face. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s do this. I’ll text Si-Hyuk-hyung and let him know.”

You watched him slide his phone out of his pocket and unlock it. “Hey Yoon?” He hummed, continuing to type for a moment before looking up at you. “We’re gonna be okay no matter what, right? Still us?”

Yoongi pulled you to him as he stood up, his arms immediately wrapping around your back to hold you close. “Don’t be silly. Of course we will be.” You felt him sigh as he tucked his chin onto your shoulder. “I can’t promise that things won’t change, but we’ll be okay.”

You hugged him, your arms around his shoulders, careful not to press too tightly on his bad one. This certainly hadn’t been where you were expecting the conversation to go when he walked out the door that morning, but you hoped he was right. Telling the fans was an important step to take--and an inevitable one, if you wanted your relationship to last. “You and me?” You pulled away slightly to look him in the eyes.

He smiled and pressed a soft kiss to your lips before resting his forehead against yours. “‘Till the end.”

Read more of the series here