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akingdomscrypt · 6 months

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War is Over (and what have we done?)

Part Four

Pairing; Graves x m!reader (slow burn)

WC; 2.9k

Summary; Graves is tired of being ignored.

Warnings; not really any? Not yet at least. Minor flashback stuff where it's implied he's trapped in the tank when it caught fire, mentions of death/pondering

A/n; probably my shortest chapter yet. I spilt what was originally one part into two because it just felt??? Off?? To put them together as one thing?? Idk but I felt like it called for more than just a few paragraph breaks

(also thanks to @/rousseau-vargas and @/embry-garrick who are my biggest motivators rn, next half of part will be out soon)

(idk how to explain it, but I love how his mouth moves..)

---"more than he bargained for"---

Phillip was bored out of his goddamn mind and a prisoner in his own fucking base. Which, to be fair, he had definitely anticipated would happen when he came back.

He had known he’d fucked up; he knew you would be angry. It had been a long time, Phil had been gone for nearly an entire year. Him suddenly appearing again after being presumed dead? That was sure to stir up some unsavory feelings; he had expected a bit of rage, some lashing out here and there.

He, for some unknown reason, hadn't predicted this.

You, trapping him in his own goddamn base.

Phil doesn't know how long he's been stuck within these same four walls—thankfully he'd been detained in one of the spare rooms, one with a small bathroom, and not where the temporary prisoners were usually kept—, but he does know that, especially if he stays here any longer, he's about to lose his damn mind.

He thought he knew you. Figured you'd eventually calm down—like you always did—and come back to collect him. Maybe chew him out a bit more, which would be well deserved, but then let him go. Reconcile. That's what usually happened when you two had a minor scuffle.

But this wasn't just a small mishap, some little blip on the timeline because Phil had gone a bit too far once again. Been a bit too snappy; had said the wrong thing. Was it?

With every day that passed, every second that dragged on, Phil was starting to believe he didn't know you as well as he had thought he did.

It's hot. It's so fucking hot. Phillip should have known better than to actually be in the damn tank when all this started, you, his dear co-founder, had warned him against it. But what was Phil to do? He'd rather face this heat a thousand times over, relive it again and again as much as it took, than have one of his own soldiers trapped in this chunk of metal.

Did he really think he would win? Well.. maybe. Phil had his doubts before this, you had your doubts, but he had insisted. And now he was going to pay for it stuck in this gradually melting, scalding hot box.

Another few raps of his knuckles on the wall, and still no answer.

Phil was really starting to get annoyed at this point. He was more than tired of being ignored, which only manifested in an uptick of his provocative behavior.

The hallway is on the other side and you, his dear Phantom, wouldn't leave him unguarded, would you?

Definitely not. So, again, he follows his obnoxious knocking with a shout of, “V! For Christ’s sake, I know you're out there!”

And he did, who better to have stand guard outside his door than your most trusted soldier?

He may not know you like he used to, and you may never admit it, but Phil could pride himself in the fact that you were at least a little predictable. And you had always been fond of their dearest Venn.

But, as had been the norm of how ever fucking long Phil had been trapped in here, there is no reply.

Phil had warned them. He had tried his damnedest to get those damn 141 boys to stand down, his orders hadn't been against them. Not originally. Not until they, as per usual, stuck their fucking noses into shit they don't belong in.

Was this what hell was like? Was this him paying for the horrid massacre he had commanded?

Phil could have gone against orders. He could've told Shepard where to shove it and be on his merry way—with his family Shadows alive. No one had to die. No one but Hassan and his goons had to meet their end.

But, goddammit, so many had. So many innocent lives were wasted.

Phil had been doing this shit for years, doing the dirty work no one else would, the kind the average military couldn't.

That didn't make it any easier.

He often put on a front; he had to. For his family's soldiers sakes’. If he was afraid, if he shied away from the blood and the gore, the screams and the terror, then he wouldn't be the strong, unmovable rock his soldiers relied on. Now would he?

He should have said no. Or maybe made some sort of compromise. But he hadn't, and there was no point in ruminating over what had been done. He was going to die here—it is what he deserved—, stuck and helpless.

Just like the innocent people whose lives he had stolen.

He knew you were just being stubborn. You would come around eventually- right?

Phil had never doubted you before. Having started this damn company together, just two wayward souls searching for something to call their own, tired of being tied down with yards upon yards or red tape—oh, the irony of that sentiment. You two had never been free.

Even when he pushed you away. When he left you the morning after—every damn time—to wake in his bed alone and cold. Not a trace of the warmth from the night before left behind.

Even when he refused to admit what you truly meant to him.

Phil had always assured himself that it didn't matter, he could say and do whatever he pleased, because you would always come crawling back to him. And you always had. No matter what.

Until right now.

Until you didn't.

“V! Goddammit, open the door!”

It was so fucking hot. He could barely move, mind fuzzy and breaths coming out in short, labored gasps.

What little movements Phil could make were sluggish and weak. The latch didn't work, and subsequently that meant the door didn't either. He was well and truly stuck.

Phil thought he was starting to make peace with that. Dying. It had been a long time coming, hadn't it?

After all the bloodshed. After all the things he had done in his life—all the blood and gore, the purposeful ignorance and choice to look the other way. To pretend not to care.

He deserved this, right? He was getting what had been coming for him. Finally.

It should have come sooner. He had lived plenty; he had done enough harm in his time.

Phil's tactic at this point was simply to be as obnoxious as he could possibly be, and annoy Venn into inevitably opening that damn door.

And after a few more harsh pounds of his fist against the wall, and several more calls of her name, Phil gets his wish.

In the form of a frustrated shout and the door slamming against the wall so hard it's a surprise the poor thing stays on its hinges, but he gets his way nonetheless.

“What.” Venn spits when she finally gets inside, arms crossed over her chest and one boot tapping furiously against the floor.

“That's no way to speak to your Commander, V.” Phil sing-songs, all upbeat and shit, against his own better judgment.

Ah, yes. Let's piss off the one direct line you have to Phantom more than you already have.

That's sure to get him his way.

“You're not-” Venn cuts herself off, sighing heavily and starting over. “What do you want, sir?”

She says the word with none of the respect she used to and, honestly, that was fair.

“Better.” Phil still hums. Because he's an asshole. And because he can't seem to stop himself, apparently, the snark seems to be hardwired into his brain or some shit.

“What. Do. You. Want.”

“You know what I want, V.” She makes a face at the nickname, and Phil pretends not to feel that little twinge in his chest. It's not like he doesn't deserve it. They used to be close. All of them.

“Not going to happen.” Venn snaps immediately. Defensive. Predictably.

“You know I'm not going to stop asking.”

“And you know it's never going to happen.”

“Fucking hell, V, why not?” Because he doesn't deserve the right of seeing you. Because he already fucked this up before it had the chance to be great.

“Because he doesn't want to see you.”

She's told him that before, several times over, to be honest, but Phil still can't hide the slight grimace that pulls at his features when Venn says it again. Says it with so much confidence, so much conviction, like it's an obvious fact everyone else has been made aware of and he's just been too stupid to pick up on it.

Phil has already been made well aware plenty of times. He just didn't want to believe it.

But what about you?

Would you be okay without him? Would the others? Phil knows you have never been the most.. well put together. But after you two got out of that wretched regimen, when you two banded together and created this little pretend family, things had been better.

Phil had been able to get you to open up more. To get you to behave more as yourself, and not like the shell of a man who he’d met when you two were still green.

You talked to him more. Got a bit better at talking with your fellow Shadows. Let him touch without flinching first, let him get to know the person beneath the aloof exterior.

Even though he had given nothing in return.

Would you make it out if this? And if you did, would you forgive him?

When you dug up those pieces of metal from the wreckage, those little markers of his identity, no doubt having melted to be nearly incomprehensible, would you bury them with his singed corpse? Or would you keep them safe? Tucked into a pocket of your vest, above your heart?

Would you tell his grave the stories of your future when the ashes settled? Would you bring flowers, or would you spat over the very earth he rested beneath?

Would you leave the stone unmarked, or with those few precious words you two had agreed upon all those years ago?

When he was gone, would you mourn? Would you miss the warmth of him above and beside yourself? Those whispered confessions spoken under that blanket, amidst the cover of night, would you forget them?

Would you forget him too?

“And he told you this?”

Venn goes silent then. One thing about her; though her moral compass was just as fucked as the rest of theirs, though her hands were bathed in the same amount of blood, Venn was a pretty shit liar.

“He doesn't even know you're in here, does he?”

More silence.

“Oh, you poor thing. First lying and now going against your Lieutenant's direct orders? What has become of you, V?”

“I don't need him to say it to know it's true!” Venn huffs, sending Phil a scathing glare.

“So you're making assumptions now? Dearest, Venn, you know what they say about people who assume..”

“The same way you assume he'll want to see you?”

Phil opens his mouth to protest, say something, but he draws blanks. What if she's right? What if you really didn't want to see him? Hell, did he even cross your mind anymore? Did you even remember you'd put him here?

Phil clamps his mouth shut and there's an audible clack of his teeth snapping together.

He hasn't seen you since that fateful day when, like the absolute dumbass he is, he had sent you storming out. Taunting and prodding, as Phil usually did, but you truly had been acting differently that day.

Or maybe it wasn't just that day. Maybe you had really changed, and Phil didn't know that man beneath the shell anymore.

He should've seen it more clearly when you walked in dressed head to toe, even that pretty face of yours masked. You didn't like shit like that. Always used to complain to Phil how much you hated them, being so covered up, made you feel claustrophobic or whatever.

But these days you wear it like a second skin.

“I deserve to see him.”

You had always been so calm, and he would often compare you to the soothing waves of the ocean washing over the cool sand of a beach after midnight.

But even calm waters can turn deadly in the blink of an eye.

“Deserve? You think, after what you did, you deserve anything?” Venn isn't masked, so the disbelieving look she gives him is quite obvious. Paired with a humorless, and honestly a little off-putting, laugh. “You don't deserve shit, Graves. And you definitely don't have the right to seeing him, not when-”

She cuts herself off then, and, if Phil had been thinking clearly, he would've asked for clarification. For her to continue because maybe, maybe he wasn't the only one privy to see that you weren't the same man you used to be.

But he doesn't look deeper, doesn't dip below the surface of that pretty ocean blue.

He never does.

“You can't keep him from me forever-”

“I'm not keeping anything! He hasn't even come down this way all week-”

“But he has come down here-?”

“Yeah- but not for you-”

“Just get his ass over here, V-”

“No! Why are you so stubborn? He doesn't want you!”

Ouch. But he's heard worse. From you—to be completely fair, Phil had usually said his own scathing handful of words beforehand. “You don't know that!”

“I understand you two started this shit together, so you assume you've got some weird, cryptic claim over him-”

“-that's not what this is about-”

“But he is his own person, Phillip! You two may have been friends before, but things have changed. You don't own him-”

“It's not like that-!”

“Oh, really? It's not like that?” She's up close and personal now, face to face, mere centimeters away. Huh, Phil never noticed the few inches she had on him. “How is it not? All you talk about is how you deserve to see him-”

“I do!”

“That's not a good enough reason! You can't just say “I do” and expect me to drag him down here. He's a very busy man!”

“You don't understand, V-”

“Then tell me! Help me understand what could possibly earn you the right to deserve seeing the man!”

“Because I fucking love him!” He shouts. “and I deserve to see my fucking boyfriend, for Christ's sake!”

Phil doesn't realize the words that had accidentally tumbled out of his mouth until Venn is pulling back, brown eyes widened in shock.

Oh. Oh shit. Ohhhhh shit.

You were going to kill him.

Seriously this time. Phil was a dead man.

“You-” she stutters. “Him- what. I- huh??”

“Shit- V-” Phil rushes closer, hands fidgety and hovering awkwardly around Venn as if wanting to grasp hold of her shoulders. He backs off and opts to pace the same nine foot strip of carpet instead, hands fisting into his hair. Tugging a bit here and there until he manages to settle enough to cross his arms instead.

Still pacing, pulse jumping.

“You can't tell him I let it slip, alright?”

One dark eyebrow raised, she asks, “Why not?” and rightfully so. Phil probably looked like he was losing his damn mind right now.

“Because-” because he had never said it before. Had never had the courage to admit it. To name what he had with you. What he wanted with you.

Because despite that so clearly being what you wanted from him, written so openly on your face when you looked at him. The most obvious you ever had been, about anything—and it was him who caused that.

Still, he had never put a label to it.

“Because he doesn't need to know.”

“Bullshit.” Venn scoffs, curiosity now flipped back to protective anger.

“It's not that big of a deal-”

“If it weren't, you wouldn't be acting like this. Would you?”

Ah. She had him there.

“Listen, Venn,” he says, voice low, tired. “You don't know Phantom like I do. This won't blow over well if you tell him.”

“I think I know him plenty well...” She says, more so like that of a stubborn child.

“If I get him-” Venn starts, hesitating. For a moment Phil thinks she's going to give him some big speech about not doing anything, blah blah blah, or she'll send him to an early grave or whatever. She exhales deeply through her nose, shutting her eyes briefly before looking at Phil again.

He doesn't think he's ever seen her look so damn exhausted. Suddenly seeming much more like the grown woman she is, and not the rambunctious teen they usually tease her for behaving like—all in good fun, of course.

“Just..” she trails again, as if weighing her options on whether to tell him or not. “Be.. gentle.. with him. He's not–not the man you used to know. He's.. changed.”

He had figured that much, but Phil surprises even himself when he utters an, almost soft, “okay.”

Venn gives him the barest hint of a smile before dropping the expression entirely, a far away look in those dark brown hues.

After a moment of silence, she turns to walk away. Appearing unable to even gather the energy to speak a goodbye, the door shutting inaudibly behind her; Phil can't even blame her for that one. Seems he wasn't the only one to pick up on your odd behavior, and he had only spoken to you once since his return.

He wonders what you had been all this time with no one to report to, under zero supervision—then he considers that he may not want the answer.

Masterpost | One | Two | Three | Next

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#call of duty #cod x male reader #male reader #call of duty x male reader #call of duty x reader #reader insert #gay #phillip graves x male reader #graves x male reader #phillip graves

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maximwtf · 11 months

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izzy hands x reader where the reader also served in the navy with izzy. reader has chronic pain and izzy helps them through a particularly painful flare up after overexerting their energy.

Izzy x Reader

words: 1600

google docs pages: 3

warnings: Slight s2 spoilers (I think :”D), smoking, back pain, platonic relationship, hurt/comfort

opening: Blackbeard was back as he used to be, but so was the fierce work no one truly missed. You could endure it, but at some point it became too much, causing a flare up.

AN// Reader can be any gender! I wasn’t sure what kind of chronic pain you meant, so I went with what I was most familiar with myself. Thank you for the request, I had fun writing this! I hope you like it ^^ (Also take this as a peace offering for the angst I’m going to write next) Requests for him are still very much open!

“Peace of mind”

Izzy had worked alongside you for as long as you could remember. You had both joined Blackbeard’s crew around the same time; and during the time there so far you had seen Izzy get the position as first mate, seen crew members die and watched Blackbeard change. Stede had come along at some point, and as much as you were used to ignoring people coming on the ship and leaving alive or dead, this one didn’t seem to budge. He stayed and even your stubborn mind could see that he had brought change along his arrival. Blackbeard wasn’t acting the same as before. Sometimes he’d dress differently, behave and talk differently and most of all, it felt like the ship had two captains from time to time which didn’t fit in the ideology of a pirate ship that you had in mind. This didn’t anger you though, not in the way that it seemed to irritate Izzy. He’d often come to you and complain for hours after he’d gotten nowhere with trying to convince Blackbeard to get rid of this man who called himself the gentleman pirate.

Just as you had kept telling Izzy that Stede would eventually leave, he did. But what came back as Blackbeard was someone else other than the man you’d known him as before. Soon after his return Izzy had gotten his foot injured and refused to tell you what had happened, making you only assume how Edward was now acting. You tried to help him, but he’d become a little more distant as time went on. Which hurt you, but there was no time to think about that. Blackbeard was attacking so many ships and taking in so much treasure from those ships that the crew barely had time to rest. At that point it wasn’t just izzy who looked more than a little disheveled, it was the whole crew. Everyone was exhausted and at this point some even felt bad for the acts they had performed under Blackbeard's command. And you were no different from them.

No different, up until this point. Blackbeard had started to command for the crew to start throwing some of the treasure overboard, since he needed to make more space for new treasure to fit in. It had already been a strain on your back to carry the items in, but to carry them back out at a rather fast phase sounded like it wouldn’t end well for you. The back pain had started off as light, small stings of pain whenever you worked. And you’d ignored it, shrugged it off as something that would pass even if you internally knew what was coming if you kept this up. The feeling was all too familiar, and the part of you that was aware of this also knew that one day you’d wake up and the pain would be much more intense. But you pretended not to know this, because you didn’t want to imagine what would happen if you stopped working for a while and Blackbeard caught you slacking off. Izzy was also aware of your condition, most of the time a little more aware than you had ever been about it. You hadn’t even wanted to admit to yourself when Izzy had suggested that maybe the back pain was chronic, even if he’d been correct. You didn’t want to be known as that injured person in your unit. And that conversation happened long before this moment.

Yet another night was setting in, and the sea seemed empty, thankfully. No ships meant no fighting and that gave the crew time to rest. And so most of the people took advantage of that and were sleeping wherever they could, giving you time to be alone on the main deck. Your back hurt, and moving made it so much more worse so you had given up and leaned your whole body weight on a mast pole. The heavy boxes of treasure you’d carried today and the days before were the last straw, and this was the flare up that followed. Crouching down at this point was not even an option, and so you leaned your head against the mast and took a drag from the cigarette you held between your fingers, blowing the smoke into the cool sea air. The pain was bringing your mood down, further down than it had already been buried with the work and atmospehere on the ship.

As another shaky breath of smoke left you, the sound of someone arriving on the main deck rang in the silence of the night. The person made their way to the mast, stopping behind you. “You’re spending the time to rest well.” He said, the voice revealing who the person was. Of course Izzy had come to see where you were. “I was about to come down soon.” You took another drag from the cigarette, turning to give the rest to Izzy but the movement made you groan before Izzy’s hand made contact with yours, taking the cigarette. You didn’t want to look at him again, leaning back against the pole. That had been enough to alert him of the flare up, and you knew he wasn’t going to leave you alone after that. “You moron, I told you to fucking leave the heavy work to someone else.” He said, voice stern but you knew he was worried, which you hated. He looked half dead most of the time when he came back from a visit with Blackbeard, yet he found it in him to worry for you. Maybe that was the small part that was left of his past self, still trying desperately to care for you. “I can do things just fine.” Your jaw tightened, not out of anger for his worry but out of frustration for yourself. You felt useless, even if you had done the work this was always the result. Even the standing hurt, as simple of a task as that was.

Izzy took one last drag from the cigarette, putting it out by pushing it against the mast, leaving a black mark on it. “Come on, I’ll cover for you as long as you need me to.” He turned around, your gaze followed him. He was expecting you to follow him, but you didn’t just yet. He was limping, worse than before. The feeling of worry over him eased out the scowl from your face, following him all the way to his quarters. He took breaks while walking, turning to check on you but not saying anything.

You entered his quarters first, looking at the bed before drawing in a breath and sitting down with a groan. It hurt, and it felt like it wasn’t even getting better than this. No matter how much time you thought had passed, this always happened after a certain amount of work. And recently it had started to feel like the amount of work you could endure had begun to be smaller and smaller. And if now Izzy got himself in trouble for covering your work, that would be your fault too. An overwhelmed sob escaped, and soon another. You’d feel embarrassed if this was the first time you’d broken down in front of him, but it wasn’t. This was just another flare up to the collection of many that he’d been there for. “Come on now, look here.” He said, voice a little further away as he tried to grab something from under his bed. “Fuck off.” You groaned, keeping your eyes closed, but it didn’t block the tears from making their way down your cheeks. “I know ye think this is again it, but you’ve made it this far…” He said, the sentence sounding like he had drifted off while looking for the item and forgotten to say the rest. “So how about we talk?” He finished, voice a little more awkward. Had he picked that up from Stede? You grinned slightly, opening your eyes as the tears kept making their way down. “As a crew?” You joked. Talking things out as a crew had become somewhat of a joke for the two of you, after listening to Izzy rant about how much he despised the change Stede had brought. “Sure.” He shrugged, more amused by your attitude now and willing to keep it up. “Rum?” The first mate asked, turning to you with the bottle he had found. He reached out with his free hand and wiped away the tears racing down, but before he was able to pull away you took a hold of his wrist. “Please.” Came out as more of a whisper, his thumb caressed the top of your hand a couple of times. Izzy corked the bottle, handing it to you. “There you are.” The first mate said, almost silent enough for you to miss it. There weren’t many things on the ship anymore that brought you back to the surface, but Izzy had stuck around for reasons you could not name. But it made you feel better. Things could be worse, and the pain would pass. It was okay for now.

AN// I'm sorry if there are any spelling errors, even though I did proof read this. I'm too hyped to write for this man to hold back anything I write to double check everything XD

#Izzy Hands #Izzy Hands x Reader #israel hands #ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd x reader #our flag means death x reader #x reader #fanfic #izzy hands beloved #yar har I love pirates #fanfiction #end of s2 was fucked up and I'm distraught from it #keep the requests coming #I want to write more for him

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gremlinwithapen · 29 days

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Augusnippets Day #26: Snuggling

Cassandra had only intended to sit down for a minute. There was still supplies to sort, wounds to clean and bandage, stops to plan...

However, it seemed that her traitorous companions had other ideas for the night.

It started with a puff of inky fur being dropped into her lap, one that quickly grew to become much larger heavier than it had any right to be. Soon there was an oversized, cat-like creature pinning her legs to the ratty old couch and blinking owlishly up at her with feigned innocence.

"Hello, Nobody," she sighed as she pat the kid on xheir fuzzy head, before turning her gaze upwards to catch sight of the mastermind behind this maneuver. "And hello to you too, love."

"Nothing gets past you, huh?" Val grinned as she draped a large blanket over her partner's trapped form. "Well, you're too late to stop me. My plans are already in motion."

"Baby, please. I have things to do," Cassie groaned, to stressed to have time for whatever her "plan" was. She tried to shrug the blanket off, but Val didn't give her the chance.

"Those things will still be there after you rest. You've been running yourself ragged taking care of all of us, and I know for a fact that I've been keeping you up at night with how sick I've been," she murmured as she moved to snuggle up alongside her, pressing a kiss into her forehead. "So chill out and let me pamper you. Besides, you wouldn't want to move poor Nobody, would you? Xhey're so comfortable right there, it'd be a crime to disturb them."

"Yep, sorry, too comfy," xhey nodded gravely as xhey flopped over to cover even more of her lap.

"You're both dead to me," Cassie deadpanned, even as she stifled a chuckle. She really should've been trying to get back up and back to work, but the kid's feline form was rather heavy, and the blanket was warm, and Val's arms were hugged so tightly around her even when she was still so weak...

And just like that, her fate was sealed as a bundle of feathers climbed its way onto the couch to join them, sandwiching her even further.

"I hope I'm not intruding," Circe murmured, though she was already settling down, her neck curving in to let her head rest on her downy wings.

"The more the merrier, I suppose. Not liked I have much of a choice," the mechanic sighed, finally admitting her defeat. She caught sight of Val's stupid, smug look out of the corner of her vision, and she rolled her eyes. Gods, her partner was an idiot. It was one of her best qualities, at least to her girlfriend.

A dull thudding sound made Monsoon's entrance obvious as he walked into the room and wordlessly settled down on the floor in front of the couch. He didn't make any move to join them, just curled up and rested his tail on his talons. When it came to the Selkie, that was enough.

Cassie looked at each member of their ragtag group in turn, taking in their weary eyes and scarred bodies. They were all tired, hurt, and had no idea what would come next. And yet here they were, going out of their way to make sure she got some rest.

"Thank you," she mumbled as she let her head loll onto Val's shoulder, her exhaustion seizing the moment to catch up with her.

"You're welcome," was all she said back as she pressed another kiss against her cheek and combed her hands through her hair.

Cassie's eyes slowly drooped shut, more than ready to finally get some half-decent sleep.

@augusnippets

#augusnippets #augusnippets day 26 #whump #whump writing #at its core #cassie #val #monsoon #circe #nobody

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blorbologist · 10 months

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Architect of our demise: Chapter 3

Aeor is profoundly unwelcoming when it wants to be. Which suits Percival just fine, given he has a lead. Totally fine.

They soon find that Delilah Briarwood’s notes are a scattered mess of petty missives, stunning dissections of inhumane research, and grand plots of godhood. Typical of a member of the Somnovem, but for the fact her schemes center around a long-gone archmage.

“Vecna,” Vex’ahlia explains. “An imitator of my -” she pauses, painfully sharp, as though she does not expect it “- patron, my god. He failed, obviously, but has been a nuisance ever since.”

“Hm.” Percival holds his thoughts as she hands him another gem. It only takes him a second to crack its sigils, Lady Briarwood’s murmur filling the air. With a lens he spills illusory letters on the table, transcribing the message. “I had a relative - distant, three-four generations back - try something similar. So the story goes, Erathis’ justice descended on her for the hubris, struck her dead where she stood.” A quick skim reveals discussion of some Ozwyn Gruude - interesting. “Poetic flavor for ‘failed ritual splattered the room with fine red paste’, most likely.”

She snorts. “That’s usually how it goes. Any luck?”

“Perhaps,” he admits.

He had begun to doubt if rushing to decode these notes was the right call. His neck is tender, likely bruised, and with the adrenaline drained of his limbs everything is heavier than it should be. Rest might have been wise.

Rest might have been possible if not for the fever burn at the back of his skull, cooking every thought until it came out smoking, wreathing the image of Ripley on the other end of his gun.

Vex’ahlia scoots closer. Percival points out the name that caught his eye. “Gruude,” he says. “The man has come up in articles and publications tied to the doctor I’m looking for. They seem to have been collaborators, associates. Mostly dated ten years hence, but…”

She reads, overtop Delilah's slower diction, “Dear, I found word that a gentleman going by Ozwyn Gruude has been paying handsome bounties for biological material from magical monsters. His office is located in Vasselheim, in case you would like to deal with the pest. Call it a favor.” Vex’ahlia grimaces, reading the letter over again. “Looks like the bitch never got to send it. This is addressed to one Gloria Cyn. Does that name mean anything to you?”

“Vaguely,” says Percival. “To my knowledge they are another researcher in the Genesis Ward. Not that narrows anything down, and I’d, ah, rather not waste time finding them for a second-degree connection given -” he gestures vaguely at the dried blood on his coat and the looted recordings.

“Right.”

Percival leans back in his chair, kept from toppling only by brumestone ornamentation. He feels almost lightheaded. A lead, a real lead, in his hands. Finally.

Prologue | Keep reading on AO3!

#art fuelled More Writings #the ship Probably should have been called The Whitestone - but that's just not a good name for a ship :c #next chapter: Percy is A Petty Bitch - Vex finally gives him the big reveal #critical role #perc'ahlia #percahlia #cr fic #my writing #age of arcanum AU #percival de rolo #vex'ahlia

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bluegekk0 · 8 months

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Idk if you've answered this before but did Grimm believe pk was dead before he returned? Also what was fpks reaction to seeing Grimm for the first time?

When FPK disappeared, Grimm would keep visiting the palace grounds in hopes that he would be back. He could sense that he was in a dream realm, but couldn't reach him in any way, so he just waited. Years passed, and he lost hope that he would see him again.

But did he think that FPK was dead? He was certainly hoping that wasn't the case, that whatever FPK was up to, he was at least safe. But he knew FPK wasn't a true god, he knew that sooner or later he would have to leave, if anything, he had to actually eat something, or else he would slowly die. So as year passed, I think Grimm started to slowly believe that he may be truly gone, which broke his heart. Eventually, when he was certain he wouldn't see him again, he started avoiding Hallownest altogether, up until the ritual. The luckiest ritual of his life, as it turned out, since it's thanks to it that he finally reunited with FPK.

---

I'm guessing you mean for the very first time, back in the palace? Well, he didn't know him at that time, though he has heard of him. He first saw him during the party, but he hasn't noticed that Grimm was staring at him for far longer than was appropriate. He had a very striking appearance, and FPK could tell that he wherever he was from, he must have been a big deal. He tried not to stare too much, he knew it was inappropriate, but he had to admit, it was difficult to look away (thinking back to this moment now, he definitely has a much different explanation for the reason, Grimm was simply very attractive, and he noticed it from the start, but didn't realize what it was at the time).

FPK ended up leaving the party to take a break on the balconies like he usually did, away from the noise and crowds, and soon after, Grimm joined him. FPK didn't even notice him at first, he was too occupied with trying to calm his nerves and breathe, so he only realized he wasn't alone when Grimm spoke to him, though the flirty tone flew right over his head. He was finally able to take a closer look at him. Grimm was quite muscular and a lot taller than him, which made him a tad intimidating, but there was a certain comforting aura to him that FPK couldn't explain.

When Grimm asked him what he was doing there all by himself, he didn't catch the implication, and instead started to talk about what he was dealing with. The stress related to the party, his wife's expectations, the whole kingdom's expectations. How all of that was overwhelming to him, and that he would rather run away to his workshop.

FPK didn't realize what Grimm was implying when he seductively told him he would like to see him at work, but he did notice that the Troupe Master moved a bit closer, so close that he was able to get a good idea of his smell. It was a nice scent, it reminded him of fruit, though there was a small hint of smoke mixed into it, like some kind of incense. Perhaps that contributed to the strangely comforting aura, as FPK continued to open up, though not in the way Grimm was hoping for. He tried avoiding too many details, he didn't want to burden Grimm, but it was clear from the tone of his voice that there was an overwhelming sadness in his heart.

FPK would talk for quite a while, occasionally looking Grimm in the eyes (they were hard to read but strangely beautiful, though it took him years to realize the true reason why they caught his attention). Grimm seemed interested, so he kept going, and eventually the conversation became more involved as Grimm joined in talking about his experiences, his flirty tone slowly fading away. It was a very unique experience for FPK, he hasn't had a conversation this engaging in years, he was used to others not paying much attention to his personal interests and only focusing on him as the king. But Grimm didn't seem to care about that at all, he asked the kind of questions FPK was excited to answer.

Before he noticed, an hour (or maybe more?) has passed, and in a panicked realization he interrupted their conversation and excused Grimm. He knew it was supposed to be a short break, he was already expecting his wife to be upset, so he had to return in a hurry. But before he left, he thanked Grimm for the conversation, and invited him to visit the palace again, saying that he would love to show him his workshop. Then, just before leaving the balcony, he smiled at him. A genuine smile full of joy, which was a very rare sight for him.

And I think that was the exact moment Grimm realized he was head over heels in love.

#ask stuff #feral pk au #save #fpk #grimm

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darkdevasofdestruction · 1 month

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Chapter 2 - Unwritten Laws

The next morning, Katrina woke up better than ever before - It was a beautiful morning with an even more refreshing feeling - Something she hasn't experienced in a very long time. She had a soft smile on her face so she dressed in the kimono of that annoying colour and braided her hair, doing a cute bow to tie it, only for someone to randomly pop up - Or, pop down, rather, from a tile from the ceiling.

The man was dressed like one of those Ninjas in Naruto, only to have modern-day glasses that gave him away, somewhat. "Hello. I know we haven't properly met each other, but I was there when you went through the wormhole." he explained, making the girl snap her fingers in realisation.

"That means you have an idea of what and/or why it happened, right? Are you a scientist?" the woman asked, gesturing for the man to get out of the ceiling and sit down with her and chat properly.

"Yes. I am a post-graduate in Physics. We entered the wormhole at the same time, however, I arrived four years prior to you. And in this time spent here, I came to the conclusion that we are in an alternate timeline. I arrived at the place where Uesugi Kenshin collapsed. I saved his life with my knowledge of modern medicine. If this were our timeline, Uesugi Kenshin should be dead by now. Also, the Warlord Takeda Shingen, who is supposed to be dead by now, is also alive. Well... I predicted that you would do a time travel as well, and I searched for you, but I never imagined you would arrive four years after me." the man chuckled cheekily, making the woman look down with an amused smirk.

"Well, well, finally, someone who has brains around this place. Trust me, it's a real wonder. I'm a doctor now, but in the only day spent here, I didn't get to use my skills." she hummed in mock-superiority. "Anyway, I see these 4 years have been kind to you. To become such an excellent ninja requires true hard work and dedication... Not like you had anything else better to do, anyway. To think both Kenshin and Shingen are alive right now... As well as Nobunaga... Mitsuhide wasn't the traitor, he hasn't died in less than a week, and Hideyoshi isn't Japan's unifier yet... There truly are a ton of discrepancies compared to our own time's history. Well... Not like I know a ton about universal history and all. As you can see, I'm not exactly 100% Japanese, and most of my time I spent in Europe. I know the basics of history, with some details from some Wikipedia searches and... 'The Age of Samurai' documentary from Netflix. But I guess it matters for nothing now that we're pretty much re-writing history by just existing." Kat smiled wryly, admitting to her own ups and downs in common knowledge, but then she grinned charmingly, tapping the side of her face, pondering.

"I don't think we will need too much history knowledge with how much things have changed, but I suppose you could say that seeing the famous warlords of the Sengoku with my own eyes is a dream come true for me. My parents were big history buffs so I got my name from the Legendary Ninja that served Yukimura Sanada. Sarutobi Sasuke, the leader of the Sanada 10 Braves, the fictional group of 10 ninjas that supposedly assisted the warlord Yukimura Sanada during the Warring States, and since that's pretty much my name, I've basically taken his place, so my impact on history is pretty low. Unlike yours, Physician Princess." he sniggered friendly, making the girl shrug playfully.

"Rumours fly around faster with a ninja around. Anyway, I know we have no actual technology around... Except for what we were caught with in the wormhole, and that only works on the left-over batteries... But do you have any idea if there's any way to go back home? There must be a wormhole some time soon, right?" she theorized, and thankfully, the ninja scientist nodded in relief.

"According to my data, the next appearance will be in three months... But I'm still unsure of its location, so I believe it will be best if you spend these next three months here, since we're in the midst of a chaotic civil war... Ah, someone's coming. I'll be staying with my employed in the city below. Send a smoke signal and I'll come to your aid quickly. Bye, Kat, it was lovely meeting you." and with that, the scientist completely disappeared.

"Goodbye to you too..." the girl muttered, getting up and opening the door to her room, only to see Mitsuhide, wearing his usual fox-like smile, and two very soft and sweet looking women behind him, both holding some big boxes of unknown content.

"Hello. Please, do come inside... Although, I don't have any tea or snacks to serve you." she stepped to the side, welcoming the trio inside her room.

"What a lovely welcome, from one fire fox, to another silver fox. Well, I will be direct with you. Lord Nobunaga is calling for you. He wants to see you." crossing his arms and nodding to the girls to open the boxes, revealing several hair pins and hair decorations, along with a beautifully embroidered and painted flower-patterned black, golden and red kimono and matching haori and zori sandals.

"U-Uhm... I would like to thank you for your consideration... Truly, I appreciate the thought... But I simply cannot accept such a gift. I have done nothing to deserve or earn such expensive outfits and jewellery, therefore I must decline." the red haired woman looked away, embarrassed, fidgeting awkwardly with her fingers.

"My, my, how modest of you, little Princess. Well, then take it as an early payment for all the hard work you're going to put throughout your stay here, at Azuchi. Besides, if you don't accept them, it will be me Hideyoshi kills. He pushed these onto me and said, and I quote, 'She can't go dressed like that, take this to Lady Katrina'. Don't worry so much and let these maids take care of you today, then, you can do whatever you want." Mitsuhide bargained with the girl who remained quiet for a while, and then simply nodded. Whispering a soft "Okay." and "Thank you.", the two maids had Mitsuhide leave the room and called Katrina to take a bathroom.

The Faux Princess had to insist a few times to be allowed to wash herself... Alone... By herself. She enjoyed the soothing hot water that calmed down her overworked and stressed muscles, and soaked much longer than she realised, but damn, the relaxation was so worth it. She didn't even care for the wrinkly skin, she was just so happy.

Her apartment back home was pretty small, so she didn't have enough space for a bath tub, only for a shower, so there wasn't any chance for her to relax like this. Not bad at all... Maybe this will be a pretty fun trip... A vacation, maybe? Definitely worth it. With just this bath alone, Kat was content.

After what may have felt like ages for anyone waiting on her, the physician woman got out of the bath and dried herself off, allowing the maids - Aiko and Maki - To take of her however they felt fit, trying to erase the embarrassment she felt in allowing others to pamper her like that. But this kindness and politeness... Yes, these women were nice and all, but it was all fake. After all... She was a Princess, and everyone wanted to gain favour with the Princess, and by default, gain favour with the Lord who assigned them to do this. She's seen enough Imperial Chinese dramas to know the drill.

The girls carefully combed her long, crimson hair, and they made two decorative braids in the back, loosely tying them together with a beautiful, golden ribbon. They helped her with dressing, and then gave her some food - And an excellent dessert - And shockingly, Masamune was the one who cooked for her! Kat knew, cooking wasn't rocket science, but cooking in the 16th century, and especially something so spectacular... She was intrigued, to say the least, and it's the first time she was actually interested in learning something that wasn't revolving around her work-space.

When she was finally able to leave the room, she saw that Mitsuhide was still there, and he smirked at her, satisfied. "You look lovely, Lady Katrina. Shall I take you to Nobunaga's room? I don't believe you know your way around the castle yet well enough." he spoke, gesturing with his eyes to be followed.

"Thank you for your thoughts, Mitsuhide. Although... Please, do not use such honorifics when addressing me. You and I both know I'm not... Well... I did nothing to earn such a high social status, nor the respect of anyone, therefore, such words are nothing more than empty pleasantries that are used as an attempt at gratifying and elevating one as someone greater, yet it has no meaning, nor worth." she finally spoke after a while, making the silver-haired warlord stop in his tracks and look at her with slightly widened eyes, surprised by her words.

Instead of addressing her statement, he merely hummed in amusement and understanding, and took her hand, kissing the back of her hand. "I thought I'd ease your nervousness, yet somehow, I may have missed the mark. You seem even more tense. What dark thoughts are plaguing your mind, little fox?"

She didn't dare look at him - She could feel her cheeks reddening slightly, as she could only look to the side, fidgeting with her fingers and biting her lip. "I... I shouldn't... It's not..." she muttered softly, almost as if afraid to say anything, her eyes darting around carefully.

"There's no one here who could hear you, there is nothing to be afraid of, little one. Your voice is soft enough that not even I may hear it." the warlord mused, encouraging her with the teasing.

"In my time, what you did is a romantic gesture. All that considered... It never happened to me before. That's... That's all that I was thinking. Nothing of importance. Forget you heard it." and with that, the red haired girl stepped ahead, getting in front of Nobunaga's door, only to peer behind her shyly. "Although... It wasn't too bad saying it to someone. Thank you, Mitsuhide."

And thus, hearing a soft snigger from behind, the leaving footsteps left her all alone, in front of the beautifully painted landscape from Nobunaga's paper door. Announcing her presence to the Warlord, she was invited inside, only to see Drew already sitting there, playing Go with Nobunaga. And he was losing very shamefully.

Looking down and fidgeting with her fingers, Kat felt awkward and didn't know what to do, so she just stood there, by the door, awaiting further instruction. It didn't come until Nobunaga completely decimated Drew's forces and he won. Drew threw a tantrum and flipped the table, having all pieces fall around the room, but Nobunaga sketched no reaction - His face was hard and cold as an ice statue's.

The poor girl could only look away, very embarrassed at being associated with him, but also, feeling incredibly uncomfortable with having to witness such a... A fight. A one-sided fight. The man didn't even bother speaking to her - Instead, he stormed out of the room, cursing the warlord left and right. As well as him, the girl said nothing either, but unlike him, she moved for the first time since getting there. She got one of the vases that held the red pieces and began picking up each piece. However, as she was doing that, Nobunaga suddenly moved, grasping her wrist, stopping her at once.

"Why are you doing this? It was not you who made a mess of my room." he spoke, his eyes cold and almost ruthless.

"Yes, but what he did wasn't okay. A man shouldn't behave like a spoiled brat. He's always been a sore loser and would make a huge show whenever he lost at something. Mind you, he was never a great player at... Any game. As well as that, we are both from the future, and having him show such disrespect makes it look as if we are some ill-mannered savages or something." she explained, placing down the vase and putting her other hand gingerly over his.

"You feel responsible for his actions, is that it?" he scoffed, seeing the girl offer a small smile.

"Unfortunately, I do tend to do that a lot." she mused, freeing her hand and continuing picking up the pieces. "But I think it's more shame and second-hand embarrassment."

"A leader always takes the responsibility for his subordinates' mistakes, likewise, they are responsible for teaching them accordingly. Katrina, I do not understand you. It came to my understanding that you and that man were married, or in courtship, therefore you are not a leader, just a maiden trying to pick up the discarded sword of a broken peasant pretending to be a warrior. You could become an Empress, but you sell yourself short. It's pitiful, if not, pathetic." he grimaced, making the girl hang her head, but nod, nonetheless.

"Yes, you are right. I am aware of that - But it's not like I have much choice in the matter, do I?" she let out a dry, sardonic chuckle. "We are not married, and, truth be told... I don't have any positive feelings towards him either. I could end it any time, should I find something better -- I just hadn't found anything better than this wretch yet.." she shrugged simply, though the bitterness was evident on her face.

"Enough self-pity and servant-work. I did not call you here to clean my room." he swiftly ended the conversation. "A scout reported from the East. One of the daimyos there wants to revolt against me. We are facing a force of more than 2.000 men, so it is very small. I am going to lead the attack with my own army of only 500. You will be coming with me. Here's your chance to bring me luck again." he finally spoke with more vigor in his voice, a smirk appearing on his face.

"Oda Nobunaga, the Demon King of the 6th Heaven almost died... He must be weak, we can finally take our chance and win against him. We can defeat his army and take over Kyoto." Kat smirked softly, humming in amusement. "You're going to make quite the statement, Nobunaga - A 1 to 4 army... Very bold." she tapped the table, a habit she took whenever she was being playful or amused. "Is it true what they say? The safest place for anyone is near the general, for it is the most guarded one? Is there anything I should be afraid of?" she teased playfully.

The brunet warlord let out a boastful laugh. "You are brave, woman! Brave and witty, yet foolish to believe there is any place safe under the Sun. Get up, we are leaving now!" and saying that, he lunged to the girl, getting her up and leading her out of the room and into the stables, leaving her mute from shock as she, once again, was dragged up onto Nobunaga's horse with crazy ease.

Nothing more was said until they arrived at the camp - They sat on small wooden chairs, awaiting... Something. Tension was high in the air, and screams of rage, agony, war cries were splitting the air. It wasn't like in the movies, Kat knew that, but even so, curiosity, intrigue and slight fear mixed together in her heart. She wanted to watch, to observe, to analyse, but at the same time, she wanted to stay away and be safe. It wasn't that she valued her life much, but she didn't want to give it away too freely either.

Then, one of the warriors came by to his warlord, alerting that the enemy commander sailed out, risking his life in battle - Nobunaga was almost impressed, he could even say he was half-intrigued... Or maybe a quarter at most. And yet, the Lord got up from his chair and put his hand on the katana hanging from his waist. He was going to go there and put an end to the enemy's life by himself.

"You must be bored of sitting there, silent. You'll come with me, I want you to see this." the man commanded, already striding to his horse, leaping up and going ahead.

"... You should have waited for me, at least." the girl muttered, and seeing that no one else was around, she held her clothes up, allowing more freedom of movement, and ran after him awkwardly, muttering curses under her breath.

Suddenly, she heard a loud, authoritarian shout - "Aim for Nobunaga's head!" - they said, making the girl's head snap up to the Lord's silhouette, barely a few meters in front of her, and then she saw an archer to her right, drawing his bow towards her.

"Do I look like a man to you?!" she shouted at him, and seeing a dead soldier on the ground, she leaped down, grabbing up the corpse and using it as a way to cover her body as much as possible.

The familiar sound of an arrow being released, and Kat closed her eyes, not having a clue what else she could do to shield herself - But than the splitting of air by a sword was heard, and a familiar voice boomed through the place. "I am your enemy! Don't mistake me for someone else!" and with that, Kat peeked from behind the dead warrior as Nobunaga decapitated the archer, his blood splashing around like an artesian fountain. So that really was as flashy as in movies. "Katrina! Observe diligently what is happening around you!" he commanded, and with that, he turned around and went ahead to create more carnage.

Thankfully, the war didn't last much longer, for the warlord got to the enemy, and the red head ran up by his side as soon as he leaped down from the horse. "A demon!" some of the enemy soldiers shrieked in fear, seeing the merciless eyes of the sadistic warlord, along with "This man is a monster!" Nobunaga's cold, lifeless, killer eyes seemed to terrify the soul out of everyone... He was enjoying the way he scared and intimidated his enemies.

But Kat wasn't scared. Instead, she kinda felt sad hearing such words. In a period of only war, to call someone so gifted in the art of war, a monster, just because you're lesser than him - No, never mind, humanity hasn't changed.

The woman walked by his side, in front of the cowering enemy leader who was kneeling and praying, begging for his life to be spared. But Nobunaga was having none of it. None who rebel against him may live. And he struck him down on the spot.

"You lost to number less than half of yours. You should be cursing yourself for thinking you stood a chance. Understand it already! This is the end for you. And it goes without saying, your foolish vassals will accompany you on your fate." and thus, he ordered everyone from the castle to be pulled out - They were all bound and taken away - It seemed to Kat like they were inmates on death row, or maybe lambs to the slaughter, awaiting the guillotine blade to fall down on their neck.

Was he going to kill all of them? Even those who weren't involved in any way in the war, and just had the misfortune of being born in the wrong castle area? It seemed unfair, and yet, she wouldn't be surprised in the least. It's the Sengoku era, and she remembered how completely heartless Nobunaga was said to have been, killing and lighting up buddhist temples, women, children and anyone that was unfortunate enough to cross his path.

She could only look at them go by her with lingering sorrow, feeling her heart sinking, but she was saying nothing. She understood, and it wasn't like a warlord would take back an order and choose the mercy route, just because of a woman's plea. He was Oda Nobunaga, and he was a Warlord. The most feared one in the whole country.

As a physician, she looked at the irony presented in front of her - A woman who vowed to save as many lives as possible, next to a man who vowed to bring his success by killing. Did he even care about others' lives, or did he just see humans as pawns in a chess game, playing only to win? Was he truly not afraid, even by a little bit, of being in the middle of the war, among so much death and danger?

She went back to Azuchi almost robotically, not being aware of anything around her, as she was too deep in her own thoughts. Maybe someone tried to talk to her, but she behaved rudely by unintentionally ignoring them. But she wasn't sorry, she didn't want to do it, those thoughts were too intense and interesting to speculate.

And so, she got back to her own room and slumped on the ground, resting her elbow on her knee and propping her jaw on her palm, looking unfocused and just...Pondering. That is, until the room to her door was opened and, unexpectedly, Hideyoshi greeted her. She saw the man and gestured for him to sit down next to her and have the conversation he wanted - Why else would he be there, anyway?

"You seem unexpectedly well after what happened. Are you sure you come from an era of peace?" he asked with light amusement, no doubt trying to lighten up the atmosphere.

"Yes, I am sure." she smiled softly. "I've always been great at hiding what I'm feeling, and I naturally am level-headed and don't fall under the pressure, so I guess my rational thinking and composure saved me from panicking too bad. Thank you for your concerns, Hideyoshi, I truly appreciate your thoughts." she nodded as a thanks.

"I did come here to bring you some basic necessities and see how you were doing, but I suppose you are pretty fearless." he stated. "Did anything happen to put you in such deep pondering?" he asked, almost as if he were a big brother concerned about his little sister after her first day at school.

"Well... An archer tried to shoot me. The arrow was aimed at my face. That was scary. I leapt to shield myself with a body from the ground, but thankfully, Nobunaga was there in time and sliced the arrow... And then the archer. It was scary back then, but the adrenaline surging through your veins makes it bearable. When you relax, it's when the fear actually catches up to you - Rationally, at least." she recalled the story with a sigh.

"Yes, I suppose for a woman who never even saw weapons her whole life and lived such a sheltered existence, having an arrow pointed at you and almost dying must be traumatic." he nodded, a serious expression on his face - But then he patted her head with a nice smile. "But that's not what's on your mind, is it?"

"No... You are right." she admitted. "After he killed the enemy lord, Nobunaga tied up all the vassals, including the women and children. In our history, he is known as a merciless man who kills anything in his path - However, there are enough discrepancies in this timeline from my own... So, I was wondering... Are these war prisoners going to be killed? Or will they be used as slaves or something?" Kat asked, looking pensive at the vassal in front of her.

"Kill? Lord Nobunaga would never do something so wasteful. The traitor will be stripped of his land, which will be put under the control of a new daimyo. The wounded will be treated and sent home to work the land as farmers and peasants once more. They won't be allowed to become samurai or warriors again, though." the man explained to her the process of taking war prisoners.

"I see. I suppose that makes sense. That means I will finally have some proper work to do of my own these days, that's great. I figured he wanted to get rid of this revolt quickly, with as few people as possible, to show that he's stronger now than ever, even in spite of the fast-flying rumours about the Honno-Ji incident... So he's thoughtful first, then merciless and valiant. I think I understand him and his reasonings better now." Kat nodded in understanding, letting a pondering silence veil the both of them for a while.

"I still don't yet approve of you, but now that you are a member of the Oda forces, and you have already been through one war, you have to try and understand what is going on around here. Things won't be easy for you, but I am sure Lord Nobunaga wouldn't put you in direct danger, considering he needs you alive. But that's all I can tell you now. Once you've calmed down and had enough time to sort out your thoughts and feelings, go to Lord Nobunaga and thank him." and thus, he extended his hand towards her, to help her up.

She graciously gave him a smile and got up with his aid, and they nodded at each other. "Thank you for coming here and explaining these things to me. I needed that. You're a very nice man, Hideyoshi, whether or not you approve of me. I appreciate it." but then, the man smiled and hummed cheerfully.

"Don't thank me. Also, before I forget - Have this. Put this on your wounds. While I won't trust anyone who seems suspicious until they prove me wrong, I wouldn't leave an injured woman untreated. It's not my style." and thus, he stepped out of the room, waving at her goodbye.

"Thank you, Hideyoshi!" the girl went out as well, waving at him as well.

"Thank Ieyasu, not me. I'm just giving you leftover medicine he made." he chuckled lightly.

"Ieyasu is interested in medicine as well?!" the girl's first real reaction - True interest and excitement - Painted on her face, her eyes gleaming eagerly.

"Yes, he is very gifted in this domain. He may be skeptical and apprehensive at first, but pay him no mind, he's just introverted. You can learn many things from him. I'm sure you will be his favourite student... And only one." with an amused look, he left the place, leaving the girl to her own thoughts.

"Fascinating... Very fascinating..." she muttered to herself as she found her feet taking her towards the Lord. "Well then, here we go again..."

And thus, Katrina sighed, gathering herself and her thoughts, and calling out to the Lord, awaited for approval to walk inside - And she did hastely.

She walked in the demon's den as fearlessly as he expected.

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#behind the veil #ikesen x oc #ikesen imagine #ikesen x reader #ikesen #ikemen sengoku x reader #ikemen sengoku imagine #ikemen sengoku x oc #ikemen sengoku #oda nobunaga x hasashi katrina #oda nobunaga imagine #oda nobunaga x reader #oda nobunaga x oc #oda nobunaga

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incorrectgallaghergirlsquotes · 1 year

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Can you please make a fic or a snippet about how Zach looked for Cammie when she ran away? Thank you and pretty pleaseee

"I can't believe you told her to run away."

Zach rolled his eyes. "Baxter. We've been over this countless times now. I did not tell her to run off on her own."

"You told her to run off with you," she amended. "Not much better."

"If being mad at me will help you feel better by all means," he snapped. "But it's not productive to getting her back so maybe keep it to yourself for now."

"Okay, can you two not kill each other as soon as we leave?" Macey said, finally turning to face the pair. She crossed her arms over her chest. "It's bad enough we're being dismissed and separated, we don't need you two trying to tear out each others throats."

Zach and Bex said nothing, both averting their gazes and looking at the ground. It was a situation where everyone was right and everyone was mad about it.

"They're separating us so we can't scheme and go off on our own mission," Liz chimed in. "But you two are staying together," she pointed at Zach and Bex.

Macey scoffed, having resumed packing. "Yeah. Whose idea was that?"

"Not mine," Zach and Bex said at the same time.

"You're missing the point!" Liz said. "You two will still have each other. And you two arguably know Cammie best."

Bex looked from Liz to Macey. "What? You don't trust Zachary and I to have a boring break together where we hang out and-," she paused, looking at Zach. "What is it that you do exactly?"

He shrugged. "Devil worship mostly. Except on weekends. I have a book club."

Bex ignored him. "My parents will be watching us like hawks. That's the whole reason Zach is coming with us. To be babysat." She emphasized the last word, shooting Zach a look.

"And I have full intentions of being sat," he replied. The girls talked a bit more after that but Zach didn't participate. The three of them left together, Bex walking Macey and Liz out. Eventually, rather than her returning, Zach met her in the foyer, escorted by Mrs. Baxter. Mrs. Baxter led the way out of the academy. Bex went to follow but Zach grabbed her arm. "For what it's worth," he said when she turned her surprised gaze on him. "I'm not mad that you blame me. I blame me too."

"So, what would you have done?"

It was the first thing either of them had spoken to each other since leaving. There were finally no adults hovering over them and Bex had been wondering about the answer since they passed the gates of the school.

"If I was her?" Zach asked. He was sitting back in a chair, not exactly relaxed. Honestly, it was more like he was trying to melt into it and disappear. Maybe he was. "I wouldn't have come here."

The lack of snark was already a departure in their usual conversations. Cammie's absence was already taking a toll.

"No shit," Bex mumbled. She slid down the wall across from him and sat down.

"I'm serious," he said. "She left without us. She wouldn't go where any of us are unless she needed to. I saw your map. You guys did a lot of planning where she would or could go, but you didn't bother trying to narrow those down through process of elimination."

"Enlighten me then. Where wouldn't she go?"

"Nowhere near Gallagher, her grandparents, or Liz. The states are huge but it's safe to assume she left there. Nowhere Macey's family has a house until she knows which one she's going to be in for break. And she definitely won't be in London," he gave Bex a wry smile. "Otherwise she'd risk being dragged in here by her ankles."

"True," she agreed. "But what would you have done? You go through that passageway and you're outside of the academy and what do you do?"

"Why ask me? You know her better than I do," he admitted.

Bex chewed the inside of her cheek. "Maybe. But Cammie and I... we don't think the same. Our first instincts are different. Sure, I know she wouldn't take a main road or be caught dead using her own name, but..." she sighed. "You guys are so alike."

Zach frowned, looking down at the floor. Several minutes of silence stretched out in front of them.

"I wouldn't have gone out that passageway. She did us a favor by leaving a note it would be silly to do more than that. Her primary goal was to get out of the academy without being seen, she knows how to do that better than any of us. I'd probably take whichever one gets furthest from the school, but any of them would do. I'd hop on a bus but she might not have wanted to risk being remembered by the driver or anyone. But she's also the chameleon and the CIA doesn't exactly do routine detective work like you see on TV-,"

"You watch TV?" Bex interrupted his ramble.

"No," Zach replied, without missing a beat. "I definitely wouldn't go into town, too much of a risk being recognized. Those townies sure have a knack for finding her." He paused finally. Bex wondered if it had something to do with Josh, but it was far worse. "Whenever she gets in a spot where she's not worried about you all finding her she'll have to switch gears into worrying about the Circle finding her. Once Gallagher shows signs that she's gone everyone's looking for her. And she knows that. She's trying to run towards something while outrunning us and them. I would have tried to make as much headway as possible in those first 24 hours with what I was running toward in mind. Now, I'd be doing counter maneuver after counter maneuver."

Bex nodded. "She's good."

"Are you worried about her?"

"Are you?"

"Yes," Zach said, without hesitation. "I didn't want her to go alone." Bex scowled and Zach sat up in his chair. "Tell me you wouldn't feel better if I was with her instead of here with you."

"Believe it or not, I'd prefer you both be here." Bex said. But the words had no bite in them. "You'd protect her," she relented. "I know that."

She rose off the floor, stretching. "We should go make an appearance."

Zach nodded. "How long do you think we have before our first opportunity?"

"We're the two most suspicious people in the world as far as my parents are concerned. Could take a while," a smile tugged at her lips. "Or we could get creative."

"I can do creative," Zach agreed, also standing.

"Great," she said, heading for the door. "So, where are you gonna go?"

Zach smirked, following behind her. "I'll send you a postcard."

Go to (part) ask 2!

#ask #answered #gallagher girls #zach goode #cammie morgan #bex baxter #macey mchenry #liz sutton #gg fanfic

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aries-writingblog · 2 years

Text

Enemy Fire: 13

Summary: There's a new kid in town, and she's got a city to usurp.

Pairing: Jason Todd × F. Reader

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: language, threats, mention of violence and loss of parents

AN: photos are from Pinterest

Jason checked his watch. Two minutes.

He never minded doing anything for his friends; They didn’t often ask for help and when they did, he couldn’t turn them down. But Roy could’ve warned him how boring this job would be before he took it.

He downed the remainder of his coffee, staring at the building across the street. Luckily, the bench he had chosen as his stake out was directly in front of a cafe.

The cafe he ran into YN.

He frowned, shaking his head. He couldn’t think of that now, he was on stakeout. He couldn’t think of her, or rather her absence over the past few weeks. He just had to trust that she was capable of handling herself and she didn’t crawl into an alley somewhere and die.

Jason dragged his attention back to the front door’s of the building. They opened and a man walked out. He was dressed casually but Jason could tell it was the businessman Roy had been hunting.

Readjusting the reading glasses on his face, Jason pressed the button on their frame to start the video. Just in time for the man to glance over his shoulder, getting an impeccable shot of his face.

He soon disappeared but Jason didn’t move. His eyes went back down to his lap, where a book was propped. He didn’t have to wait much longer for the door to open again and a woman appeared on the street. She hurried away from the building, much less smooth than her counterpart.

“Idiots.” He murmured, turning the video off.

He sat there for a moment, unable to focus on the words of the page. He bit down on his lip.

His thoughts wandered back to the same place they’d gone ever since the infiltration of Adrian’s warehouse.

He should check on her. Even if she didn’t want him there, it would make him less nervous. Because potentially, she was dead in her apartment. Had been dead for weeks.

Cursing under his breath, he shoved off of the bench and snatched his backpack. This was a stupid idea; If she was still there, she would definitely yell at him, possibly harm him for coming back.

But he would deal with it. He couldn’t stand the unknown.

He tossed his cup at the trash can and despite his superior weapons training— his shot missed. By a wide margin.

Irritation bubbled beneath his skin, but he still leaned over and snatched it up. This time, he made sure to place it directly into the garbage.

Jason turned around and nearly bumped into the person walking past. He opened his mouth to apologize, until he caught sight of her identity.

“You’re still here.” He blurted out, blatantly staring at her face.

YN shrugged, tugging at her sleeves. Trying to make them long enough to cover her hands.

It had been three weeks since their escapades against her uncle. Three weeks since she nearly exhausted all her power. Twenty one days since he scraped her bruised and battered body from the concrete of a warehouse.

The cuts on her face were healed— practically gone. Her scar was still the same: curving around her cheek and nicking her nose.

From what he could see of her knuckles, they were no longer dark with bruising or blood.

She seemed to have taken care of her injuries alone.

“Guess so.” YN replied, shifting her weight. Jason nodded, his fingers tapping a pattern into his thigh.

“I just thought that once Adrian was taken care of, you’d take off.” He admitted. Well, that had been part of this thoughts.

The rest of them contained her demise. He would keep those as inside thoughts, for now.

“Nothing to run from anymore. Why would I?” She asked.

Fair point. He cleared his throat, shifting his weight to one side. YN shoved her hands into her pockets, rocking back on her heels.

Neither moved to abandon the conversation.

Jason wondered if it was a side effect of being MIA for three weeks. She must’ve been desperate for contact. Any contact.

YN simply didn’t know how to exit the conversation. She hadn’t been trained on friendship, or even acquaintanceship. Would it be rude to just… walk away? Could she do that, even?

Another bubble of anxiety ruptured in her chest, sending the fumes along her body. Nearly freezing her in place, out of fear.

“So what now?” His voice drew her back into their conversation.

She blinked, clearing the fog from her thoughts.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you going to stay here? In Gotham?”

She shrugged.

“Don’t know yet.”

If she was curious about his questions, she didn’t show it. Though, she might have been glad to just have a friend.

Jason bit his tongue. It had been a while since he had willingly befriended someone. Not since Artemis. And that had started out nearly as rocky.

He wasn’t even a good friend to the few he had.

But… he couldn’t leave her alone. He would keep an eye on her in case she decided to attack again. Friends close, enemies closer, and whatnot.

“Have you eaten yet?” He asked. Yn’s head whipped around. Her eyes were calculating— attempting to see through his facade. To discredit him in anyway. Jason nodded for her to follow, and began walking toward his bike. “Come with me, we’ll grab lunch and head back to my place.”

YN maintained her position, arms crossed and practically ready to bolt.

“As if. How do I know this isn’t a trap?” She demanded. Jason’s brow creased as he dug through his pockets, in search of his keys. He had them five seconds ago. “You tried to kill me, not too long ago.”

Jason rolled his eyes, halting his search in favor of turning around to confront her.

“This shit again. Only because you were trying to kill me, kay sweetheart?” He tilted his head. He observed her instant shift— actually preparing herself to run again. “Just Korean barbecue. No ulterior motives.”

YN fought against the heat rising against her skin— blood flowing toward her cheeks. She pressed her lips together tightly.

His offer seemed genuine. And she wasn’t sure how to take that information.

He was a man. A vigilante and crime lord— a billionaire’s son. He was dangerous, smart. Lying was part of his personality at this point, it had to be.

Jason cocked an eyebrow, waiting on her decision. His eyes were soft. Too soft for her to deny it.

He was just trying to throw her off— make her unbalanced.

Or was he?

She shook her head, pressing her lips together.

“Stop calling me sweetheart.” She decided.

“Get on the bike.” He bit back, pointing to the black motorbike.

She approached cautiously, her face screwed up in disgust.

“I don’t want to touch you.” She announced.

Jason scowled. She wasn’t making it easy to be nice. He leaned forward, scooping up his helmet. Inching closer to her face, invading her personal space.

“Then I’ll drag your face against the asphalt.” His voice was low, gravely. YN swallowed— what the hell? Contradictory to his words, he extended his helmet to her, without breaking their eye contact. “Get on.”

She stood her ground as long as she could— holding out on being stubborn. Jason was unwavering, his cologne was invading her mind. Overtaking her senses.

His bicolored eyes bared down, sending her heart rate flying, pounding in her chest.

Gritting her teeth, she finally snatched the helmet from his hands. Wrenching it over her head.

“God, you’re an ass.” She growled. Her fingers fumbled with the strap and clips.

“I swear, I’ll kill you.” He grumbled.

Jason reached forward, smacking her hands out of the way. YN froze. He yanked the two straps under her chin, clipping it easily. Avoiding her eyes, he tightened it and flipped the visor down.

Praying that she couldn’t see the heat he felt in his face, Jason turned around, threw a leg over and mounted the bike.

Without prompting or waiting, he started up the engine. YN finally unbound herself from where she had been rooted, and climbed on behind him.

“I’m sweating.” Jason announced, tossing his keys to the counter.

YN smirked, depositing the boxes of takeout to the kitchen table. He stripped out of his jacket, leaving himself in a t shirt. Corded muscles rippled beneath his skin, arms displayed from the short sleeves.

He fanned himself with his hands dramatically. She rolled her eyes and pulled a seat at the table.

“You’re like a furnace.” He panted. He grabbed the television remote, turning it on. It was already on a low volume from the night before; He adjusted the channel to the local news network, deciding to keep an eye out for anything new. Roy had received the information, now he was just waiting to see what his friend would do with it. If he would need help.

Placing the remote to the table, he pulled the chair beside her and sat down.

At first, Jason couldn’t deny, her warmth was quite nice. Ever since the Lazarus Pit, he’d had this… lasting cold in his bones. He never seemed to get warm. His skin was cold to the touch. He was always near shivering. He had just learned to keep a jacket with him, why he wore sweatshirts nearly all the time.

“I can’t help that. Stop bitching.” She demanded, opening the bags.

Jason pouted, adjusting his chair to face her. She doled out his portion, crumpling the bag and tossing it to the opposite side of the table.

He watched her carefully; How she moved, her ease in his place. She was completely confident. She should’ve been— she could bake him without batting an eye.

His thoughts spiderwebbed outward, considering how she handled objects. Her phone, the plates of food, her drink. And even though she seemed to burn at an intensity of the sun— her temperature rivaling celestial beings at times— she had complete control over her powers.

He wondered if she was born with those innately. Automatically aware of every aspect, or if it was learned. If she spent grueling hours, forcing herself to learn control.

“How did you even get your abilities, anyhow?” He asked, unable to stop the question from spilling out. “Some… mad scientist kidnap you or something?”

“Born with them.” She corrected, opening her cutlery packet. Jason gave a small noise of acknowledgment, encouragement for her to keep talking. “My parents carried the Metagene. It’s a recessive trait and both have to have it for the child to exhibit the features. With experiments, as you’re mentioning, most of the people carry only one. When exposed to certain… conditions, you can enhance the gene and therefore, create abilities. They’re never as strong as a full blooded, recessive person’s but, they’re abilities nonetheless.”

“So, your parents weren’t superhuman?”

She shook her head.

“Normal. They didn’t even know they had the gene.” She paused, hesitating before she decided to speak again. “Now, you can screen for it when you’re pregnant. Mutations of all kinds can be stopped before you reach full term. Like it’s a disease.”

Jason averted his eyes.

There had always been a hatred toward meta’s. People hated what they didn’t understand. They just saw these people as dangerous. Unstable.

Abnormal.

Most of the dangerous ones were the experiments— the people who went looking for abilities. It was rare to see someone like YN. A borne meta who accepted her abilities. Used them for herself.

Most who were born with then rarely used their powers— mainly because of the Meta Laws, but also because they didn’t want to be seen as one of those metas.

“You know a lot about this.” Jason commented.

“I guess I was curious.”

He hummed.

Curious, indeed.

Maybe it was wrong to think of her as some character for him to dissect, but Jason couldn’t stop himself. He could sit there all day, asking questions, digging deeper. Finding… everything. Anything she would give.

She was, quite frankly, one of the more fascinating people he had recently met. Perhaps it was simply because she was new to him; An unknown. Unfamiliar.

Or if he was feeling a bit Victorian Romantic, he could tell himself she had a certain pull. Something that made him orbit her without thinking of anything.

Either way, he wasn’t going to stop himself from finding out more.

“You never told me how you ended up with Adrian.” Jason prompted, scooping a heaped spoonful of food up.

YN narrowed her eyes; Had he always been so unrefined in his eating habits?

“After my mom died, he was the only living relative. CPS doesn’t care if they’re a bastard, only if they’re living.” She informed him. “There are too many kids in the state of New York to vet every single relative.”

Jason wasn’t unfamiliar with how the government treated orphaned kids. And though he wasn’t given much of a choice in his own adoption, he had seen many children of Gotham suffer the system. It almost made him glad Bruce caught him stealing those tires.

“What happened to her?” He continued.

“Shoot out. I was nine.” She stated.

“Damn.”

She seemed unfazed by the news. She had lived with the information for years, he supposed she would be desensitized. But not enough to just give the information as smoothly as she had given anything else. Like she was unaffected by it.

“I got my first kill that day.” She told him.

His heart sank. Nine years old. Her first kill.

Was it by her hand or his?

“Adrian?”

“No.” She shook her head.

Jason suddenly felt full, even though he was halfway through his plate. He couldn’t imagine a nine year old girl, killing someone.

No wonder she seemed so detached.

He sighed, tossing his napkin to the table, leaning back into his chair.

“You’re lucky. I wasn’t allowed to kill until I was eighteen.” He said, solemnly. YN snorted, a laugh breaking free from her chest. Her hand quickly flew to cover her mouth, to suppress the jilting sound. Jason’s lips curled in the corners. “Oh, that’s funny, huh?”

“Morbidly,” YN countered. She had managed to school her face back into It’s original state of indifference, though her eyes still shone with teasing mirth. “Since you decided to dig up my past, let’s hear yours.”

He drew in a breath through his teeth, air hissing as he cocked his head.

“Too long of a story to tell over a lunch.” He deflected.

YN shrugged, leaning back in her own chair, shifting to see more of him.

“Hey, man, I got nobody hunting me anymore, I’m a free woman.” She grinned, spreading her hands before her. “Got all the time in the world.”

Jason grinned, unable to stop his amusement from showing.

And he actually considered the option. He stabbed another piece of meat with his fork, contemplating.

It was fair, since she was so forthcoming with her information, that he too, share with her. He supposed that was how friends worked.

The only problem was that he couldn’t seem to even think of gathering his thoughts. They scattered like paper in the wind when he reached out for them.

Jason’s tongue ran along his teeth, tucking into his cheek. He exhaled softly, steeling his nerves and attempting to clear his head.

YN sat patiently, eating and waiting for him to begin. His eyes slid from her face, to the television behind her. His blood froze instantly.

“Oh, shit.” He muttered, staring at the screen.

YN’s brows furrowed at his sudden shift.

“What?” She demanded.

Following his gaze, she whirled around in her chair, nearly knocking it over. Jason’s hand flew out to rebalance her as she stared.

“You’re on the news.”

Her stomach plummeted, leaving nausea along It’s path. Spreading its fingertips along her muscles.

Her face was plastered across the screen, a little white box below gave her name.

YN reached back, fumbling for the remote. Jason quickly shoved it forward into her hand. She pressed the volume button up, waiting tensely for the explanation.

“… and we’re getting word that she is dangerous and assumed to be still in Gotham. Officials warn that she should be avoided and reported to the police if spotted. They do not know her target or intentions, and she is assumed malicious.”

“Well, Linda, it seems like more and more of these so called ‘meta’s’ come out of the woodwork every year. In fact, we’ve had an uptick of attacks in recent years, which is why I believe Senator Rodriguez’s Meta Bill will soon be passed in the legislature—“

“YN?”

“Fuck.”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x f!reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #enemy fire

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recurring-polynya · 2 years

Text

BLEACH Anime Celebration

Day 1 Prompt: The Rain A character is concerned for one or more characters The character/s get caught in the rain Features something sweet or bitter A character shares something with another character

Characters: Renji, Fujimaru, Kosaburou, Mameji, and, of course, Rukia

Rating: General audiences, contains child rudeness.

| ao3 | ff.net |

☔ 🍵 💕

“Renji,” said Fujimaru, “are you worried?”

“No,” said Renji.

“It’s getting dark,” said Fujimaru, watching Renji poke the fire. “It’ll get cold after the sun goes down and they’ve been out in the rain.”

“Rukia said they would be back by dark,” Kosaburou chipped in. “So they’ll probably be back very soon!” He was sitting away from the open hearth at the center of their hut, trying to weave dried straw into a raincoat, the way Rukia had shown them. She was clever at things like that, but so far, she’d only had time to make them for herself and Mameji, the two smallest of them. Fujimaru had been helping earlier, but he’d evidently gotten tired of it and come over to bother Renji, instead.

“What if they don’t, though?” Fujimaru wrinkled his nose. Renji could tell the other boy wanted a turn with the fire-poking stick, but he was trying to get some water to boil, and that was never gonna happen if Fujimaru knocked the hot coals all over the place like he always did. “Would you go out after them, Renji? I would go with you.”

“Not if I can help it,” Renji grumbled. “Rukia knows these woods a lot better than we do. If we go out stumbling around in the dark and the rain, she’s just gonna get home and then have to go out again and find our sorry asses.”

“Are you gonna cook rice, Renji?” Kosaburou asked. “That would be nice, for Rukia and Mameji to have hot rice when they get home.”

“The whole reason they went out was to check the snares!” Renji reminded him. “The rice’ll last a while, no point in wasting it if there’s fresh meat coming.” He paused. “If they come home empty-handed, and Rukia’s hungry, I’ll make the rice.” He paused again. “I’m makin’ tea.”

Fujimaru made a grumbling sound deep in his throat, and pulled his knees up to his chest.

Renji would have liked to be more reassuring, but he honestly didn’t know what he could say.

Was he worried? Of course he was worried. Renji did not like to think of himself as a guy who worried. He considered things and weighed probabilities and made back-up plans, but he didn’t worry. Well, he didn’t used to. Then, a late summer storm named Rukia had roared into his peaceful little existence, and upset everything.

Rukia existed on an entirely different wavelength from his own. Rukia did not consider things, she just did them. If her actions had consequences, that certainly wasn’t any of her business. She never talked about her past, but she’d been in Inuzuri for a long time, and knew all its rhythms and riptides. Renji sometimes wondered if she was maybe part yokai, like if he could look fast enough while she wasn’t paying attention, he might catch her casting a fox’s shadow instead of a girl’s. Rukia sought no one’s counsel, least of all his, and cared even less for his concerns.

If she had maintained her distance, none of this would bother Renji in the least. In fact, at least within the confines of his own head, he had to admit that he rather admired her, and if he had the luxury of doing so from afar, he had to admit he’d probably be down pretty bad for her.

The problem was that Rukia, for reasons Renji had yet to discern, had attached herself to their little gang, and thrown the entire dynamic into disarray. Renji didn’t care what Rukia did, but the other boys adored her, and so he now found himself subject to the ever-shifting tides of her whimsy. He still wasn’t sure how, a few weeks ago, she had convinced them all to move out to this ramshackle hut she’d found in the woods a few spirit-miles outside of town-proper. Renji had lived in Inuzuri-town for as long as he’d been dead, and felt completely out of his element here in the quiet and dripping woods. If Rukia wanted to go out traipsing around in the rain and take Mameji with her, there wasn’t a whole lot he could do about it, aside from stay at home and make a fire.

At least the squat had a usable hearth. Renji had stayed in places that had them before, but he’d never gotten to be in charge of one before. Usually he and the boys got shunted off to some drafty corner, while the biggest and meanest kids took over management of the heating conditions and any cooking that might be going on. Getting hot water had always required waiting your turn and also some amount of bowing and scraping and possibly receiving a wet willie or some other form of puerile abuse. Feeling a slight pang of conscience, Renji resolved to give Fujimaru a turn with the poking stick as soon as he got the water boiling.

For a few minutes, the three of them sat without speaking. The rain pounded against the thatch of the roof, making dribbly noises in the gap at the bottom of the door that Renji had already made a note to fix. Kosaburou’s straw made little rustling sounds. Renji’s coals hissed and popped. Fujimaru sighed and blew his hair out of his face.

Kosaburou suddenly perked up. “I think I hear something! I bet they’re back!”

“I think it’s just this water finally coming to a boil,” Renji scowled at the kettle judgmentally.

“No, it’s outside,” Kosaburou insisted.

Abruptly, the door slammed open. “GET A LOAD OF THIS HARE WE GOT!”

Renji jumped half out of his own skin, but fortunately, everyone else was too busy mobbing the two tiny, sopping figures who had just stepped inside.

“Wow, Rukia, it’s huge!”

“Can we all have some? Is there enough?”

“Yeah, of course! Mameji found some mushrooms, too, we’ll make a whole feast!”

“What does Mameji know about mushrooms? I’m not eating any mushrooms Mameji found!”

“I showed ‘em to Rukia first! She said they’re called ‘dancing mushrooms’, and they’re good to eat!”

“Make Renji look at ‘em!”

“I don’t know crap about mushrooms,” Renji grumbled, wrapping a rag around his hand so he could take the kettle off the fire. “And take yer raincoats off, you’re making puddles in the house!”

Mameji immediately began peeling off his rain gear, but Rukia strode to the center of the room and held up her prize for Renji’s inspection. Renji paused from stirring up a bowl of powdered tea long enough to look carefully. It was an adolescent buck, long-limbed, but lean at a time of year when it should have been putting on fat for the winter.

“Nice,” Renji declared with a curt nod. “Take care when you skin it. I know a guy down at the tanner’s who’ll give us a few kan for the hide.” For all her savvy at navigating the idiosyncrasies of Inuzuri, Rukia had somewhat of an aversion to what little above-board economy existed. She tended to avoid dealing with people whenever possible, and if she regarded Renji as good for anything at all (unlikely), it was for his man-about-town connections.

Rukia returned the nod. “Sorry we took so long.” She turned her head back to address the other boys who were busy admiring the mushrooms. “The main trail is completely washed out just north of where the creek curves around that big boulder. I showed Mameji how to get over it, but don’t try going that way without him or me, it’s a giant, slippery mudpit.”

“Okay, Rukia!”

“Sure thing!”

Rukia turned back to Renji. “You starving? I can skin this right away and we can get it cooking. Nice job on the fire, by the way.”

“I’m not that hungry,” Renji shrugged. This was only partially a lie. Renji was always hungry. In the grand scheme of things, he wasn’t anywhere close to how hungry he could get. He glanced at her hand, bony knuckles under pale skin as she held the hare up by its back legs. “You should warm up first. You’ll cut yourself if you try to dress a rabbit with bare hands.” He scowled. “Or I could do it. If you’re starving.”

Rukia raised one eyebrow. “Do you know how to dress a rabbit?”

Renji wrinkled his nose. “Not…the correct way. I could get the meat out. If I had to.”

Rukia regarded him for a long moment, then set the hare down and started to untie her rain gear. “I’m not starving either,” she said. “I’ll do it after my hands warm up. I’ll teach you, if you’re interested.”

Renji made a noncommittal noise.

“You can show me, Rukia!” Mameji announced. “I want to learn!”

“Me, too!” Kosaburou added. “I’m not afraid of rabbit guts!” This was extremely a lie, but the relief of having the gang back home again, safe and in one piece had put Renji in a very generous mood, so he didn’t say anything.

“Me, three!” Fujimaru was not to be left out.

“Mameji, your tea’s up,” Renji called.

“Thanks, Renji!” Mameji said, propped his straw cape up to dry near the door.

Renji plunked a second steaming bowl onto the floor next to Rukia’s feet. “Here,” he said. “Take off your raincoat and drink it. Fujimaru, Kosaburou, you guys want tea?”

“Yes, please!” Kosaburou chorused.

“Yeah, sure,” Fujimaru agreed.

Rukia divested herself of her rain coat while Renji poured a few more bowls of tea and passed them around. Slowly, she sat down in the spot between Renji and Fujimaru. She picked up her tea bowl and examined it, turning it carefully with her tiny, pale fingers. “This is pretty,” she finally said. It wasn’t, really. It was the same heavy, grayish-brown pottery that was ubiquitous throughout Inuzuri. It did, at least, have a curl of dainty little flowers painted in dark blue around the rim.

“Take care with that, it’s yours now,” Renji informed her, taking a sip. His own cup had a little fish on it. He was almost certain he had owned a cup with a fish on it when he was alive. A koi, just like in his name.

“You lift this just for me, Abarai?” Rukia asked, her voice dripping with fake tenderness.

“Something like that,” Renji muttered. “People should have cups.” He wasn’t about to admit he’d spent actual kan on it, but he’d wanted to take the time to pick one out, and the pottery seller down at the market had been watching him like a hawk.

“Don’t drink it yet, Rukia!” Kosaburou suddenly waved a hand at her. “It’s too hot, it’ll burn your tongue.”

Rukia’s eyes slid over to Renji. He took a long, slow sip of his.

“There’s something wrong with him,” Fujimaru insisted. “He drinks it way too hot.”

“There’s lots wrong with him, actually, but we like him anyway,” Mameji giggled.

“Shut up,” Renji replied good-naturedly.

“I’ve never actually had tea before,” Rukia admitted, her fingers slowly warming to pink as she wiggled them against the cup.

“It’s not actually tea,” Renji quickly pointed out. “It’s herbal stuff.” Nobody had actual tea in Inuzuri.

“Renji and I help the old herb lady set up her stall on market days, and she gives it to us,” Kosaburou explained proudly.

“It’s kind of terrible,” Fujimaru conceded, sniffing at the steam of his.

“I like it!” Kosaburou argued.

“It’s bracing,” Mameji declared.

“It keeps off the choking cough,” Renji snapped. “We don’t need any of that around here, so we drink this when we come in from the cold. That’s the rule.”

It’s not that Renji actually believed in the medicinal power of the tea. But two years prior, choking cough had swept the slums and taken out probably a third of the children that prowled the town’s fringes like rats. Mameji had gotten it pretty bad and to this day, wheezed a bit in the lungs when the weather turned cold. The old herb lady was so old that she sometimes seemed to go transparent around the edges (Kosaburou said Renji should probably try to get more sleep) and forgot what she was doing most of the time, but it’s not like there were many better options, and Renji figured it was better than doing nothing. To be honest, he rather liked the tea, which he had come to associate with the vague notion of being home, even if home was more a sense of having your people around you than an actual place. A few times, they’d managed to get ahold of some honey, which Renji had another half-baked human memory of being good for colds. It cut the bitterness of the tea almost entirely, made it downright pleasant.

Renji realized that Rukia was watching him carefully over the rim of her tea bowl. She did that a lot--watched him, that is. He didn’t know why. All the other boys spent half the day trying to get her attention, and all she ever did was stare at him, like he was some weird clockwork contraption she couldn’t quite figure out.

Renji nudged the poking stick over to Fujimaru. “Oi, Fujimaru, if you aren’t drinking your tea, stir the coals around a bit, would you?”

“Oh, yeah,” Fujimaru agreed enthusiastically.

Rukia finally lowered her eyes, her lips pursing like a kiss as she blew on her tea. She took a slow, cautious sip. “Oh!”

“Burn yourself?” Renji asked gruffly.

“Hm? Oh, no! It just didn’t taste like I expected it to. It surprised me.” She turned a pretty smile on Mameji. “‘Bracing’ was a good word for it.”

“Pretty sure Renji brews it at about four times the strength you’re supposed to,” Fujimaru, lordly with the power of his poking stick, announced.

“No one got the cough last year, did they?” Renji retorted.

“I like it,” Rukia interrupted. “It’s good.” Then she took another sip, long and luxurious.

Kosaburou took a tentative sip and immediately gave up, blowing on it some more instead.

“I can show you how to make it, if you want,” Renji said off-handedly, figuring that would put them even again for the rabbit thing.

“I guess,” Rukia replied, “but I kinda like it when you do it.”

#bleach returns 2022 #my writing #renruki #thought i'd kick off with some renruk b/c it's what i do best #super duper pre-romance tho #unless you're into skinning rabbits and bad tea #you know what never mind #anyway BAD TEA ORIGIN STORY you're welcome #abarai renji. age: 8. occupation: malewife.

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teconkaals · 1 year

Text

Walking With A Ghost Chapter 7

Soap remembered the first time he’d seen Simon’s face, after what had happened in Las Almas, when they had grouped together to go after Graves. Ghost had removed his mask and balaclava without a word, without anyone expecting it, and it had caught Soap off guard because Simon hadn't lied about his attractiveness. Yes, his face was covered in scars, but they didn't make him ugly. In fact, John had memorized each of them. He liked to run his fingers, and lips, over them to make it clear that he didn't care and that he still liked him despite the scars. From the small one Simon had under his right eyebrow, to the one went from the corner of his mouth to his ear; going through the one that pulled his upper lip a little, result of some cut, and the one that König had made on the other cheek. They were part of Simon, a sample of all he had suffered, what he had survived, and John would not deny them.

Soap's POV while Simon's recovering.

AO3 Chapter link: Chapter 7 - Downed

Fanfic Masterlist: Here

Next Chapter: Chapter 8 - Awaken

Previous Chapter: Chapter 6 - Darkness

Wordcount: 9289

Rating: Mature

Tags of the fanfic (some of them): hurt/comfort, taking care of each other, blood and violence, happy ending, non explicit sex

A/N: Took me ages to translate this one, sorry 🙏 It's the longest chapter I've written for this fanfic (almost 9300 words), but I promise it's worth it. Be careful because there is mention of suicide in a couple of parts, but there is also comfort, so make up for it, promised.

I don’t give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform (I’m publishing on my Ao3 account both English and Spanish).

JOHN “SOAP” MACTAVISH - FO 141DOWNEDTHE GULAG, RUSIANOVEMBER 30, 2022, 11:25

Soap moved quickly down the corridor, looking at the number of each cell carefully. If the information Ghost had given them was correct, they would soon find Prisoner 627.

He set his jaw.

After so many months working together, the Captain's decision to separate them had hit him like a kick in the stomach. He didn't know if Price was aware of his back and forth with Ghost, but if so, he still didn't understand why he didn't trust them to stay professional. They were soldiers, the mission was always above everything else.

You're sure?

His subconscious suddenly kicked in and Soap clenched the hilt of his weapon. He knew the answer to that question and it made him angry to have to admit it. Of course he would rather save Ghost than successfully finish the mission. But he would also do it with the rest of his companions. Members of the 141 were like family, taking care for each other and leaving no one behind.

“Here!”

Soap glanced in the direction of the voice and moved quickly toward Price. The Captain looked at him and Soap knew what he had to do. He quickly prepared a light explosive and attached it to the door hinges. They separated, and a few seconds later, two explosions caused the door to fall to the ground. Price went in first, yelling something in Russian, when a faint voice spoke from inside.

“Price?”

Soap frowned as the Captain lowered his weapon and relaxed his stance. He approached prisoner 627 and offered him a hand so he could get up.

“I didn't expect to find you here, Yuri,” Price remarked.

“Me neither.”

John opened his mouth to ask how he knew the Captain when Gaz's voice came over the radio. Soap’s neck hairs stood up at the urgency in his partner’s tone and he knew something bad had happened. That Ghost was in danger. Or hurt.

Or dead.

He pushed that thought away and focused on the Captain as soon as he spoke.

“This is Bravo 6, what has...?”

“I need urgent exfil in my position!” Gaz's voice interrupted him. “Fifth floor! Critical status!”

Price and Soap exchanged a glance and, before the Captain could stop him, the Sergeant stormed out of the cell. He barely heard Price's voice requesting a medicalized helicopter, the only thing Soap could think about was getting to Ghost's side as soon as possible. If it was Gaz who was requesting help, it was because the Lieutenant was in no condition to do so. He muttered a curse in Scots and broke into a run, begging Ghost over the radio to hold on.

He didn’t encounter any kind of resistance since most of the guards were on the ground, shot down by their partners. So he moved quickly through the fifth floor corridors, stopping dead at a fork. He felt gravity grow heavier, pulling him hard to the ground as everything around him became a blur. Gaz looked up and both of them looked at each other for a few eternal seconds. Soap forced his legs to move and walked toward his mate, feeling his stomach shrink until it almost disappeared.

Gaz was sitting on the floor, one hand on his thigh and the other on Ghost's side, applying pressure. Although Soap made out blood on Gaz's leg, he wasn't able to take his eyes off the Lieutenant's limp body. From the knife that protruded above his left clavicle, from the blood that had covered the floor. John dropped to his knees beside him, resting his shaking hands on Simon's vest. At that moment he realized that he was crying and that he didn't care if they saw him like that.

“Simon…” Soap called him, his voice barely a whisper. “Hey, Simon… come on, wake up…”

“I'm sorry,” Gaz said softly.

Soap looked up at him and saw that, despite the concern on his face, there was understanding in his eyes. Price came in from a run and also dropped down next to Ghost. He put a hand on one of the Lieutenant's shoulders and took a deep breath, looking at Gaz as he offered him something. Soap could see it was a piece of paper, a white envelope with bloodstains that he had no trouble making out.

The letter that every soldier wrote in case of death on the battlefield.

Tears streamed down his face again and Soap closed his eyes, resting his forehead on Simon's body. Pain tore through his chest and Soap screamed in rage. Of helplessness. It wasn't fair. Simon had begun to open up to him, to people; he was improving his way of relating to others, trying to move on from his past traumas. He didn't deserve to have to fight for his life like that. He also had the right to live happily.

Someone jerked him away, and Soap quickly reached for his gun. He relaxed when he saw that it was the extraction team and gave them room. Soap watched as Simon was placed on a stretcher; how they cut part of the uniform to locate the wounds and apply the hemostatic; how they bandaged him and took two IVs, one in each arm, before taking him away. John was about to follow them when someone put a hand on his shoulder. He turned to face Price, and though he saw concern and pain in his gaze, he couldn't help but form an expression of anger.

“Let me go,” he snarled.

“I wish I could,” the Captain answered softly.

Soap remembered that only the wounded could travel in medicalized helicopters and spat out a curse, looking down the aisle. Price's hand tightened on his shoulder and John turned to him sharply. The Captain put his other arm around him and drew Soap close, hugging him tight. The Sergeant blinked, confused, before going along with the gesture. He buried his head in his superior's neck and began to cry, releasing all the pain and anger he had inside of him.

As if in a nightmare, Soap escorted Price and the rest of his companions out of the gulag, where Nikolai was waiting for them. He sat in one of the helicopter seats and was barely aware that they were taking off and heading home. The seat next to him was empty, just like his chest, and the only thing Soap could think about was getting to the hospital as soon as possible to find out if Simon was going to survive or not.

“He's been taken to a nearby hospital,” Price informed, placing a hand on Soap’s knee. “As soon as they get him stabilized, they'll send him home.”

“I need to be with him,” Soap replied through the lump in her throat.

“I know, son, so do I. But there's nothing we can do now.”

Soap didn't reply, he lowered his gaze as he nodded. He leaned his head against the helicopter wall and closed his eyes. John needed to get distracted and he didn't know how. Usually it was Simon who did it, telling him stupid facts about hunting techniques or bad jokes, distracting him by talking about literature or music. But now…

You are alone now, MacTavish, he thought sourly.

The ride to Credenhill was torture, and it didn't get any better when they landed. Soap came down like a robot from the helicopter and barely looked at Price when he advised him to go home and wait for his call. But Soap knew he wouldn't be able to drive, that he was too shaken up to focus on anything; so he went to the door of Simon's room and sat there, his legs stretched out, his back against the wall. Hours passed and Soap remained motionless, staring blankly and his mind blank, unable to think of anything coherent. Unable to feel more than pain and worry.

Soap blinked as his phone rang, snapping back to reality. The call with Price was short, a handful of words that informed him that Simon was on base, in the medical area, and they were proceeding to operate on him. He wasted no time and almost ran there, stopping when he saw the Captain in one of the hallways. He was sitting in the seats that were there and looked up when he perceived his presence. Price frowned at seeing that he was still wearing the uniform, but said nothing. He gestured for him to sit next to him and Soap complied.

Soap didn't know how long they waited there, but he was sure it was hours. Price got up a couple of times; the first to bring him something to eat and the second carrying a hot, non-caffeinated drink. Soap ate and drank in silence, feeling guilty for not being able to take care of himself, to give basic orders to his brain. As if reading his mind, Price put a hand on his knee and gave it a gentle squeeze, a gesture John appreciated more than he would admit.

They both got up quickly when they saw the hallway door open and a doctor walk through it. Soap wanted to ask her a thousand things, however, he forced himself to take a deep breath and let the Captain do the talking.

“Well?”

The doctor sighed and Soap feared the worst.

“He's stable,” she replied. “His injuries were severe, however it's nothing I haven't operated on before. He'll be fine.”

Soap blew out a breath, feeling the knot in his stomach loosen a little and the weight on his shoulders lighten.

“Good thing,” he whispered.

The doctor looked at him for a moment before focusing on Price.

“His left lung is punctured in two places,” she told him. “One of the two broken ribs has been stuck in it; the other laceration was caused by the knife, which has caused a hemothorax. It was about to kill him, but we caught it in time. His small intestine, the right forearm and thigh are also affected. Considering his history, nothing really serious. A few weeks on leave, with rest, and he'll be as good as new.”

Nothing really serious considering your history?, thought Soap, half confused and half terrified. He remembered the scars that covered Ghost's body, but he had never stopped to think that they had been so serious. How much have you been through, Simon?

“Can we see him?” Price asked.

She looked at him and sighed, placing her hands on her hips.

“I suppose I can make an exception.”

Soap felt nervousness rise in his stomach and turned to Price when he felt his hand on his shoulder. The Captain was smiling kindly at him and though John tried to return the gesture, it didn't come out so he just nodded and took a deep breath. They followed the doctor through a corridor full of doors until he stopped next to one of them. He opened it and gestured them inside.

As soon as he stepped onto the other side, Soap felt himself go down.

Simon was lying on the gurney, sedated and with a tube in his mouth. On one side of the bed there was a monitor that showed his constants, as well as a drip with two IVs connected to the same line on his left arm. On the other side was another device that he recognized as an artificial respirator, as well as another IV connected to his right arm. The tubing was red, so he knew it was a blood bag. Although he was covered with a sheet and a blanket, he could see several bandages on his body. Tears came to Soap’s eyes at seeing him like this, so helpless and vulnerable. He swallowed and took a couple of steps toward the gurney, knelt beside him, and took one of his hands in both of his, kissing the knuckles.

“It’ll still take a few hours for him to recover from the anesthesia,” the doctor commented, and Soap turned to her. “It’ll be when they remove the assisted breathing.”

“Is there an estimate of when he’ll wake up?” asked Price.

She shrugged.

“Usually, it takes less than twenty-four hours. But that depends on each patient. Knowing him, it might take a little less.”

“Thanks, Emma,” Price nodded.

The doctor put a hand on his arm and left the room, leaving them alone. The Captain grabbed a chair and walked over to Soap, grabbed him by the armpit, and pulled him up. The Sergeant offered no resistance and allowed Price to sit him down in the chair.

“Emma did us a favor by letting us in, but they won't let you stay long,” he commented, placing a hand on Soap’s shoulder. “Go home, take a shower, eat something and try to get some sleep. Simon is not leaving here.”

Soap snorted softly.

“I'm not hungry,” he whispered and swallowed hard. “And I don't think I can sleep either.”

Price took a deep breath and fell silent. He remained there, by his side, until a nurse came in to check the constants and serums. He told them they should go and Soap reluctantly complied, keeping his gaze on Simon's face. He stopped as the door closed and stared at it blankly, feeling empty. He barely noticed Price tugging on him gently.

“Come on, I'll drive you home.”

Soap didn't want to leave, but he didn't have the strength to resist either, so he let the Captain put him in the car and drive him home. Price reminded him to shower and eat something; he also told him that he would pick him up the next day. Soap nodded distractedly and stood in the middle of the hallway, Biscuit curling around his legs. He turned his attention to the cat, and he stared back at him, meowing softly. John reached down to pick him up and hugged him, burying his face in the animal's soft fur. He began to cry, and Cookie froze for a few seconds before shifting to a better position, rubbing his head against the beard of his owner.

A few minutes later, he put him down, fed him, and headed for the bathroom. John carelessly removed his uniform and got into the shower. The water washed away the dust and dirt from the mission, as well as some of the blood on his hands. Simon's blood. Blood of one of the people he loved the most. Soap burst into tears as he remembered his body lying on the gulag floor, motionless and with a large red puddle under him. He knew that image would remain burned into his memory; as did the smell of metal and the sound of his dying breath coming out of his chest.

Soap forced himself to eat something light before going to bed. He looked into the void beside him, to the place Simon had occupied for the past few weeks, and felt an iron fist clench his heart. John still found it hard to believe that Simon was the same person he had met three years ago, when he joined Task Force 141.

Cold, distant and intimidating. That was his first impression of seeing him.

John, however, was a good people-reader and didn't miss the fact that there was something else under that tough layer. Everyone told him that he had a kind of gift for interpreting silences and body language. And Ghost hadn’t been an exception. John realized that Simon was a tormented person, someone who needed a friend. He knew that Price and Ghost had a good relationship, however, he was aware that Simon saw him more as an authority figure than a friend. That's why he had decided to be nice to him, even though the rest of his partners had told him not to try it because it was a lost cause. That he would achieve nothing by approaching Ghost.

They didn't know what they were missing by thinking like that. They had no idea how much Simon had to offer, how much he could give if you were just patient with him. He had had a very hard and difficult life, full of pain and suffering. It was logical that he didn’t open up easily to others. John had succeeded because he had approached him the way he would approach a wounded animal: slowly, cautiously, and very patiently. A smile here. A light punch to his shoulder over there. Some banal conversation to fill the silence, even if he didn't get more response than a handful of monosyllables.

At first he thought it really was a lost cause, however, when Ghost began to sit next to him, silent, and pat him on the shoulder from time to time, he knew he had achieved something. No one but him noticed that change, but it didn't surprise him either; he had spent the last two and a half years watching his mate, trying to understand him and get to know him better. And, over time, John began to get a glimpse of the person under that mask, to know him better. Ghost was easy to understand; he was effective, self-assured, and distant. The perfect soldier. Simon too, but only on the outer shell. Like the mask he wore almost permanently, Simon hid the way he was. However, John had managed to get through that wall to see him as he was.

A broken person, with too much pain saved and a lot of love to give despite not having received it in his entire life.

And now he was in a hospital bed, unconscious after nearly dying. It didn't seem fair that life was so cruel to him. Not after all the work to make it clear that Soap wanted to be his friend, that he wanted to be there for him if he needed him; to help Simon move forward with certain things, to risk feeling more than pain. To make him believe that he really deserved to be happy.

John set his jaw and took a deep breath. He wouldn’t let Simon fall into that hole again, that he would believe that what happened in the gulag was some kind of punishment for having allowed himself to be a little happy. He knew it would be difficult because Simon was very stubborn, but John was also very tenacious and when something got into his head, he didn't let go easily.

Soap managed to sleep a handful of hours. He woke up several times, sweaty and crying, having had several nightmares of Simon dying. The last one was so hard that he couldn't go back to sleep. When Price picked him up, John had been awake for two hours. From the Captain's look, he knew it was evident that he had had a bad night, however, he was grateful that Price didn't say anything. They also didn’t speak on the drive to Credenhill. Soap had no energy to hold a conversation, and the prospect of having to work all day did not appeal to him at all.

When they reached the base, he frowned when he saw that Price had parked the car elsewhere.

“What are we doing here?” Soap asked him.

The Captain took a deep breath and turned a little in his seat to look at him. Price's kind look reminded John of his father's when he knew he wasn't feeling well.

“I know you won't be able to concentrate today,” he replied, “so I've given you the day off.”

“I… Thank you,” he managed to babble.

“Actually, I've given you several days,” Price clarified, “until Simon wakes up.”

Soap tried to reply, but was unable to utter anything. Price smiled.

“Simon… is a difficult person. I don't know exactly what happened to get the two of you closer and I don't want to know either,” he hastened to add as he saw Soap's mouth open. “All I care about is that Simon seems… happy. The last time I saw him like this was ten years ago and I know it's your doing, MacTavish.”

John swallowed through the lump in his throat and nodded.

“It's not fair that he’s to continue suffering,” Soap replied quietly. “Not after all he's been through.”

“Sometimes life's a little unfair, son,” Price put a hand on his shoulder. “Luckily, we’ve people around us who remind us of the good things, right?”

Soap smiled when he understood his comment and nodded.

“I wasn't going to give up, sir.”

“I already knew that,” the Captain's smile widened a little more. “Come on, get out of my car. I don't think you want Simon to wake up alone, so go keep him company.”

John placed a hand on Price's forearm and pressed a little in thanks. He left the vehicle and proceeded to the hospital, where a receptionist told him that Ghost had left the recovery unit and had been moved to a room. Soap followed the directions and took a deep breath before entering the room.

It was empty except for Simon.

He closed the door behind him and stood there, looking at him. Although the tube had been removed from her throat and the bag of blood, he still had two IVs attached to his arm. They had raised the back of the stretcher a little, Soap imagined so that he could breathe better; Simon had also been washed, the dirt and blood from the mission washed away, and John could see better the scars that covered his body and his face. Soap moved closer to the bed and placed the back of his hand on Simon’s cheek, gently stroking an old scar that ran from the corner of his lip to his ear.

Never.

Soap leaned down to kiss his hair and knew it had been washed, too, when he caught a faint scent of shampoo.

“I'm here, Simon,” he rested his nose in the wavy blond locks and closed his eyes. “I'm here.”

He remained in that position for a few minutes before finding a chair and sitting in it, right next to the stretcher. With a sigh, Soap put on the headphones playing soft music and took out a notebook and a small case full of pencils. He began by drawing a portrait of Simon, though he soon moved on to drawing darker things, feelings that he reflected on paper to get them out of his mind. For John, drawing was a kind of therapy, something cathartic that helped him deal with everything that was happening to him. His psychologist encouraged him to go through with it as soon as she found out, and despite she’d released him several years ago, Soap still followed his advice.

Several hours later, John closed the notebook and stretched. He looked out the window to rest his eyes, and was about to get up to go get some water, when the bedroom door was flung open. Soap frowned as a woman entered the room. She wasn't very tall, about one meter sixty; brunette, with dark curly hair and a shaved side of her head; she had a scar that ran from one cheekbone to the other, across her nose; Soap didn’t miss that, despite her height, she had a very broad back. The newcomer stopped after taking a couple of steps, her gaze fixed on Simon. Pain began to cover her face and she moved a little further, stopping on the other side of the gurney. She took one of Simon's hands and rested her forehead on the back of it, beginning to cry.

John didn't know how to react to the interruption, and opened his mouth to say something when Price appeared in the doorway. The woman turned on him, and her pained expression turned to one of anger. She let go of Simon's hand and approached the Captain like a storm.

“I asked you to take care of him!” She screamed, pushing him hard. Right after, she extended an arm in the stretcher’s direction. “This is not what you promised me, dammit!”

“Amy, I…” Price started to say, but she cut him off by pushing him back.

“You what?!” She roared. “You're the fucking captain! You're supposed to take care of your people! He shouldn't be in that bloody bed. He's been through enough that… He would have to…”

Crying prevented her from finishing the sentence and she raised her hands to her face. Price took a deep breath and moved closer to her to hug her. Despite her cries, the woman allowed herself to be cradled by him, and Soap realized that she must be Amelia. He bit his lip before picking up his things and heading for the door. John caught a glance with Price before leaving, and the Captain nodded his thanks.

Not wanting to go back home, he decided to go visit Gaz. Soap felt guilty for not having gone to see him sooner and this was a good time. He asked for his room at the reception and knocked a couple of times before entering. His partner smiled at him and John couldn't help but smile back.

“I was beginning to think you weren't coming,” he greeted him mockingly.

“Sorry.”

Gaz's amused expression turned to understanding.

“I'm the one who should apologize,” he commented, motioning to a chair for him to sit on. “I was trying to lighten the mood and it didn't work out.”

Soap smiled and took the chair by his bed. Unlike Simon, Gaz only had an IV attached to his arm.

“How are your wounds?” John asked him.

“Well, luckily the shrapnel didn't go too deep, so they’re able to get it all out. I'll be released in the afternoon and back in action in a week.”

“Glad to hear, man,” Soap smiled.

“How's Ghost?”

John glanced at him and sighed. His partner's voice had the same worried tone as his own and he understood it. Despite the fact that they all kept their distance from Simon, they loved him as one of their own and cared about him. In their way, of course.

“They've taken him off artificial respiration, but he's still unconscious. The doctor thinks he might wake up in a few hours,” he took a deep breath and looked at his hands. “I hope she's right.”

Soap looked up when Gaz put a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. He smiled slightly, grateful.

“And… his wounds?” Gaz asked it like he was afraid of the answer. “Are they as serious as they seemed? I overheard the nurses talking about him among themselves, saying it was a miracle he was still alive.”

Soap nodded.

“A lung punctured in two places and the small intestine as well. Plus two stab wounds to the arm and thigh.”

“Fuck,” Gaz whispered, surprised. “That bastard’s strong as hell.”

“Yeah”

Gaz paused and looked at him carefully.

“And… how’re you?” He asked after some hesitation. “I know the two of you have become closer and you always care about the people you love.”

John closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. It was obvious Gaz had been subtle with his words. He remembered crying over Simon's body in the gulag, screaming in pain and rage. Not that he cared, but he was sure people would ask questions. Luckily, Gaz wasn't the type to question, or take an interest in, other people's lives. He always expected people to open up to him.

“I'm having a hard time,” he acknowledged. “Part of me is relieved that he's still alive. The other’s torn between being optimistic or giving in to bad thoughts.”

“I see,” Gaz paused before continuing. “It's logical that you feel that way, that you think he'll never wake up again, so the only advice I can give you is to stick with the doctor's words. That's what I would do, give him a few hours to wake up. Ultimately, the worst is over.”

Soap looked at him for a few seconds before nodding with a grateful smile. Gaz returned the gesture and gave him a couple of pats on the shoulder.

“Hey, you… you know the guy we got out of the gulag?” Soap suddenly asked.

His partner blinked in surprise.

“Sure, his name’s Yuri. He's part of Nikolai's group; helped the Captain years ago and gave him information about Makarov's plans to blow up the London Underground.”

“The bombing ten years ago?”

“I see you remember.”

Soap nodded and tried to dismiss the memory of Simon leaning on his balcony railing, telling him how he lost two of his best friends.

“I didn't know Makarov was behind it.”

Gaz snorted.

“No one knew until Yuri mentioned it. Makarov had covered his own back by using mercenaries. I guess that's why Makarov had it in for him, for leaking his plans.”

“Yeah… It's possible,” replied John, distracted.

“Hey, go eat something. I'm sure you've been here all day and you haven't eaten anything.”

Soap was about to reply when his stomach rumbled softly. He couldn't help but smile guiltily as Gaz burst out laughing.

“Okay,” he sighed, getting up from the chair. “I'll stop by to see you later.”

“Don't worry, man,” he raised a fist and John instantly bumped it. “Take care of Ghost. And don't forget to take care of yourself a little, okay?”

Soap nodded and left the room, took a deep breath and headed towards the cafeteria. Except for a handful of people, the place was empty. He wasn't surprised either, at that time people were busy with their different tasks, so those who were around were the soldiers on rest and the office people who were taking their coffee break.

Soap put the tray of food down on a table and sat down. Reluctantly, he picked up his fork and fiddled with the spaghetti in front of him. He knew he should eat something, but he wasn't hungry. He’d a closed stomach for everything that had happened and for what could happen.

What if he doesn't wake up again?, he thought bitterly. He’s endured the operations but doesn’t mean anything...

He muttered a curse in Scots and pushed the thoughts away. This way he didn’t help anyone; not Simon, not himself. Soap pushed the tray back a little and took out the notebook, determined to finish the drawing he had half finished. He was so distracted that he didn't hear someone standing behind him.

“You’re very good at drawing.”

He turned with a start at hearing the voice. Although Amelia smiled kindly, Soap could see the trace of crying on her face.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” she added, widening her smile a little. She reached out a hand towards him. “I'm Amelia Sanderson. You must be John MacTavish. Soap, for friends.”

John blinked and shook her hand, a bit confused.

“A pleasure,” he muttered.

Amelia sat down next to him and set a steaming cup on the table. She wrapped her hands around it and sighed, looking around her. Seconds later, she turned to him.

“It's going to get cold,” she pointed at the untouched tray. “I'm sure you haven't eaten anything in hours. And no, coffee doesn't count as food,” she added, sipping her drink.

Soap opened his mouth a few times to answer and snorted when he couldn't. He closed the notebook and brought the food closer, picking at it a bit with his fork.

“You're Simon's friend, right?” John said after a while. “Roach's sister.”

Amelia turned to him abruptly. Surprise covered her face before a half smile appeared on her lips.

“You do matter to him,” she commented. “Simon doesn't talk about himself much. And less about things as traumatic as that.”

John scratched his head, suddenly blushing a little.

“I've already noticed,” he whispered. “That he doesn't open up easily, I mean,” he added. “I was… shocked when Simon told me.”

She nodded.

“He's told me about you. Not too much because it's impossible to get more than three sentences out of him, but he's told me a bit,” she looked at him kindly. “You must be a very good person for him to trust you like that.”

Soap looked away, noting how he blushed.

“I think he thinks too highly of me,” he muttered.

“Maybe,” she conceded, shrugging and taking a sip of her coffee. “I'm not the one to refute his opinion either. If he thinks so, I think so.”

John closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. He’d never considered himself a good person, just someone who cared for others. It was something he couldn't help and hated about himself because, in the end, it made people take advantage of him; that they forgot about him after using him. He'd been lucky Ghost wasn't that kind of person; actually, he was lucky that in the 141 people didn’t have evil.

“I’d like to thank you for taking care of him.”

Soap turned to Amelia the moment she spoke again. She was staring into her cup and smiling kindly.

“Since what happened with Roach, he barely lets me do it, you know?” She added, looking at him. John could see a glimmer of sadness in her eyes. “So I'm glad there's someone to do it for me.”

“I'm sorry he's distanced himself.”

“Don't worry. That idiot continues to feel guilty and no matter how many times I repeat it to him, it doesn't fit into his hard head.”

Soap smiled slightly.

“It’s true he’s a bit stubborn.”

“You have no idea,” Amelia snorted, amused. “Did you know that he smashed a table with his head?”

“No way!”

“Oh, yes. It was a table like this,” she replied, tapping the wood lightly. “He was fighting with another teammate and lost his balance. He fell on his head and broke it. The captain added two more days of punishment when Simon told him that the tables were crap and they broke just looking at them.”

John laughed, and Amelia smiled a little more.

“Anyone else would have had to go to the infirmary with a good open wound. But he didn't flinch. Not a scratch.”

“Simon’s pain threshold is pretty high,” Soap commented. “I've seen him take blows without complaining.”

“That's… because his brain works differently,” she replied. “When Simon's focused, he's able to ignore pain for hours. Unfortunately, when he relaxes, it all comes at once. I've told him more than once that accumulating pain isn't good, but he doesn't listen.”

“I guess he can't help it,” Soap sighed before going silent for a few seconds. “I still can't believe he didn't bleed to death,” he shook his head. “That both Makarov and König stabbed him in the same place.”

Amelia looked at him curiously.

“Really?”

“Yeah. The scar on his chest matches what he told me about the London bombings. Two stab wounds so close to the heart…” Soap trailed off and shook his head.

“Near to…?” Amelia stopped when she seemed to understand something. “Of course, he hasn't told you.”

John looked at her and frowned. Amelia smiled understandingly.

“Simon has dextrocardia. That means his heart is on the right side,” she added, seeing his expression. “It's a pretty rare condition, so not many people know about it. It saved him more than once.”

Soap nodded, understanding why when he put his ear to Simon’s chest, he could hear his heartbeat so softly. Helplessly, he smiled a little at the thought of changing their position when they lay down.

That is if she wakes up.

Again that ominous thought that he couldn't get out of his head. His smile faded and he sighed, picking at some more of his food, trying to push the negative thought away.

“He'll be fine,” Amelia said suddenly. “Simon’s a very tough bastard and I'm sure he has more will to live now than ever before.”

Soap looked at her carefully. Her words hid something that he didn't like and that, at the same time, scared him and brought back bad memories.

“He… has he tried to kill himself?” he managed to ask in a whisper.

Amelia’s face darkened, losing her smile. She took a deep breath and looked back at the cup.

“Once. Several… years ago. Since then he has remained stable. Although he didn’t actively seek it out, he also didn’t mind dying if the injuries were bad. He didn’t fight to stay alive. Now it’s different.”

Soap was silent for a few seconds, pushing away a series of memories at once.

“What makes you think he's changed? That he wants to live?”

Amelia looked at him seriously.

“You're not aware of how much weight you have in his life, are you? How much you're influencing it.”

John's throat went dry at the sound of it and he forced himself to swallow. He bit his lower lip and looked away, trying to process the meaning of her words. He knew it was important to Simon, but on such a level…

“No…” he admitted in a whisper. “Simon…” he sighed. “I'm good at reading people, but I guess he's too good at hiding things.”

“You can't blame him for that.”

“I don't,” Soap hastened to reply, serious. “I'm just pointing out something obvious.”

Amelia relaxed her posture and nodded.

“Sorry. Simon is like a brother to me and I get defensive easily.”

“I understand,” Soap smiled a little. “I’ve… I'm the middle one, so my attitude towards my sister is the same.”

Amelia nodded and drank from her cup again. John finished eating and pushed the empty tray away, looking at it for a few seconds before turning to her.

“Simon won't mind that you've told me so many personal things about him?”

She turned to him and shook her head.

“I know you won't misuse that information. In fact, I think it’ll help you understand him a little better. And that will benefit both of you,” she looked at the mug with a wistful expression. “It's… hard to love a person when they don't open up easily.”

She had added it in a whisper that made it clear she was speaking from experience. He felt sorry for her and suddenly wanted to give her a hug to comfort her. He restrained himself in time to know that it might be awkward, since they'd only just met, so he placed a hand on her back. Amelia was startled, however, she smiled at him in thanks and sighed.

“I'll take care of him,” he assured her. “I'll do everything in my power to make him okay.”

Amelia's smile widened.

“I know you will.”

They got up and left the cafeteria when she finished her coffee. Amelia said goodbye to him as soon as they went outside, saying that she had to talk to Price, and recommended him to go back to Simon. Taking a deep breath, Soap returned to the medical area, sitting down again next to his friend's gurney. Simon hadn't moved since he left the room, but maybe that was normal in his state.

He looked at him for several minutes, leaning back in the chair. Ever since they'd started sharing a bed (with Simon removing his mask), Soap found that he liked watching him sleep. Unlike when he was awake, Simon relaxed, and it softened his features. Soap could see it without the shadow of worry that always haunted him and, little by little, he also began to see it without baggy eyes. Sleeping with John helped Simon rest better, so the dark circles that covered the lower part of his eyes had finally disappeared.

Soap moved a hand to Simon's, brushing the back with his fingertips. He moved up to his elbow, tracing a few lines of the huge tattoo that covered Simon’s entire arm, and rested his palm there. The pain of seeing Simon like this was added to the enormous love he felt for him and John was afraid of drowning in those feelings. He closed his eyes and a couple of tears ran down his face. He bit her lower lip to try and stop crying, vainly, so he let himself be carried away by it. John turned in the chair and rested his arms on the bed, hiding his face between them.

John didn't know how long was crying, but it must have been a long time because he fell asleep. He took a deep breath and raised his head a little, blinking away the sleep. It was all dark except for a light on the stretcher, half asleep, Soap wondered who’d turned it on and the first thing he thought of was someone from the hospital. He pushed that thought away and was rubbing his eyes when he felt something touch the back of his hair.

With a start, he rose from the chair and looked toward the door, but there was no one there.

“I think it's the first time you've woken up so fast.”

Gravity tugged at John and he swallowed before turning, slowly, to face Simon. He was awake, in almost the same position, and with a slight tired smile on his lips. Soap opened his mouth to try to say something, however, his voice didn't want to cooperate. He bit his lower lip to keep from crying again, and moved to the head of the gurney. Simon smiled a little more and reached up to touch Soap’s waist. John leaned into him and, careful not to hurt him, hugged him. Simon took a deep breath and returned the gesture, burying his face in the crook of his neck.

“Finally,” Soap whispered in his ear.

“I'm sorry I worried you,” Simon replied.

He was still talking softly and his voice was rasper than usual. John guessed it was a side effect of the intubation. He shook his head and kissed his hair.

“It doesn't matter now. The important thing is that you're okay,” he pulled away to look at him. “I'm going to tell the doctor, I'm sure she'll want to see you.”

“Wait,” Simon requested. Soap looked at him curiously. “If you do, they'll start with a whole bunch of tests. And now what I need is… some peace.”

Simon reached out and tugged on Soap’s pants belt to pull him closer. John looked at him and realized what he wanted when Simon shifted on the gurney a little. He kicked off his shoes and climbed carefully, settling next to Simon and putting an arm behind his partner's head. Simon gave him a gentle tug on the shirt and Soap met his eyes; he raised a hand to cup his face, brushing the corner of his mouth with his thumb, and bent to kiss him. Simon sighed and leaned back against his chest, moving a little to find a position. John let him do it, he knew that his wounds hadn't healed yet and he didn't want his condition to worsen just because he wanted to be hugged by him.

“Do you want some water?” John asked him.

Simon grunted and nodded, so Soap carefully turned back and picked up a small bottle of water from the bedside table. He opened it and Simon took it, sitting up a little to drink. John put it down in its place and rested his head on his friend's, feeling the weight of worry lift a little.

“How are you?” John asked him.

“Good.”

Soap moved her head slightly to look at him.

“Simon…”

The aforesaid snorted and was silent for a few seconds, resting the back of one hand on Soap's chest.

“I'm full of painkillers, so I hardly hurt at all,” he replied. “On the other hand, I've been worse, so I won't take long to recover.”

“Don't be in such a rush, okay?” He kissed him gently on the top of his head again and paused before speaking. “The… doctor also commented that you’d been worse. What did she mean?”

John felt Simon tense and bit back a sigh knowing she wasn't going to tell him. Not yet.

“It's…” He shook his head softly. “Maybe another time.”

“Okay,” John pulled him a little closer. “When you are ready.”

Simon raised his head a little and kissed him lightly on the clavicle.

“How long have I been out?”

“A couple of days. Actually, I didn't expect you to wake up so soon.”

“Why?”

“Apparently, you almost died on the operating table. Blood in your lungs,” he added. “I thought... it would take you longer to recover.”

Simon was silent for a long time and Soap pulled the blanket a little to cover him better, thinking that he had fallen asleep.

“I'm sorry,” Simon whispered, and John didn't miss that his voice was strangled. He wanted to pull away a little to see him, however, Simon pulled him to stay in the same place. “I didn't want to make you suffer. Next time I'll be more careful.”

Soap didn't know what to say. He knew Simon was crying, and suddenly he felt him very vulnerable. Simon usually didn't talk about that sort of thing, so John guessed that the medication Simon was being given had caused him to drop his guard. Soap took a deep breath and caressed Simon’s face again, carefully.

“You don't have to apologize,” he whispered as lovingly as he could. “You weren't reckless, Gaz told us what happened. And you can't stop the people who appreciate you, and love you, from worrying about you.”

This seemed to be too much because Simon clutched at his shirt and began to cry. John hugged him gently, leaving little kisses on his face and saying loving words to reassure him. John knew Simon was crying from more than guilt, but he also knew Simon wouldn't tell him. That, just as Amelia had said, he would have to be patient for him to open up to him.

“I've met Amelia,” John commented when Simon relaxed.

“Has she come?” He pulled away from him to look at his face, surprised.

John nodded.

“She's… quirky, but she shows that she loves you. And stop thinking that she shouldn't,” he added, seeing the look on Simon’s face. “She considers you a brother, so let her take care of you.”

Simon eyed him warily.

“What have you talked about?” He asked slowly.

“About you, obviously. But don't worry: she hasn't told me anything you wouldn't want. She just wants you to be okay.”

Simon's posture relaxed and he leaned back against him. He put one hand on John's chest and the other on his forearm.

“How’s Garrick?” he asked quietly.

“He's fine. The shrapnel didn't go too deep, so they were able to remove it all easily. He told me he'd be released in the afternoon,” Soap looked out the window and saw that it was night. “I guess he's gone home by now.”

Simon nodded and took a deep breath. They were silent for a long time, enjoying each other's silent company. Soap caressed Simon’s arm gently, his fingertips tracing circles, tilting his head as he felt Simon's body begin to weigh a little more.

“Thanks for being here, Johnny,” he murmured sleepily.

“Whenever you need me, Simon.”

John kissed Simon on the hair and smiled fondly as he heard his breathing become heavier. Ironically, he no longer worried about him falling asleep. The invisible weight he had on his shoulders, the result of the uncertainty of whether he would open his eyes or not, was gone and John could breathe a sigh of relief. He yawned and settled a little better on the bed, trying not to wake Simon. He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the feeling of having the person he loved in his arms again, and without realizing it, he fell asleep.

It was daylight when he woke up. He was still holding Simon, however, he was awake and had his head tilted back a little so he could look at him. John blushed and Simon laughed. A sound that John would never tire of hearing.

“How long have you been watching me sleep?”

Simon smiled some more.

“Half an hour. Not long, if you ask me.”

Soap opened his mouth to protest, yet said nothing as Simon caressed his cheek, running his thumb over the corner of John’s mouth. He took a deep breath and tilted his head to rest in his hand; he closed his eyes and kissed it gently.

“You finally wake up.”

They both turned towards the voice and saw Amelia walking into the room. She closed the door behind her and walked over to the gurney. She was smiling kindly and Soap could see that there was relief in her eyes as well.

“Sleeping without telling the doctors first, huh? Too bad, Simon.”

“Come on, you know as well as I that it could wait a few hours.”

Soap moved to get off the bed and Simon growled a protest.

“She's right,” he told Simon, placing a hand on his cheek. “They’ve to see if everything is alright.”

Simon snorted, but didn't protest. Amelia turned to the device next to the bed and looked at the constants. She took one of Simon's hands and placed two fingers on the inside of the wrist, bringing her attention back to the screen. She took a deep breath, pulled out her phone, and activated the flashlight. She touched Simon's chin and he looked at her, resigned. Amelia checked his pupils and, after that, made Simon follow her finger with his gaze. She felt the areas where he’d been injured and asked him a few questions before smiling.

“You need a couple more tests to see how the internal injuries are healing, but neurologically speaking, you're fine.”

“I figured that out,” Simon growled before turning to John. “Although she no longer practices, Amelia’s a doctor. She was our unit's paramedic.”

Soap looked at her with renewed interest. He smirked.

“Simon sure gave you a lot of headaches,” he told her.

Amelia looked at him and laughed. John chuckled as Simon hit him in the abdomen with his hand, annoyed.

“You know he's right, Simon. You were always the one I had to heal the most.”

“I was also the one who went on missions the most,” he replied, looking at her seriously.

“Right,” Amelia conceded. She sighed and turned to Soap. “I'm glad to see you've gotten some rest. You look better.”

John blushed and smiled.

“I'm glad I rested too.”

“You've slept less than six hours, for you that's not rest,” Simon commented seriously, as he opened one of the drawers on the nightstand. “Where is my stuff?”

“Oh, they've left them here, wait,” Amelia reached down and pulled a bag from a small cabinet on the nightstand. “What do you need?”

Simon didn't answer, rummaging in the bag until he pulled out a bunch of keys. He handed it to Soap, taking it by one of the keys.

“It's the one who opens my room,” he told him. “Go, take a shower and rest.”

“I'm fine, I don't need…” he started to say, but Simon cut him off.

“Go. And when you've slept, have a proper meal in the cafeteria.”

John grimaced and picked up the keys, peering at the one he'd pointed to.

“I don't remember switching roles,” Soap growled.

“You care about me. I care about you, simple as that,” Simon shot back. “It's important that you take care of yourself. Besides, I'd like to talk to Amelia. And she's not leaving without telling the doctors and then they'll run endless tests.”

John was aware that Simon was saying it for his own good, because he cared for him, however, now that he was awake, it didn't seem right to have to leave. He didn't stay calm leaving him alone, even if he was with Amelia.

Suddenly, a memory broke through and John's gaze unfocused. An open window, the curtains billowing in the summer breeze, the gurney empty and jumbled, IVs dripping on the floor, the pool of blood beneath a body outside the building, seven floors below…

“Johnny?”

He blinked and focused on Simon. He rubbed his eyes to hide the tears that were threatening to spill out and sighed, forcing himself into a smile.

“Okay, I'll go rest.”

Simon took him by the wrist, gently and without taking his eyes off him. He had a worried expression and a slight frown, as if he was trying to read his mind. He pulled John into an awkward hug and he returned the gesture.

“I know you've had a bad memory,” Simon whispered in his ear. “I'll be here when you're ready to tell me.”

John turned his head to look at him and Simon took the opportunity to kiss him gently on the lips. Simon smiled fondly at him and Soap sighed. He said goodbye to both of them and left the room, heading towards Simon's room. He fiddled with the keys, distracted, as he remembered the words of his partner. Of course Simon had realized that something was wrong. He wasn't the only one who knew how to read others; Simon had always been very observant, much more than him. He closed the door as soon as he entered the room and leaned against it, closing his eyes. He let the tears roll down his face and he fell to the ground.

And he cried. He shed tears of relief that Simon was okay, but also for her. For not having been able to prevent it from happening. Because, despite being over it, the loss of her still hurt. John dug his fingers into his hair and clenched his fists, hard, holding back a cry of rage and pain before forcing himself to take a deep breath. He counted the seconds between each inhalation and each exhalation, regulating his breathing. When he had calmed down, he got up and went into the shower. He let the hot water wash away his tears and exhaustion, and when he got out, he opened Simon's closet to get a T-shirt. Although he knew he wouldn't need it because he wasn't sensitive to cold, he felt that wearing it would be like sleeping with him.

John got into bed and covered himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Simon's scent filled his lungs, and he couldn't help but half smile. Soap hugged the pillow and reminded himself that everything was fine and that, after so many hours, he could rest.

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alternamarian · 2 years

Text

7 — Accommodations

retrace

Several of our classmates greeted the first girl as she went to her seat, and immediately she was laughing with them as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

They proceeded to their customary chattering, which, though quite loud, was unintelligible to me. It had always been as such: I could hear their banter, but could make little sense of it, even when I tried. And, I must admit, I seldom tried. I preferred to let the noises go over my head while I busied myself with more interesting things, like lessons.

But not now. Every careless expression they contrived grated on me.

I glanced around the room. All of our classmates suddenly seemed to be in the midst of the same mundane emptiness, talking, snickering, and smirking about nothing. Someone — the sponsor girl, I think — mentioned something about hair ornaments.

I shuddered. I wanted to turn and run, to escape before I was caught up in the enclosure like everyone else. But I could not run.

So instead I shut my eyes.

I knew I could not see the maiden that day. I certainly had not forgotten that she was dead. And I knew I had no place in the heavens where she reposed. And yet ...

I stepped onto her balcony, trembling with urgency. The only certainty I had was that my frantic effort would be in vain. Yes, even as I walked through her mirrors, another form moved through the reflecting panes. The pupil overtook me, without taking any heed of me; and why would she? I wasn't there when this happened.

“Maiden,” she said, before I could draw in a breath to speak. “Maiden. We have wasted far too much time. You must tell me how you did this.”

I sighed. And then I rallied. I must reach the maiden, I must speak with her. I must —

“Child, get out of the way,” said our instructor as she shoved me aside.

Dutifully I let her pass, then went to my seat. I was already tired from my exertions; and my conversation with the girl, then being reminded of how utterly removed I was from the maiden — I sat in my place in miserable silence.

Then I took a blank sheet, and began to write.

We must continue our conversation, and as soon as possible.

I folded the sheet and placed it on her desk while the nearby kids were distracted by the teacher. I know she saw it, but she did not read my letter at once. It was not until the end of classes when she returned my note, as she was preparing to leave.

Meet me there after lessons. I was going to ask you anyway. I have more to show you.

I was half afraid she would refuse, and even if she agreed I thought she would scold me again. This was something I didn’t expect.

[It is more than what a prey deserves.]

Usually I was able to pay attention to the lesson while mulling over some matter or another. But as I sat there, reflecting on all that had transpired, I could barely hear the teacher droning through her list of topics. What had the first girl said? She said that the disparity of our ranks had never caused a problem for us.

I looked through the slats of the windows. The haze was waning in intensity, reminding me of one morning, when the sky was rather dull and the class was already deep in the day's lecture. I was likewise looking out the windows, and so I started when I heard the teacher call me.

“Well, children, the lesson appears to be too easy for someone,” she said, with a heavy emphasis on 'someone', as the other kids turned and glared at me in unison. “Shall we make things exciting for her?” she asked, to which the class fully agreed. “Stand up and read the rest of the text. No one say which section we are in.”

I took up the book in a hurry and got to my feet. I had been following the lecture so I knew where I should continue. Of course our teacher was even more displeased, and she scowled as I stumbled over the lines (for I don't read aloud very well).

“Enunciate, girl, you almost sound worse than you look,” she said. Addressing the class, she continued, “And yet she carries herself so straight and proper. You see, children, some girls have no reason to be confident of themselves.”

The children laughed, and our instructor nodded at them with approval. When she looked at me again, she folded her arms across her chest, curling her mouth smugly.

I stifled a sigh and went on reading. Soon enough our classmates looked away, in disgust or boredom, and began to read on their own (or pretended to). As I was standing, I could see them bend towards their books, or lean over to whisper to the student next to them.

I had barely gone through a few sentences when I noticed the sound of footsteps along the outer wall of the room. The sound increased rapidly, and I realized that someone was approaching with urgency. I raised my head just as another teacher burst into the room.

“She's here,” she announced breathlessly to everyone. "She has arrived!”

I glanced at our teacher. At her co-teacher's announcement, she sprang into lecture position, patting down her brown hair as I sat down.

“Now class, behave yourselves!” She may have been shouting, but her voice squeaked in excitement as she fixed the ornament on her green coat. She did favor that ornament for special occasions.

Before she was done, the girl entered the classroom, and stood at the front of the class, beneath the welcoming arch.

A third teacher followed her in. Laying her hands on the girl's shoulders, she said, “Children, this is your new —”

“Oh!” said our teacher, clasping her hands, “the rumors have been far from accurate! She is beyond beautiful!”

“She really is!” agreed the second instructor.

“Those oval cheeks, that fair complexion —!”

“— So clear, so white, so pure!”

“She is just like a statue!”

“Oh no, she's prettier than any statue! She's a statue come to life!” our teacher gushed with a high-pitched laugh.

Emboldened by their example, our classmates unanimously echoed their admiration. And for a while all three instructors were too absorbed in their raptures to notice. But then a few students from the rows in the back began standing up to get a better view, and this (temporarily) distracted our teacher.

“Sit down! Be silent!” she yelled, before immediately turning back to the girl. “You must be so tired — the haze here is more intense than what you're used to. Teachers, we must let her sit!” All of them at once fell into profuse apologies as our instructor proceeded to guide the girl to her seat. The colored lamps on the ceiling swayed in the faint breeze coming in from outside. And though they were not as many, their luminescence seemed to seek her out and settle around her nonetheless.

“We've ordered a new desk for you,” our teacher explained, wrapping her arm around the girl's waist as they passed row after row of dazzled children. “But it hasn't been delivered yet, so I'm afraid you'll have to sit at the only vacant spot for now.” And she pointed to the table next to mine.

“Oh, and we didn't mean to choose such a companion for you! I assure you it's entirely an accident. No one else wants to sit beside her, you know? But as you can see, the rest of us locals don't look like her!” And she laughed again, along with the rest of the class. “She's supposedly our best girl, so her appearance really is most unfortunate. But now that you're here, our primary student will be intelligent as well as beautiful!” And all the teachers and students applauded.

“Now,” resumed our teacher, “you must tell us about yourself. We've all been talking about you ever since we first heard you may be attending our school. And at last you're here! I'm sure you will be everything we've imagined you to be!”

“Oh! Well,” began our new primary student, "I should like to first thank you for welcoming —” But the teachers interrupted her immediately. “Hush, no, dear girl! We should be thanking you, for choosing us!”

“Your presence is the greatest honor to our school!”

“— And our village too!” added one of the children; and while the teachers laughed, they did not admonish him, so others repeated what he said.

The girl thanked them again, without disdain or embarrassment. And so they pressed her further.

“Do you like our village?”

“It's not much, for sure —” began one of the teachers.

“You're the most beautiful thing around, now that you're here,” said one of the boys.

“She's the only beautiful thing around here!” exclaimed several girls.

“Of course!”

“Obviously!”

“But what do you like about our village?”

“It's not much, but it won't stay that way.”

“Oh, certainly!” said our instructor. “If someone like her can come here then surely we all can expect better things to befall us!”

“She will change our fortunes!” said the second instructor.

“She is our fortune!”

I don't know how long they would have pestered her, because at last I said, “Please, let's not overwhelm our new classmate.”

My concern was to let her have a moment to breathe, so the heavy silence that followed actually confused me.

“Well, that didn't take long,” remarked our teacher. She looked at the girl. “I really must apologize. We've tried to correct her faults, but as you'll find out, she is very obstinate. Her ugliness is not confined to her face, alas! We'll transfer you to the front as soon as the new table is ready.” And she squeezed the girl's arm in reassurance.

“Now, class! To celebrate her arrival, we shall end this lesson early today.” Our classmates cheered, and our teacher waved at them to be quiet. “Some of you may have seen the food brought into our quarters. She is our guest today, so she will be eating with us teachers. You children can go ahead and play amongst yourselves. For now, we will have her all to ourselves.” And all three of the instructors laughed.

Our teacher turned to the girl again. “We still have a few preparations left to do. But that won't take long, and we'll send for you quickly.”

The girl nodded, and our teacher smiled. “Dear girl — so lovely, and so amiable!”

And with that, the teachers left.

realize

#a preying sort of offering

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angelamajiki · 4 years

Text

PAIRINGS: Father! Yandere! Enji Todoroki x Daughter! Reader

CW: yandere, incest, soulmate AU, fluff, slight angst, nsfw, kissing, praise kink, virginity kink, size kink, bathroom sex

A BNHarem Collab!

AN: my longest piece to date! the prompt this month was sex work, so i decided to stretch the prompt and do sexual slavery. wanted to go for a softer version of daddy endeavor, so please enjoy <3

5.2k words

The mark on his wrist was one that was shared with yours. Enji had given up on finding his soulmate, deciding that his career and legacy were far more important than some silly marking on another’s body. Love was something he thought he could go without. But when he saw your bright eyes gaze up at him, your chubby hand wrapped around his index finger, his heart had fallen hard—such a sweet, gentle thing. No traces of fear, of disdain, of disgust for him as a human being. Just pure curiosity and unconditional love. His heart leaped for his little girl.

Enji was determined, then and there, that he would never fail you, not like he forgot the others.

Oh, what plans he had for you, his precious princess. He couldn’t wait to spoil you, to marry you and start a new family once you were old enough. Rei realized this as well. Her youngest daughter, her last hope at salvaging her broken family, was to be had by her husband. The thought frightened her, especially after seeing the adoring look in her husband's eyes when she saw him cradle you for the first time. It was so unlike the stoic nature he held for the other children when they were born, only caring to see that they were healthy before leaving off back to his agency, never giving them more than a fleeting touch. It was nothing like when he held you, snarling at any nurse who dared to take his soulmate from the grips of his arms.

Something that had Enji’s conviction more so than his career was something to be feared. Your mother swore to herself that she would not let her husband ruin you.

Once he fell asleep with you tucked in the crook of his arm, a social worker came and collected you to be sent to a foster home and be set up for adoption. It was better than falling into the hands of the monster of a husband.

After the death of Touya, the pair decided to have one more child in hopes of fixing their broken family, but Rei now knew it was for naught. Nothing could save them know, especially now that Enji had nearly burned the building down when he discovered that his little girl was gone, just hours after he had finally found you.

Rei alerted the commission as well for your protection, that utter bitch of a woman. They very well couldn't have the number two hero caught in an incestuous bond with his daughter, now could they. All information of your whereabouts was hidden from him, blacklisting him from working with any foster children, lest he loses his hero license. Enji may have lost you for the time being, but his patience grew as he did. They couldn't keep him from you forever. You'd be reunited one day; he knows it.

The first time he saw you again was when you were fifteen. It was your birthday and the day he had become the number one hero officially, plenty of reason to celebrate. Usually, he would have taken the time to sit near the rose bush he planted in your honor in his courtyard on your birthday, renewing his vows to find and love you to the best of his ability. Enji took great pride in keeping your memory alive with the bush for his beautiful little rose gone too soon from his grasp. But there you were, mere meters from him.

The foster home you stayed at took you out for dinner when he was meeting with Hawks after the billboard awards. Your eyes were unmistakable, a perfect cerulean just like his own. He was so close, yet so far. My, how you had grown since he saw you. Unlike him, you bore your mark proudly on your wrist, not ashamed to admit to the world who your soulmate was. Not like you actually knew who it was anyway.

Enji was prepared to leave Hawks at the table; a new flame lit under his ass, one far more exhilarating than the thought of being the number one hero. He was up and on his way to speak to you before Nomu attacked him. Damn villains, they'd pay for separating the two of you once again. But his conviction only grew stronger. It wasn’t hard to find you after that; he knew what city you were living in. Instincts lashed out at him, demanding that he go sweep you up and hide you away. No, no. That would make you frightened; he can't have that. He’ll watch from the sidelines, waiting until you were of age to make a move. He was curious to see just how life as a foster child was treating you.

Growing up in the foster system had been a nightmare from hell for you. A cursed child is what they saw you as when your skin sprouted flames every time it was touched by the human hand, burning everything and everyone who came in contact with it. From the moment your quirk manifested, you were an outcast, an untouchable, unlovable freak. Someone destined never to feel the touch of their new parents, their lover, their soulmate.

It wasn't long before you realized that you would remain in the foster system until you aged out. Who would adopt a child they couldn't hug when they cried, hold their hand when they crossed the street, snuggle up to when it was chilly outside? Any potential parent was taken aback by your quirk once you reached for the warm touch of mommy and daddy, only to singe their hand or burn a hole in their shirt.

You learned quickly that your touch was something to be feared, that you were something to be feared. You supposed that’s why you looked up to him so much. So much so that you thought about him late at night when the loneliness seemed to drown you in the sea of your insecurities.

Endeavor was the only one who could understand you, understand your quirk. If only your soulmate mark could match him, maybe you feel the warmth of another human being without hurting or mauling them with your power. Abrasive he may be with the media, but there something about him that was so comforting and endearing to you. In your eyes, he was simply misunderstood, a gentle giant amongst the mass personalities of the other pro heroes.

Watching his interviews brought you comfort when you were lonely, his merchandise made you swell with pride and confidence, and his posters on the wall reminded you that you were never alone. It was a silly crush, but it made you feel better about your miserable life.

You even got to see him on your birthday! Well, not exactly. You happened to be in the same restaurant when your foster parents took you out for your birthday. It was apparent that they just felt bad for you, having looked after you for 15 years only to still have custody of your sorry ass. You were almost certain that they were going to kick you to the curb the morning of your 18th birthday.

Too bad they never had the chance. That fate would have been much kinder than the reality you faced now.

Once the Paranormal Liberation Front had effectively ripped society up by the roots and let the tree of life rot for the world to see, your foster parents packed their shit and left the country while you were at school. You’d been alone in the world ever since and were snatched off the streets, ready to be sold into slavery by the villains of the world. Your quirk was the only thing keeping you from being bought like a bitch from the auction floor.

Enji, on the other hand, was more than eager to do just that. After his public smear campaign by his allegedly dead son, he was dead to the world, finally abandoning his family for good in hopes of finding his beloved daughter. His life was dedicated to searching for you, having managed to track you down through his vigilante work. He likes to lie to himself and say that he’s continuing to fight for the greater good, but Enji does it just to have the chance to see your sweet face again. There wasn’t much to go off of, but he’d rather see his fiery end than to give up. That's how he found you at the auction.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Another auction night was approaching, which meant another night of humiliation and being displayed like a slab of meat for a crowd of degenerate wolves. Your quirk was the only thing keeping you from being sold; no one wants a fucktoy they can’t touch. It reduced you to physical labor for your captors, but you were better fed because of it. That didn’t mean they still didn’t try to sell you.

After being stripped down into nothing but a collar, leash, and a muzzle, you were brought to the stage and shoved in front of the ravenous, roaring crowd. You could feel their stares seep into your bones, the grime from the floor on your bare feet only adding to the overwhelming sensation of disgust you couldn’t even begin to describe.

The crowd’s excitement was raucous, jeers and shouts echoing off the halls of the underground auditorium. Masks covered their faces for the sake of privacy lest a vigilante break-in and hunt them all down. Even in the lawlessness of the world, heroes were still crawling everywhere to trail after even the slightest scent of villainy. Doesn't mean they’ll win, but hey, the death of a hero is just the same as the auction was to them.

“Up next, a darling girl with a fiery quirk!”

That was your cue. A handler had a fierce grip on your leash, giving it a few tugs for good measure as the crowd laughed at your stumbling. The auctioneer began to list your qualities and physical attributes, including your quirk.

“And she’s a virgin!”

Added for good measure, the crowd fell silent after listening to the abilities of your quirk. You couldn't hate it anymore; it's what was keeping you from being someone’s onahole until the day you kicked the bucket.

“Can I get $10,000?”

Ah the starting bid. The silence was relieving. Just a few more moments and you'd be off that damn stage.

“No? Going once, going twice, going-”

“One million.”

A booming voice came from the back row, the depths of the shadows to further hide the masked man who just bought your life. Why did it sound so familiar?

“Outstanding! One million dollars for the young lady!”

“Going once.”

It couldn't be.

“Going twice.”

This can't be happening.

“Sold for one million!”

No!

You were supposed to be unwanted, just like you have been your entire life! Yet some mysteriously familiar man outbid the entire auction for little ol’ you.

“Off the stage, bitch.”

The handler snarled, yanking you off the stage and causing you the fall and bruise yourself in the process.

“Watch it!” He spat, picking you up by the roots of your hair. “The merchandise needs to be handled carefully before reaching the customer. Let's hope he doesn't mind some bumps and bruises. For your sake.”

“That won't be necessary; I'll be taking her as is. Immediately, if you will.”

The mysterious man stood had already made his way backstage and behind you, standing formidably over your stark form. Your hair was released, dropping you back to the floor.

“Excellent, sir! I’m more than happy to get this welp off my hands.”

A brief exchange was made while you recovered on the floor, shaking in fear as the situation weighed heavily on your already broken self. The handler took the money and returned to the back room, leaving the two of you alone together.

The stranger crouched down to you and extended a hand to brush the stray hair out of your face, touch remaining tender and gentle when you flinched harshly.

“My poor girl, what has the world done to you?”

His coat enveloped your body as he scooped you up in his arms. The scent of him comforted you more than you would have liked to admit. Teakwood and coffee grounds filled your senses as he held you flush against his chest, leaving the auction house with a renewed sense of vigor.

You were placed in the backseat of a car before he dressed you in simple pajamas.

“Rest. You deserve it.”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

At some point in the car ride, you let yourself fall asleep only to wake up in a cozy king-size bed wrapped up in a soft blanket next to a warm fireplace. The false sense of comfort lulled you for a few moments before your situation hit you like a ton of bricks. The anxiety you'd had known your whole life had finally kicked back into gear, forcing you out of bed and into the rest of the house.

It was daybreak, the sunlight slowly trickling in through heavily curtained windows as you walked through the halls and into the kitchen. The man was standing over the stove, sans mask, dressed in a wife-beater and his pajama bottoms. It couldn't be-

“Come in; breakfast will be on the table in a moment.”

Now you were certain.

“Who are you?” Your voice barely above a whisper. “Why did you buy me at the auction?”

A deep, rumbling chuckle flowed from the man.

“I think you know the answer to that, little one.”

His focus was retained on the meal in front of him. “I’ll explain myself over breakfast. Now sit.”

You couldn't help but feel compelled to obey him. While sitting, you took the time to honestly look him over for the first time in your life. Never did you think you would be so close to your childhood crush in such a domestic setting.

He had noticeably greyed but still possessed a majority of his red hair. Muscles were still taught and budging, but he had grown a little bit of a belly. Endeavor was as handsome as ever, aged like a fine wine that you couldn't wait to sip on.

The food was placed in front of you as he took the test next to you.

“Eat and have some water. Then we’ll talk.”

Once again, you obeyed him without question and refrained from eating like a rabid animal. It wasn't even a question, so much so that it is evident that you hadn't had a decent meal in a long time. You were still muscular from the labor you did for your handlers, though.

And Enji liked that about you. How resilient you were, he loved that you inherited his strength but still possessed Rei’s gentle nature. Not that he wanted to credit that woman for anything, but he couldn't deny the obvious. You were his strong, beautiful little girl who had to endure so much because his bitch of a wife decided to separate you from him.

But he was here now, ready to give all his love and protection to his only love. It took everything in his power not to swoop you up from your seat and hold you in his arms until his last breath.

Enji watched you eat, pride swelling in his chest at the thought that you liked his cooking. He couldn't help but wonder what your favorite meals were as well. There's certainly all the time in the world to get to know his little girl now that he had you. And he was never going to let you go.

Your breakfast was devoured quickly, both out of desperation for a real meal and answers to your questions.

“Why did you buy me from the auction?”

It was a complicated question, but you wanted a simple answer.

“I’m your soulmate.” His wrist was on display as he reached across the table to hold your hand.

For the first time in your life, you felt safe. Your one, shining hope was meant to yours and he wanted to be yours. You didn't even question how he knew at all.

His touch was warm and slightly rough, but it was welcome all the same. Even though your skin was lit aflame at his flesh against your, he paid it no mind. He was built to take your quirk, to take you.

“Endeavor…”

“Please, call me Enji.” His thumb rubbed over the palm of your hand. “I’m sure you feel better after having something to eat.”

“Why don't you go take a bath? It’ll help you relax, I can take care of your dishes.”

It was strange how insistent he was on taking care of you, but you can't say you don't enjoy the attention. He seemed to care for you in a way that went beyond caring for a partner, or in your case, a soulmate. But who were you to judge? It wasn't like you had a lot of experiences to use as a comparison.

Making your way back to the bedroom, you took the time to study the house you were in. A traditional, well-kept home, it practically looked like it was untouched. And maybe it was; buildings and homes fully intact were hard to come by these days, let alone ones that were clean and warm.

Enji seemed to lull you into an instinctual sense of safety, even though he bought you out of slavery. Just because he was your soulmate didn't mean that he had good intentions for you, but somehow, his presence alone filled a void in your heart that you had forgotten was even there.

Once you made it to the bathroom connected to the master bedroom, you drew yourself a bath just like Enji had instructed you to do. It wasn't the wisest decision to let your guard down like this, but the man already had plenty of opportunities to fuck you up by this point.

The water was warm and inviting when you sank yourself into it; you couldn't remember the last time you had warm water to clean yourself with. It made you feel light and hazy, slipping into a headspace you had long forgotten—a place of safety and comfort.

Three raps on the door pulled you from your haze as Enji entered the bathroom with fresh towels. Despite the fact that he had already seen you naked, the intimacy of the situation only left you feeling more vulnerable than ever.

“Let me help you.”

He kneeled next to you outside of the tub and pulled a lavender chamomile shampoo from the tub’s shelf. There was room to protest, but you couldn't find yourself willing to do so.

Water was poured over your head before he started a lather in your hair, gently scrubbing your scalp for a while. Even this simple touch made you shudder, it was a long time since you last felt the warmth of someone’s touch. And everything about this man was warm, for you at least. His words, his touch, his heart.

Conditioner was added to your hair as well before he moved onto washing your body. The scrub was gentle across your skin, his hand following after it to help keep the suds from rising too much. Strong hands massaged your back and your neck, both of which needed the much-deserved relief.

“So tense.” He murmured, mostly to himself.

There was a comfortable silence shared between the two of you as he massaged out all the knots and kinks that had built up over the years with your handlers. His touch should have made you flinch but you found yourself pressing into it. A small moan escaped your lips as he worked through a particularly tender spot on your neck.

“Are you enjoying this?”

His lips ghosted your ear as warm breath tickled your cheek and neck.

Your face flushed with a fiery warmth from a combination of the steam, your embarrassment, and the man whispering sweet nothings in your ear as his hands worked at your tired skin.

“Let me help you relax, sweet thing.”

Enji picked you up momentarily to slot himself behind you in the tub. Placed on his lap, you gasped when you could feel his erection hard against your back. Fear started to trickle into your veins as you squirmed slightly, attempting to get out of his grasp.

“Shhh, it's alright, you're okay.” His hand made its way to your throat and rested there gently, stroking over your artery with his thumb. “I’m not going to hurt you, sweetheart. Let me show you how much I've missed you.”

His touch made you feel alive, feel wanted for the first time in your life. You couldn't help but whine when his other hand made its way down your body, gently groping your breast as his lips were pressed to your ear.

“Do you trust me to take care of you?”

His fingers toyed with your nipples, obviously skilled.

“Do you trust me to make the sweetest love to you?”

Another whine caught in your throat as his hand went further, cupping your sex in his much larger hand. He kneaded gently, pressing a soft kiss to your temple when you writhed in his grip.

“Please! Enji-”

Shushing you gently, Enji’s thumb made its way to your clit to stroke in small circles.

“How does that feel, sweetheart?”

You were used to touching yourself, but oh God it never felt like this.

“Good!” You managed to choke out in a wanton moan. “So good! Enji, please, I need-”

A warm pair of lips sealed over yours, silencing you once again. Enji knew how wrong this was, to take advantage of you like this without revealing the truth. But he wanted at least to just once to have you in his arms willingly and eagerly. He wanted to kiss you breathless, listen to your cries and feel your nails dig into his skin as he gave you all of himself without a fight from you. He can worry about revealing himself to you later.

The rough pads of his large fingers started to apply pressure to your clit as his middle finger slipped into your tight hole under the water.

“Don't worry, little one. I'll give you what you need.”

Soft kisses were trailed along your cheek and hand that was on his that was still holding your throat tenderly. Finger pumping in and out of you, Enji whispered sweet praises to you as he felt your hole clench around him.

“Doing so well for me, sweetheart.”

Your breathy moans and whines only served to harden his cock. He felt like a teenager all over again, closing to cumming just from the sound of your voice.

Another finger slipped into your tight core, careful not to overwhelm you too fast. It was obvious you'd hadn't been touched before, not even by yourself. You felt full but greedy for more of his touch.

“Deeper, Enji! Please, can you?”

You were babbling at this point, writhing in his lap as he fingered you nice and slow with thick digits. Enji hummed as he pressed further into, curling his fingers into your G-spot.

Your cry was loud as he began to abuse your most sensitive spot, fully squirming in his arms as tears of pleasure breached your eyes. The sensation was too overpowering for you, making you thrash and arch in his arms.

“Shh, you're okay, sweetheart. You're okay; I'm right here.”

His fingers continued to stroke in a curled fashion, thumb still circling over your twitching clit. Enji kissed you again, deeper and more fierce as he began to fuck you earnestly with his fingers.

“Cum for me, darling.”

Squealing, you gripped his forearm and cried helplessly into his mouth. The build was slow and intense, allowing your orgasm to wash over you in waves of pleasure rather than a blinding, quick light.

“E-Enji!” You wailed. “Enji!”

You shook in his arms, holding onto the larger man for dear life as you experienced your first orgasm. It seemed like Enji knew your body better than you did.

No words were exchanged between the pair of you, but you could feel the tension of your desired hanging thick in the air. This man was going to take your virginity, here and now.

Enji removed his hand from your throat and between your legs in order to maneuver you to sit facing forward in his lap.

“Are you ready for me?”

His honesty made you flush even more. Biting your lip nervously, you hesitated to answer. Were you ready? It wasn’t like you had much of choice; the man could very well take you by force if he so chose to. But you felt safe in his arms, safe with him.

“Let me help you, my love.”

Warm, large hands gripped your backside as he held you steady above his cock. Your hand reached down to line yourself up with his throbbing sex, lowering yourself down on it slowly.

It burned in the best way, stretching you out fully as you pressed your forehead against his chin.

“Good girl, taking my cock so well, darling.”

A pitiful whine left your throat at the praise, hands gripping the forearms that held you in place.

“Can...Can you hold me?” You whimpered. “Please?”

Enji’s arms enveloped you and pulled you flush against his, tucking your head into the crook of his neck as you continued to lower yourself onto his cock. Your breath tickled his ears, making him groan lowly once he bottomed out inside of you.

“Such a sweet girl you are, taking all of me on your first try.”

Another whine responded for you as you ground your hips down on his.

“E-Enji.” You whimpered his name over and over again like a prayer. “Enji!”

“Be still, little one.” Hands back on your hips, holding you in place near the tip of his girthy length. “Let me take care of you.”

Hips in place, the man began to thrust up into you slowly, holding you tight as he stood up from the water. You only gripped and nuzzled yourself into him further, letting out sweet whines and whimpers into his ear while he thrust into you.

Your back was placed against the cool tile of the wall when he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. Even in this position, he was still at least another head taller than you.

“Look at me when I make love to you.”

Through wet eyelashes, you gazed up at his eyes and let your mouth hang open as he rolled his hips into yours. His eyes shut briefly when he moaned, hissing at the feeling of your wet cunt hugging his cock so well.

“You were made to take my cock, little one.”

Arms reached up to wrap around his neck as he thrust into you, taking his time to make his strokes slow and deep. His hips were flush against yours when you asked him, “Kiss me, please? I want all of you Enji.”

Your bold proclamation stunned him for a moment before yielding, placing a deep kiss and a hot tongue against your lips.

His thrusts became faster as he kissed you with more passion and vitality. For an old man, he certainly had his stamina up to par. Your fingers thread through his red and grey tresses, tugging him closer to you gently as you moaned shamelessly into his mouth.

The pleasure in your core was more intense, fiercer this time around as his thrusts became hard and fast. The sounds of both of your moans and skin slapping against skin echoed off the tiled bathroom walls as the both of you felt your orgasms coming.

“Enji, fuck!” You whined, beginning to squirt on his fast-paced cock. “I-I’m cumming; I’m cumming!”

“Cum for me, princess.”

With a choked sob, you creamed yourself all over his cock, which continued to pound into your hole before he groaned your name and came deep inside you.

Nothing but the sounds of the water sloshing and your labored breathing could be heard as you both came down from your highs.

After a moment of rest, Enji pulled out and wrapped you in a towel before laying you gently on the bed. A towel was wrapped around his own waist as he looked at you fondly, brushing stray hairs out of your eye sight as he sat next to you on the bed.

“I must ask, how did you end up at the auction site?”

What a loaded question, but the intimacy you two shared allowed for it.

“I was kidnapped off the streets after my parents abandoned me when the prison break happened.”

He sighed gruffly and took your hand in his.

“What utter fools, tossing aside a beautiful rose such as yourself.”

His thumb traced over your soulmate mark. You still had yet to know how he knew before ever meeting you.

“It's alright; I never considered them my family. I just wish I could have met mine, but at least I met my soulmate.”

A crinkled smile adorned his face.

“You've done more than meet them.”

What could that have meant?

“I’m your father and your soulmate, little one.”

A rock hit the pit of your stomach as you retracted your hand from his.

“That isn't a funny joke, I'm serious.”

“So am I.” His hand was quick to snatch your back. “What could I possibly gain from lying to you?”

“P-Prove it.”

“Our soulmate marks, I saw yours the moment you were born in the Hosu hospital before my wife separated us all those years ago. I can recite your birthday if you'd like me to, for good measure.”

Fuck, he really wasn't lying. A lump formed in your throat as tears sprung in your eyes.

“Why would you do this to me?” You whispered, barely even able to hear yourself.

“Because I love you. I love you so much, sweetheart. Ever since I saw you for the first time in the hospital, my entire life has changed because of you. All I ever wanted was you.”

Enji was quick to shush your cries, using his free hand to wipe your tears away.

“Will you forgive me for being selfish?”

The disgust and horror filled everyone of your senses, especially when you came to a realization that he was everything you've ever wanted.

What came out of your mouth next stunned the both of you.

“You can apologize by begging on your knees and cleaning me up with your tongue, Daddy.”

TAGLIST: @tomurasprincess @bonesoftheimpala @sightoru @cxnicalsweetheart

#yandere endeavor #yandere endeavor x reader #endeavor x reader #endeavor #enji todoroki x reader #yandere enji x reader #yandere enji todoroki #yandere enji todoroki x reader #yandere my hero academia #my hero academia #my hero academy fanfiction #my hero x reader #yandere boku no hero academia

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run-me-through-but-not-like-that · 2 years

Note

Hiii I absolutely love your izzy hands x reader fics and I was wondering if maybe you could do one where the readers a witch or something like that? Maybe Izzy doesn’t believe at first despite the rest of the crew telling him it’s true but the reader eventually proves it to him??? Idk just had the idea pop into my mind randomly!

I left the existence of 'magic' ambiguous. The Reader is more of a modern witch (tarot cards, crystals, sage, that sort of thing) but mixed with the superstitions in the show/of the time.

Izzy Hands x Gn!Witch!Reader:

Honestly, you could be as blatant as you pleased about your superstitious practices. You could read tarot cards out on the deck everyday and Izzy wouldn't suspect you were a witch, assuming it was just you being eccentric like the rest of the crew.

Though, these behaviours became known to him during one conversation when he was reluctantly joining some of the crew at the dining table for a quick meal.

They had started talking about your "otherworldly knowledge" as Buttons had referred to it as.

Izzy had laughed mockingly at their conversation, only causing them to look at him.

"Oh...you don't know?" Roach asked, looking a little surprised.

"Know what?" Izzy had asked the question dismissively, not really caring to engage with the crew.

"Y/n...they're a witch" Black Pete told him with total sincerity. Lucius nodding along, his expression completely serious.

Izzy instantly scoffed, "there's no such thing."

"They are!" the Swede insisted.

"Fine, let's say they are. I thought witches were evil, brought bad luck, thought you believed in all that" Izzy had heard Frenchie's and Buttons' rambling about cats, mermaids, and spirits, and he had assumed at least some of the other crew members believed in those things.

If you were a witch, which you absolutely weren't, they wouldn't let you anywhere near them.

"I do and they are. Thought Y/n would lead us to our deaths but...they're a good witch" Frenchie claimed, being met with an unimpressed look from Izzy.

"It be true. They don't cast curses, they lift them" Buttons informed him.

"You all believe this?" Izzy asked, looking around the table at the other crew members.

Frenchie and Buttons were incredibly superstitious, the others may share some of of those beliefs but they were surely more reasonable that that, even if Izzy didn't want to admit that.

Everyone nodded in agreement. Either they weren't joking or they were very good actors.

"They keep us safe" Oluwande told him.

"Didn't really believe it at first, don't go anywhere without one of their protection charms anymore though" Jim shrugged.

Once again, everyone agreed, this time all showing off their own pendants that they wore.

Izzy hadn't been looking for you when he found you sitting out on the deck one night. Nor had he thought much about you apparently being a 'witch', still not believing it.

He had only approached to ask you 'what the fuck you were doing'. You hadn't been put off by his abrasive approach.

"I'm assessing the ship for curses. Buttons asks that I do it at the end of everyday, just in case."

Izzy scoffed at you, assuming you must have been playing along with their strange prank.

"So, sense any curses?" he was mocking you, you knew that but you didn't care.

A lot of people didn't believe you. Others wanted you dead as soon as they find out. You'd rather him think you were lying than want to throw you overboard.

"No. Everything feels balanced, like everything is right where it's meant to be" you informed him calmly, a peaceful smile on your face.

Something about the way you spoke, the way you looked at him and the words that came from you...it sent a shiver down Izzy's spine.

It turned out that you weren't lying. Izzy caught you sitting out on the deck every night before going to bed. A look of serenity on your face as you...'looked out for curses'...

Despite his disbelief, Izzy found himself curious about you. He'd find himself watching you every now and again.

He watched as you assured Buttons that there were no curses or 'lingering spirits'. He watched how you 'blessed' the ship and the crew. He saw you doing these things when nobody knew he was watching, so it wasn't some act that you were all putting on to mess with him.

Even if it wasn't real, you all believed it.

"Alright so...you're a real witch?" Izzy questioned after managing to catch you alone.

"I sure am" you nodded proudly, knowing he was going to protest in someway.

"Witches, magic, these stupid superstitions aren't real" he sounded like he was scolding you, like you had been practising your craft for years.

"If you put enough belief and power into something, isn't it just a little bit real?" you asked, his words not throwing you off at all.

"So, you admit it, you're not a witch?" Izzy raised an eyebrow, almost like he was watching you out on something.

"Oh, I am. I just believe that belief, or willingness to believe, plays a part in these sort of things" you shrugged.

"What exactly do you do around here?" he questioned.

"Don't worry, I take on the regular ship maintenance chores as the others" you assured him, not letting him accusing you of being lazy. "And some additional...witchy roles" you added honestly, but with a teasing tone.

"Such as?" you weren't sure if he was genuinely curious or just trying to figure out how you were 'wasting time'.

"Well, Buttons insists that I check for curses and lift them should I find them and the crew usually come to be before raids, you know for some sort of protection charm" you told him some of the things you do for the crew but he only scoffed, "you laugh now but when my protection saves your life, you'll be thanking me."

"If you're a witch, aren't you meant to have a fucking cat or something?" Izzy sounded like he was growing frustrated. Maybe he still believed this was an elaborate prank and was reaching at straws to catch you out.

Still, you only laughed. "Actually, I had a cat. And no, they weren't some magic familiar, well...they might have been, not everything can be known to me. It's unfortunate that animals don't live as long as humans" you told him with a sad sigh.

"What the fuck is a witch doing on a pirate ship then?"

"I've always liked the ocean. It's mysterious and powerful, I wished to understand it, to be a part of it. The day after I decided that I wanted to take to water, Stede showed up recruiting a crew for his ship. I suppose you would say that's a coincidence?"

"Obviously...though I'm sure you think it was fate" he said it as if it were ridiculous. So, he didn't believe in fate either.

"Perhaps. Maybe it was a coincidence or just dumb luck" you shrugged. You didn't have answers for everything.

"Sounds like bad luck to me" Izzy muttered.

"You don't believe fate brought you here?" you questioned.

"This is not where I belong, not where Blackbeard should be" he insisted with a scowl.

"If that's true, I'm sure fate will carry you both away soon enough" you assured him, though you didn't think they would be going anywhere anytime soon.

"Sure" he rolled his eyes at you. Still not believing, or not admitting it at least.

The crew was preparing to go on a raid. A real one, now that they had the expertise of Blackbeard and his crew.

You never got involved in raids or fighting, it wasn't your biggest skill. Plus, Stede had asked you to stay behind to watch over them and bring them luck.

You found Izzy alone up on the quarterdeck, watching over the crew as they prepared for the raid.

"I know you don't believe in all of this but you're the only one who didn't come to me for a protection spell" you told him, having just finishing 'blessing' Fang.

"I've been a pirate for a long time, longer than any of this crew. If witches, mermaids, spells, curses, and all that shit were real, I would have seen it" Izzy shook his head at you.

There was no such thing as these superstitions. You could rely on or control blessing and charms, but you could control the way you prepared for a storm, the way you fought against another crew, the way the crew manned the ship. Those were the things that Izzy believed in.

"Maybe you have, you just didn't know what you were looking at" you suggested, "I'm not telling you I can perform miracles, I can't, but I do believe in my little charms, and so do the rest of the crew."

"Why are you telling me this?" Izzy asked, looking at you with a furrowed brow. Like he couldn't understand why you were talking to him.

"I performed a spell of protection in your honour, to ensure your safe return. I imagined you wouldn't wear a charm but if you want one, I already have it made, just need to charm it" you offered with a smile. He wanted to scoff but didn't. It was weirdly...nice, that you had thought about him, had considered his safe return.

"Here" you leant in, pressing a quick kiss to the little tattoo on his cheek before he could pull away. "Just to make sure it sticks" you explained, taking a step back.

The tiny action surprised Izzy, his jaw tensing and face flushing slightly. No, he wasn't flustered, of course he wasn't.

"That how you seal all you're...spells?" he asked, clearing his throat, trying to find an excuse for your actions.

"No, that's just for you" you gave him a genuine smile before leaving to check in with everyone and their preparations.

Leaving Izzy even more flustered than before.

#izzy hands x reader #izzy hands #ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd izzy

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from-the-clouds · 3 years

Text

Kiss Me More - Zemo/Reader

Masterlist | Part Two

Summary: Reader works with Sam & Bucky and has a moment alone with Zemo upon their arrival in Riga. Loosely inspired by this song.

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: Kissing, heavy petting, minor TFATWS spoilers.

A/N: As if you couldn’t tell already when it comes to what characters I love to write for, I love a bad boy. This was meant to be a short, sweet fic and then I had to get all existential and invent an entire storyline around these two. I think there’s definitely room here for a multiple parts, if you’re interested. Let me know what you think!

----

“I’m going for a walk.”

Y/N didn’t argue with Bucky as he walked away stiffly. With anyone else, she would’ve been suspicious, but she knew Bucky well enough to know it was in her best interest to ignore any of his cryptic behavior. At the end of the day, she knew she could trust him.

Zemo’s flat was spacious and beautiful, and she wasn’t surprised by the ostentatious but minimalist decorating. Zemo excused himself into the bathroom to shower and freshen up. Sam eyed him wearily, but didn’t seem too concerned. Y/N sat down on a couch she guessed cost thrice as much as she paid monthly in rent.

“I’m going to grab some grub, want anything?” Sam asked after only a few moments of pacing around the apartment, seemingly checking to see if they were being set up.

Y/N shook her head no, the constant traveling over the past few days hadn’t been great for her appetite.

“Will you keep an eye on him?” Sam said, flicking his eyes in the direction of the bathroom, where she heard the patter of the shower running steadily.

“Of course,” she answered. Zemo had a reputation, she’d seen it herself. But she didn’t know him to the same extent that Bucky and Sam did. So far, he’d only been polite to her so she wasn’t exactly scared or intimidated about any sort of confrontation.

Plus, she was only here as a favor to her friends. She was hardly talented or important enough to be an Avenger. Bucky and Sam knew they could call her if they were in a pinch. And right now, they were definitely in a pinch.

Picking up a book of photography from the coffee table in front of her, she flipped through it absentmindedly, admiring the photos of ornate architecture and crowded city streets before the click of a doorknob caught her attention. Zemo emerged from the bathroom with damp hair in a bathrobe, slinging a towel over his shoulder and immediately making his way towards the kitchen.

Y/N heard the clink of glasses and ice, and she returned her attention to the book. All the traveling was catching up to her, as her eyelids began to feel heavy, and the quiet in the room allowed her body to finally settle.

“Have a drink with me,” she was startled when she realized Zemo was standing over her, a cocktail extended in her direction. Not a question, a command.

“I’m alright, thank you,” she said flatly.

“I have to celebrate.”

Sighing, and abandoning the book altogether she closed it, sitting it on the table and crossing her arms, looking up at him.

“Come on, It’s one drink,” he winked, and pressed the cocktail into her hands. Up close, she felt like she was seeing him for the first time, rather than just another means to an end for one of Bucky’s missions. Zemo was good-looking, there was no doubt there. Tall, Dark hair, handsome enough to turn heads, but not so chiseled to be unapproachable. She guessed he was maybe ten years her senior, and while she thought being locked up for so long might’ve taken a toll on anyone, there was no trace of it in his features.

Taking it reluctantly, but still not entirely sold, she raised an eyebrow as he slowly sat down next to her. “All right, what’s the occasion?” she asked.

He lifted his drink, and she sighed, shifting her weight so she was facing him, meeting his eyes and lifting her cocktail so it was level with his. “To being a free man.”

They clinked glasses and she took a sip, the bite of the liquor concealed by a sweet and smooth aftertaste. Whatever he’d made her, it was good.

“Temporarily,” she added after a moment, watching him take another sip of his drink.

“What?” he asked, turning to face her.

“You’re only a free man temporarily,” she said.

“Touche,” he answered, one arm stretching over the back of the couch, his hand nearly touching her shoulder. He gave her a devilish grin.

A surprising warmth fluttered in her stomach, and she turned away from him to sip her cocktail. She wasn’t ignorant. After all, she was the only woman in the group, she hadn’t missed his lingering glances and once-overs while they were partying in Madripoor. It would’ve been flattering, but she was probably the first woman he’d seen in years.

They sat in silence for a moment as Zemo leaned back to survey the room. She supposed she hadn’t done a good enough job of appreciating it the first time around, high ceilings, natural light, but just enough privacy to feel cozy and inviting. Another steely sip of liquor passed her lips. She hadn’t had a drink in god only knew how long.

“Tell me, doesn’t this work get exhausting?” his smooth, accented voice cut through the quiet. “Traveling all the time, getting beat up, the lack of sleep, or a routine, following orders…”

She shrugged, pondering a moment. “It’s not so bad. Plus, it’s not like I know anything else.” When she glanced over at him, his eyes were fixated intently on her, but he was unreadable. “I know you think I’m a monster, but I’m just doing what’s right.”

“What you think is right,” he corrected, and before she could bite back, finished his thought. “My people, my family. All gone because of what someone with too much power thought was right.” A sadness flickered across his visage, but disappeared as soon as she could register it.

“I’m sorry,” she rasped, earnest.

“And I don’t think you’re a monster,” Zemo said, shifting his weight so he was facing her dead on, tilting his head to the side and studying her. Something about his gaze felt sharp, like he could see through her. “You aren’t entirely sold on all this, I can see it in your eyes.”

His words cut deep, deeper than she was willing to admit to anyone, even herself. But what was normal? And could she ever be? “What makes you think that?”

“How often do you get to be selfish?” he asked. His robe gaped open a little at the top, revealing a dainty silver chain necklace clasped around his neck with a small charm dangling from it, pale skin and a smattering of chest hair. “When was the last time you got to sit down, relax, enjoy yourself?”

Glancing down at the drink in her hand, feeling slightly vulnerable, she felt a smiling playing at the edges of her lips. “I could ask you the same question.”

“I’m enjoying myself right now,” he said, and she raised her eyebrows. “What, can you blame me? Good whiskey, a beautiful woman by my side.”

Her jaw dropped slightly, holding back a smile. Warmth crept like vines up her neck, pooling in her cheeks. “You should be careful,” she warned. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”

He leaned closer and she could smell the scent of his aftershave, smoke and musk, heat from the shower still radiating off his body. Maybe the whiskey was getting to her. The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly as he lifted the drink to meet his lips, pitching his head back to finish off the liquor before discarding the empty glass on the table in front of them.

“Would it be so bad if I was?”

Outside, the sun passed behind a cloud, and the room dimmed ever so slightly, casting shadows that caught along Zemo’s cheekbones, his jawline. The waning light made her all the more aware of how the energy in the room had shifted.

“It’d be unprofessional,” she said, voice low, and he seemed much closer than he’d been before. But he wasn’t the only one closing the gap, she realized she was definitely, inadvertently, meeting him halfway.

“Oh well,” he said, softly. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her eyes adjusted to the light, and up close, he was mesmerizing, deep brown eyes filled with longing. His gaze made her stomach turn, and she knew she should be disgusted but she just couldn’t bring herself to feel anything other than intrigue.

Shaking her head no, she couldn’t find the words to speak. Maybe because she wouldn’t believe any last attempts at protest. Better to save her breath.

The Baron’s hand, cool from the icy glass, rose to cup her cheek, so gentle and tender, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. Frozen, all she could do was breathe slowly as her heart raced. “Zemo-” she began weakly.

“Helmut,” he corrected. “Call me Helmut.”

Y/N gave no answer, unable to remember what she had been protesting when he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers.

Goosebumps rose along her arms, ears ringing, as he kissed her. The arm he’d been resting on the couch behind her pulled her closer, and her own free hand rose to his neck, letting him take control.

Her lips parted and his tongue traced her bottom lip, deepening the kiss. He groaned into her mouth, the vibration raising every hair on her body. Oh, she knew it was bad, but she hadn’t felt so desired, so wanted in years. Wandering hands lazily slid down his neck, to his shoulders where her fingers pushed underneath the loose neckline of his robe, palms exploring the broad expanse of his chest.

Her skin tingled, every exposed surface aching to be touched, explored by him, and maybe he could tell as his hand left her jaw to coast down her torso, all the way to hook behind her knee and pull her leg across his lap, an invitation to straddle him that didn’t go unnoticed, but she’d need time to decide whether or not she was willing to go that far.

As for exploring, he wasted no time bringing his hand back up her stomach, to hover lightly over the curve of her breast, squeezing gently as to gauge her reaction, a request to continue, and her breath caught in her mouth, her body instinctively pressing against him. His thumb found the peak of her nipple even through the padding of her bra and thin t-shirt.

Her lips parted from his to let out a breathless moan, and his mouth trailed down her neck as her fingers tangled in his hair. His tongue and teeth passed over a particularly sensitive spot, which he discovered when she let out a strangled gasp, and doubled down, sucking and grazing over and over until she finally couldn’t bare it any longer and she pulled away.

Zemo’s face hovered inches from hers, and she wanted to give him some sort of excuse. That this was wrong, they shouldn’t be doing this, but she took in his equally unfastidious appearance and decided not to waste her words on something so cliche. He looked utterly breathtaking.

He didn’t move away, just smiled gently. “How does it feel...to do the bad thing?” he teased.

Y/N couldn’t help the giggle that passed her lips, feeling lightheaded and giddy. “Not so bad at all,” She should’ve been enraged, she should’ve wretched herself out of his arms, but she was engulfed in his scent and his comforting presence, unwilling to leave. It wasn’t so terrible to be selfish. It was her who closed the gap between them again.

He smiled against her lips, hand returning to hook behind her knee once more, and this time she obliged, shifting her weight so she could straddle his lap and his hands met both sides of her hips as she cupped his face, fingers in his hair on his shoulders, kissing him with unbridled passion.

She could feel his excitement through the fabric of the robe, and knew she was getting carried away, but every nerve in her body smarted for contact. He was impossibly warm and she couldn’t get enough of it. Rolling her hips forward to tease him, he let out a groan and arched upward. “Oh, liebling, I wish we had more time.”

As if on cue, she heard the scratching of the key in the front doorway, and was immediately jolted from her reverie. Before she knew it she was off the couch and halfway across the room, just as Bucky entered, looking perturbed as always.

“Hey,” she said, turning her back to him and pretending to look out the window, voice unsteady. She heard Helmut clear his throat and shift his weight on the couch.

Busying herself in the kitchen, she let the curtain of her hair fall over the side of her face, hiding her clearly flustered appearance, her face was still impossibly warm, her skin sensitive, lips swollen. “How was your walk?”

“Fine,” Bucky said, and she heard him walking towards her as she absentmindedly pretended to wipe down the countertops. When he brushed past her to use the sink she jumped, finally looking him in the eyes. Bucky frowned. “Are you all right?” he asked.

Staring back at him for a moment she nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine, why?”

“You just seem a little jumpy.”

“There was a spider,” the lie came out so easily, so quickly, that she was actually ashamed of it. “It was big and I….I don’t know where it went.”

Bucky snorted, and whether he believed her or not, didn’t respond. “Where’s Sam?” he asked.

“Out getting dinner,” she said, feeling her heart rate begin to turn back to normal. Bucky washed his hands and shook the excess water off in the basin.

“If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to lie down,” she said after a moment. “The jetlag is catching up to me.”

She turned around and left Bucky in the kitchen, returning to the lounge area where Zemo turned to look over his shoulder. “Allow me to show you to the guest bedroom,” he said, an ornery sparkle in his eyes.

“Fine,” she said flatly, wondering what exactly he was planning and just intrigued enough to resist an argument.

The bedroom was just out of Bucky’s earshot, down a short hallway. As she stepped over the threshold to the awaiting large, inviting bed, a hand on her waist halted her in her tracks.

“I’m not finished with you,” she could feel his breath on the back of her neck, the scent of his cologne overwhelming her senses once more. It took a great deal of control to pull herself away from him, as she turned around and grabbed the doorknob, dragging it towards her. “We’ll see about that,” she said quietly, shutting the door in his face and letting out an exhausted breath. She’d awakened a monster, and now she had no idea what to do about it.

---

PART II out now!

If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, please let me know!

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