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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 4 months ago

Note

Hai^^ I love your stories so much and I was wondering if you could make one about 80s slash x reader? And how the reader’s parents and slash’s mom were friends and forced them to meet each other?

When the reader sees slash - she kinda into him and the more she stares at him the more attractive gets and slash is a bit older than her and finds her funny and weird as he notices that she’s been staring at him the whole time during dinner.

It isn’t until they’re left alone that they start talking to each other and slash makes playful gestures and teases towards her? With smut and fluff of course :P

I hope that’s not a lot^^ anyways whenever you get the time^^

A/n: I wrote this in class and barely finished so the end is kind of shit

Warnings: smut, arranged marriage trope(ish), if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

I think I’ve used this before but no I didn’t bc I said so

Ever since you were young, around twelve, there was always this pressure to be with someone, relatives coming by and asking where your boyfriend was. It was annoying and you couldn’t get away from it.

Your parents only got worse as you got older, inviting friends over with suitors. Annoying old men shoving money and power in your face, none of it was ever for you they just wanted to show you what they had. They didn’t care about you.

This dinner was just like any other, you had to get all dressed up to meet some guy your parents knew. He’d be old, creepy and wasting away, just wanting someone to bed whenever he wanted, someone to beat, who he could show around town as he pleased.

You were in your room, getting ready as per usual. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, pristine and proper, white floral dress and golden makeup. Just once you wanted to do something bigger, something harsher.

The doorbell rang and you were called down to meet the guests. You say yourself at the table, ready to meet the next suitor to leave.

A woman walked through, she was gorgeous and had a beautiful smile, behind her came a man with bigger hair than his mother. He shared those big, dark eyes, full lips, but he didn’t smile. He wasn’t dressed up all fancy, he wore jeans and a leather jacket over a Ramones shirt that was torn up and well loved, to say the least.

You weren’t allowed to listen to the Ramones, devils music you were told. This man was the devil incarnate and you were certain he’d be the one to take you away.

Your mother sat down next to you and placed a hand on your knee, leaning into you. “Don’t you dare go looking at this one all puppy eyed, I gave you good men you will not be falling for this monstrosity.” She said through gritted teeth, but her warning was moot, you’d already made up your mind.

The dinner went as every other did, your mother would ask questions and listen closely to the answers, except she didn’t. She didn’t care what this man, Saul was his name, had to say.

You sat idly by and ate, gaze flickering over to him all too frequently, he was sure to notice but he didn’t bring it up or look back at you.

His voice didn’t match his appearance. He was soft spoken and only spoke when told to, he rarely looked up from his plate and when he did he didn’t make eye contact.

Saul Hudson to be wed, you could see it in the papers now.

“I play guitar in a band.” He said, it broke through your day dreaming haze.

“You-you play..?” Your mother sputtered out, unable to even finish her sentence.

Saul nodded, a wide grin on his face and he looked up at you, still not making eye contact. His gaze flicked from your lips down to your shoulders, you didn’t dare guess where else he was looking. “Big band, Guns N’ Roses.” He clarified. “Playing stadiums now.” His mother smiled proudly over at him.

You wiped your mouth on a napkin and stood, quietly excusing yourself from the table. The food was gone and what was left needed to be packed away now anyway, you were just leaving it for other people.

You went to your room and sat down at your desk once more, staring at yourself in the mirror. Something new filled you, you wanted his attention, all of it. You wanted to run with him, to venture with him. He’d take you all over with his band and he’d love you. He was gentle and he wouldn’t hurt you, he wouldn’t flaunt his money, only buy you jewelry for your birthday and flowers when he loved you, just because.

You dug through your drawers and tried to find something… big, a statement piece for your face. Your attention snapped to the door as it opened and Saul walked in.

He was hesitant at first, staring at you bent over a desk drawer and digging through it like a mad man. He came over and stood just beside you, placing a hand on your lower back as he looked through the drawers for you.

Saul pulled out a deep red lipstick. He brought a finger under your chin and tilted your head for him to see you properly.

You were struck, in your core a pulse came with a heat, a desire, but you snapped out of it quick enough to wipe the gloss you already had off your lips so he’d have a bare canvas to work with.

He smiled down at you and got to work, using the tip yo outline your lips before filling them in.

You looked back at yourself in the mirror, Saul now stood behind you with his hands on your hips. He didn’t look in the mirror, he stared at you in front of him, the side of your face and how pleased you seemed with his work.

You turned back to him. “Do more.” You asked, drawing a chuckle from him and he shook his head, by god you made him laugh and you wanted to hear it again and again for as long as you lived.

“I don’t know anymore.” He said, bringing his hands to your shoulders and turning you around again. He leaned down to you, his lips caressing the shell of your ear. “You do it, you can’t mess up when it’s just gonna be running down your face in a minute anyway.”

You paused a moment and looked back to him. “Why? Will you make me cry?” He nodded confidently, you looked back to the mirror. “Why would you do that? Will you leave?” You asked curiously.

“More than one way to make someone cry.” He said, rubbing your shoulders. He inhaled deeply, taking in your saddened expression, you clearly didn’t get what he was referring to. He’d just have to show you once you looked the part, well enough the part anyway, you didn’t have the clothes.

“Heavier on the eyes.” He said as you tapped on a bright red, something to connect the lipstick while still being different. You picked up your pencil liner but he took it from you and had you turn towards him. “Gimme a second.” He said with a smile, being careful to not poke you in the eye as he worked.

He was giggling when he turned you back to the mirror. You had a leopard print on your eyelids and whiskers on your cheeks. The print on your eyes was pretty, neat and well done, the whiskers were an afterthought he was enjoying much too much.

You stood up and turned to him, placing your hands on his shoulders. “It’s perfect!” You exclaimed, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him, he couldn’t say no to that.

He wasn’t a gentleman, not by a long shot, he was just sweet. The first chance he got his hands were on your ass, pulling your dress up over your head and not caring if he smudged it, not one bit.

Your arms went around his neck and he lifted you up, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist while he carried you to your bed and laid you down.

He was laying over you, an arm holding him up by your head, his other hand moved down between your legs, rubbing through your folds and catching your clit, feeling how wet you already were for him.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” He asked, already starting to trail kisses up your jaw towards your ear. You hesitated before slowly shook your head, hoping it wouldn’t make him stop. Luckily he didn’t and just sucked his teeth. “Well, I don’t feel like slowing down for you.” He said sitting back up and undo his jeans, pushing them down just enough for his dick to spring free, of course he didn’t wear boxers. “Just tell me if it hurts.” He said as he pushed into you, groaning as he did.

Despite his words he did give you a minute to adjust to him, running his hands up and down yours sides until he felt you were ready and he started moving, slow at first but he couldn’t keep that pace for long.

His hands gripped your hips tighter, tugging you closer to him as his hips slammed into yours, each thrust bringing you closer to an edge you’d never seen before.

He was perfect above you, full lips, bruised just like yours, parted ever so slightly in soft, low grunts and groans. Sweat clung to his curls just around his face, the rest of his mane framing his sharp jaw. His teeth were crooked and he didn’t look right at you, focusing on feeling good, making you feel good.

You didn’t have anything to compare it to, but this was definitely the best you’d ever felt. Free, and it felt so good. You reached down and found your clit, rubbing it in circles.

Saul chuckled over you and nodded in approval. “Just keep doing that, keep doing that.” He said. You could feel him inside you, veins dragging against your gummy walls, cunt pulling him in for more, every time he pulled away you sucked him back in.

You melted into the mattress, vision going white and when you came doing from it you felt something warm spilling out inside you, Saul’s face tucked into you and he kissed over your chest, latching onto your nipple and swirling his tongue around it.

Finally he pulled away and pulled away and sat up, fixing his pants before heading out to your balcony. You saw he was smoking, he just looked so… you couldn’t even describe it.

You got your dress back on and went out to stand with him.

He smiled at you when you came out, he held the cigarette out for you but took it away before you got the chance to get it. “No way in hell am I letting you do that.” He said with a laugh.

You sighed and leaned your head on his shoulder. He glanced down at you as he took a drag from his cigarette. “It’s pretty tonight.” You said.

He nodded, looking out on the cities lights below. Your house was up on a mountain, giving you a good view all around. “I bet it’s a pretty night for you every night.”

You smirked up at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you live here, you see it every night.” That’s not what you were expecting.

You looked back out to the city. “I want to see more… with you, Saul.”

He let out a heavy sigh, he wanted you with him too. You were intriguing to him, you needed a chance to rebel and he knew you would never stay with him, not after growing up like this, but he could be the one with you to see the world and that was enough. “Slash.” He said. “If you’re coming with me you call me Slash.”

“Slash.” You repeated. “Slash Hudson.” He might regret this, but he didn’t care. In that moment, he didn’t care about anything.

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midnighthazee · 3 months ago

Text

Greenridge ABO Series

a/n: I hope my lovely Greenies had a good Thanksgiving! I didn't write as much as I wanted to over the break but I still managed to get this chapter written! Enjoy!

Series Masterlist Masterlist

Warnings: a little bit of explicit language, pabo behavior

WC: 3931

Chapter 13

It had been a week. Seven days since Reed said he would take you back to Greenridge. Everytime you brought it up, he gave an excuse. He had work, his drivers were resting, he was waiting on visitors, blah blah. Last night, he left for a business meeting at HA headquarters without a word.

Now you were bored out of your mind, wandering his mansion in the late afternoon. You figured you would be nosy since he left you here. You looked in all the bedrooms, realizing he gave you the nicest one out of all the guest rooms. That’s something…you suppose. You turn the corner out of the living room, nearly bumping into one of his men.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said.

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

He looked strangely familiar.

“Do I know you?” you asked.

“Uh…no.” he said, hurrying off.

Weird.

You proceeded down the hall, opening doors and finding a closet, or a room with priceless artifacts. Some sculptures, vases, and paintings cluttered the room. You moved on, finding a door with a staircase leading down.

Nothing good ever comes from a basement. You thought.

You found yourself walking down the stairs regardless, a few lanterns on the wall illuminating the dark space. You get to the bottom, no rank smells in the air like the basement you lived in. As you continue on, it’s dark. You feel along the wall and find a lightswitch.

Light flicks on, illuminating the space. You see a kitchenette, a stack of dog bowls, and another door beyond. You open the door slowly, afraid of what’s on the other side. You hear noises as you step in, but from what?

It smells like…like outside or something. Dirt maybe? You proceed farther in the room, noticing glass doors on one side.They looked like cells, just extremely nicer than Lewis’s setup. As you approached, you noticed a shadowed figure inside. You step closer, squinting your eyes.

The figure moves suddenly, banging two paws on the glass and growling. You fall back, screaming and shielding yourself before you realize whatever it was didn’t break free. As you turn back, you realize it was a wolf - a huge wolf. There were several down this hall, a dozen beady eyes looking at you through the glass. You scramble to your feet and hurry out of the room. You get back to the kitchen, only to run into the guy you saw a few minutes ago.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” You pant. “W-why are there wolves?”

“They are Reed’s night patrol.”

“Night patrol?”

“He lets them out at night and they keep watch of his territory, ensuring no trespassers.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. He finds them more loyal apparently, but I think it’s stupid.” he chuckles.

“You sure we haven’t met before?” you ask once more. There was something about his smile that struck you.

He sighed. “We have.”

“Was it at Lewis’s house?”

“No. Um….it’s me…Hudson.”

You stared in shock.

“Surprise?” he offered with a shrug and smile.

“But…how? How are you here?”

“He found me after mom and dad died and took me in.”

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“I was supposed to leave you alone.”

“Why?”

“He just told me not to interact with you. He wouldn’t give details.”

“But…I’m here all alone…without my pack. Why wouldn’t he want me to know I have more family here?”

“I gotta go. And you should go upstairs to have dinner. I’ve seen you skipping meals.”

You look down. “I’m not hungry.”

“Lies. Go eat, y/n.”

Before you can protest or ask another question, he’s off, back upstairs and out of sight. You sigh, heading upstairs too. You didn’t eat, but you did stay in your room and watch tv to pass the time. Oh how you ached for your pack.

“Ugh, something scared her.” Minho grumbles. “I swear if that prick is torturing her…”

“Wouldn’t you feel the pain too?” Changbin asked.

“I guess. Ugh….I don’t know if it’s good or bad to have this connection to her when she’s not within reach.” Minho groans, running a finger through his hair.

“I would say good. You can keep an eye on her.” Hyunjin spoke, not looking up from his sketching.

“I guess. Ji, you find the address yet?” Minho asks, coming over to Han on his laptop.

“I’m almost in. Just another second….done. Let me just locate the files.” Jisung typed frantically on the keyboard.

Within a few minutes, he’d hacked into the HA database and was looking into the Blackmane pack for an address.

“Here we are. Blackmane Pack. Run by an alpha named Reed Kang.” Jisung stated. “Located on 53790 Woodmill Rd.”

“How far are we from that?” Jeongin asks.

“Uh, it looks like…an hour.”

“Great. Let’s move.” Minho says, rising from the motel bed.

The Greenridge pack, accompanied by the Enha pack, drove to the Blackmane Manor. The sun was setting and soon everything was covered by darkness. The roads were scarcely lit, and the houses were very spaced apart. But in less than an hour, they arrived and buzzed the intercom at the front gate.

“What’s your purpose for this visit?” a man’s voice said on the intercom.

“I’m here to see Mr. Kang. It’s an urgent matter.” Minho spoke, eyeing the gate and what he could see of the front lawn.

“Mr. Kang is not present. Please come back tomorrow.”

“Is there no alpha or beta I could speak with in his place?”

“No. Come back tomorrow.”

Minho groans. He looks at the house, knowing you are here. They back up, driving down the road before parking. He groups up with Enha, suggesting they hop the fence and save you.

“We don’t know how many are guarding the place. If he really isn’t here, he could have left her heavily guarded.” Jungwon’s beta, Jake, said.

“I’m counting on the fact that he would think we know nothing of this place. Or would have taken longer to find it. Let’s go.” Minho explained.

“Min, can’t we think this over?” Changbin suggests.

“She’s in there. It’s like I can feel how close she is.” Minho stares at Changbin.

Changbin backs down, following his alpha.

They head down the street, finding a good spot to breach. Quickly, they scaled the brick wall and began running through the yard. They made it halfway to the house when a howl rang out into the night.

“Guys…that sounded close.” Felix noted, looking around.

“Oh, shit. Over there. Run!” Sunoo yelled.

They all looked in the direction he pointed, seeing three large figures headed their way. They took off, running quickly back to the wall.

“Spread out, they can’t chase us all.” Heeseung yelled.

In efforts of getting to the wall, they all spaced out, making the wolves distance themselves and lock in on a target. Niki and Heeseung reached first, leaping and climbing over. Hyunjin and Sunoo were next, followed by Jake, Jeongin and Felix. Changbin helped the rest scale the wall, as the wolves closed in.

“Hurry!” Felix and Sunoo yelled from the other side.

Changbin grabbed onto a vine, pulling himself up. One of the wolves lunged out, grabbing him by the pants leg - their teeth slightly nipping the skin. Changbin tried to pull up, the wolf trying to pull him down. His other leg kicked frantically, fighting off the two other wolves. He managed to kick one in the face before landing a blow to the wolf who had him by the pants.

He heaved himself up and over the wall, falling to the ground in a huff. He sat there a second, catching his breath. Felix was quick to look him over as the others bent down.

“You okay?”

“You good?”

“The teeth marks are shallow. Should heal quickly.” Felix informed.

“I’m alright.” Changbin reached his hands out.

Minho and Jungwon pulled him up to his feet and they all headed back to their cars. Changbin had a slight limp but managed to get there on his own. Minho was cursing himself for not being able to get to you.

“What if we deflect? Cause commotion that draws the wolves attention away, while the rest of us sneak up to the house…” Seungmin suggests.

“We don’t know how many wolves there are. If we don’t get them all in one location, we won’t make it in.” Sunghoon said, leaning against the car.

“How do we figure out how many there are?” Jay asked.

“We could always go back in, run around the yard and hope we can outrun them.” Jisung suggested, earning a glare from several of them. “Or not…”

Meanwhile, you were currently hiding in an alley, checking around the corner before proceeding down the sidewalk. You had managed to sneak out the house before nightfall, claiming you wanted some fresh air. Once you learned about the wolves, you decided you had to make your attempt before nightfall, instead of after. And with Reed not home, you figured today was the day. So you asked to get some fresh air, laying in the grass for a bit, and idling walking around before they finally were distracted enough for you to slip away. The guards were on their phones, not realizing what you were up to. Before they knew it, you were off the property and heading into the local town.

So far, the streets were quite desolate, a few cars driving by here and there. Each one made you tense as you worried it was Reed or his men, hiding into an alley or shadow every time. You also jumped at the howl of wolves heard in the distance. They must be the ones Reed kept at his disposal.

As you walked, you kept your hands tucked under your arms. It was chilly and you regretted not wearing a jacket before running off. It probably would have made it obvious since it was warm before the sun set but you could have made an excuse.

Turning down a street, you hoped to come across someone, anyone, who could take you home. Or maybe you could at least find a place to stay for the night so you wouldn’t be out in the cool autumn air. You followed the sounds of people and came across a pub. There were loads of people inside, loud and boisterous as they laughed and drank. At least they would probably be too drunk to notice you (or remember seeing you). You head inside, thankful for the warmth and keep your head low. You notice a fireplace off in the back and make your way over there. It was warm and cozy so you settled in at the table next to it.

“Hi, what can I getcha?” a young woman asked, startling you.

“Just water…wait, is water free?” you ask.

The girl chuckled. “Yeah, it’s free.”

She walked off towards the bar and you focused back on the fire. Within a few minutes, she returned with two drinks.

“This one is on the house. It’s alcohol free.” She smiled, hurrying off to the next table.

You smiled, looking at the beverage. It looked like lemonade, so you took a sip. It wasn’t lemonade, but it was good. You sipped it while warming up by the fire. You looked around at all the people, trying to find someone who could possibly help you. Most of the people in here were big, burly men that were intimidating. They smelled like alphas, at least from what you could differentiate, and that worried you. Were they like Lewis? Or would they be nice and helpful like Chan?

You finished your drink, now drinking the water as you scoot closer down the bench to the fire.

“Would you like a refill?” the girl asked.

“No. Water is fine.” you force a smile.

“What’s an omega like you doing here all alone?” she asked, whispering as she leaned over the table.

Your eyes widened.

“I can smell you. And I’m sure I’m not the only one.” she looked over her shoulder briefly. “Be careful, they get handsy when they are drunk. It’s not safe for a little omega like you around here.”

You caught her scent - beta.

“Is there somewhere I should go?” you asked.

“There you are!” A guy’s voice interrupted.

“Hudson?” your brows furrowed. “How did you find me?”

The girl walked away, but, unbeknownst to you, she kept an eye on you. She could smell a damsel in distress a mile away.

“I figured since you escaped, you came here. A town with people who could possibly bring you home.” He shrugged, sitting next to you. “Was I right?”

You shifted in your seat.

“You need to come back,” he whispered.

“No.”

“Y/n…if Reed finds out you got away, he will come for you.”

“He can try. I need to get back to my pack.”

“Y/n…”

“He doesn’t own me. I spent thirteen years of my life being trapped. I’m not going back to that.”

“He said he would take you back. Just give him time.”

“Give him time for more excuses? No. He’s your alpha, not mine.” You move to get up, but he grabs your wrist.

“Please. I just got you back…” he pleaded.

His voice was sincere, the pain evident in his tone. You had missed him dearly and were happy to have him back in your life. But it wasn’t enough to stay. You couldn’t live with Reed’s pack. You wanted to live at Greenridge - it’s where you belong.

“Come with me.” you say.

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can. I’m sure Chan would let you.”

“I already pledged myself to Reed. I…I can’t…” he looks down sadly.

“I’ll miss you once more.” you say, pulling your wrist from his grip and walking towards the exit.

You nearly get to the door when someone’s arms pull you back, spinning you around.

“Hudson, let-” You started to protest.

“Go out the back. Reed’s men are searching the streets.” Hudson says, nodding his head to the back door.

“Thank you.” you say, embracing him in a hug.

He hugs you back tightly. You pull apart, heading to the back while he leaves through the front.

Out back, you hurry down the alley, peaking around the corner to see Hudson pointing them in the direction opposite of you. They hurry off and you slip down the street in the cover of darkness. It felt even colder now but you pushed on, up the curved hillside.

The street eventually leveled out, only illuminated by the street lamps as you walked. You hugged yourself, pushing through the cold air that bit at your skin. You didn’t know how long you had been walking but your feet were beginning to hurt.

You hadn’t trained with Changbin for long and you were regretting complaining every time. You would sweet talk your way out of it half the days he trained everyone. If you had let him train you, maybe you wouldn’t be struggling so much.

You heard the wolves howling once more, breaking up the silence of the deserted road. Up ahead was an intersection. You noticed a few cars driving through, their headlights briefly illuminating the street ahead. You kept walking, hoping to put as much distance between you and Reed’s men as you could.

You got to the corner, stopping by the edge of the building. Each direction had an incoming car so you waited for them to pass before crossing the street. You looked ahead, squinting from the bright headlights shining in your direction. The car crossed through the intersection and you stepped to the curb, seeing the car going the opposite direction also pass.

Suddenly, the color red illuminates the road, tires squealing. You freeze, noticing the second car stopped in the middle of the road. It looked like the suv Reed’s men drove as it began to back up. You panic.

Shit… they found me, you thought.

Looking to the right, you see the sidewalk is clear, an alley not too far up. You take off running, hoping to turn the corner before they see you. You hear tires squealing again, a roar of the engine following. They were speeding up to catch up to you. You pushed your legs faster, fear fueling you. You approach the alley, cutting the corner and running down the dark path. You see a dumpster and quickly duck behind it.

The headlights illuminate the alley and you curse yourself for not being faster. They must have seen you turn down the alley. You wait for them to pass ready to bolt as soon as they do. The car cautiously drives down the alley, slowly passing the dumpster. Taking a few breaths to brace yourself, you pop out from behind and hurry back up the alley towards the street. You’re nearly at the street when a voice calls out.

“Y/N!”

You freeze.

Slowly, you turn around, seeing two figures walking towards you. It couldn’t be…

“Y/n?” one questioned as you squinted.

“Changbin? Jisung?” you whispered.

As they approached, the street lamps illuminated their faces. You rushed over to them, swinging an arm around each of their necks and pulling them into a hug. They hugged you back tightly and you felt the tears filling your eyes.

“Oh my god you don’t know how relieved we are to see you.” Jisung said, pulling you into his own hug.

“We’ve been looking all over for you. We were about to sneak onto the Blackmane property to rescue you.” Changbin said.

Felix came rushing over, followed by the others. He took you by surprise, lifting you off the ground. You giggle and he puts you down with a pout. “You’ve lost weight.”

You blush, looking to the ground as he looks you over for any physical evidence of abuse on your body.

“I’m fine, Lixie.” you say.

Hyunjin stands next to Felix, smiling at you. You smile back and he scoops you up, spinning you around. As soon as he puts you down, Seungmin is pulling him off you so he can squeeze you into a hug as well. You look over and see Jeongin smiling at you. You open your arms towards him and he comes over, arms going under yours and lifting you off the ground. You wrap your arms around his neck, relaxing into him. Never did you think you would be so comfortable with an alpha.

Their scents each engulfed you, relaxing you immediately. You were elated, comforted by their presence and grateful to finally be reunited. It had been a long, lonely week without them and you were happy you wouldn’t have to keep running.

Changbin and Jisung are boasting about how they finally have you back, Felix mumbling about how you look like you’ve lost weight. But you weren’t paying them attention, instead walking away from them to approach Minho who was leaning against the trunk observing the whole reunion.

You walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging him tight. Everyone stopped talking of course, watching for his reaction. He had been so cold before you left, beating himself up about hurting you. But right now, you didn’t care. He could give you the cold shoulder tomorrow, but right now you wanted the comfort of your alpha.

As you press your cheek to his chest, holding onto him as if this was all a dream and he would disappear, he couldn’t help but smile. He wrapped his arms around you, kissing the top of your head as he inhaled your scent. His eyes closed as he breathed you in. God he had missed you.

You could feel the bond strengthening, your mark tingling as you both held onto each other.

“Wait, where’s Chan?” you asked.

“Um…he’s fine. He’s safe. He’s just um…” Minho tried to find the words.

“Is he still at the Hybrid Association? But Hyunjin and Jisung are here?”

“How did you know we were there?” Hyunjin questions.

“Reed told me. Then he took me there but he hurried me out as soon as I gave my statement of what happened with Lewis.”

“You were there?! At headquarters?!” Jisung exclaims.

“Yes.”

“That son of a bitch.” Changbin growled.

“What happened to Chan?”

“It’s complicated…” Minho starts. “He’s being detained.” “For what?!” “Murder.”

“What? He didn’t kill Lewis. Reed did.”

“He killed Hayes and Milo…”

“Th-they’re dead?”

“Reed didn’t tell you?” Felix asked.

“Not that part…” you shook your head.

“They wouldn’t let us see him.”

“Why not?”

“It’s the law to not murder a fellow hybrid.” Minho explained. “Plus his past…it complicates things.”

“His past?”

“I’ll explain it later.”

“But-”

Headlights turning into the alley interrupted the conversation. You tensed, noticing the other car.

“It’s alright.” Minho spoke. “It’s one of our allied packs.”

You looked up at him and he smiled at you. His expression was soft as he looked at you, making you blush.

“How’d you find her?” one of the men from the new car asked as he got out.

“She was wandering the streets. We got lucky.” Jisung said.

“Y/n, this is Alpha Jungwon. He’s been helping us.”

“Nice to meet you.” you say, one arm still wrapped around Minho’s waist.

“You too. Glad to see you're safe and unharmed. We were all worried.” Jungwon said with a smile.

“We should probably get out of here.” Changbin noted. “They are probably looking for you.”

You nod.

The eight of you piled into one car, the other pack in the other car. Minho led them back onto the main road, and they got on the freeway, attempting to get far from town before they stopped for the night.

You were sandwiched between Jisung and Seungmin, having fallen asleep on Jisung’s lap during the drive. You hadn’t slept well since being away from home and it was already late at night. Jisung rubbed your head soothingly as you laid in his lap. Felix eyed you from Seungmin’s other side, making sure you were truly okay. Hyunjin and Jeongin were in the way back of the suv nearly falling asleep as well.

Nearly two hours later, Minho decided to stop for the night. They needed to rest up and get some food, so he found a motel to stop at. As everyone shifted to get out of the car, you groaned at being woken up.

“Sorry, y/n. But we are going inside, c’mon.” Jisung said.

You sat up, looking around. You get out, following them up to the rooms. Minho and Jisung decided to share the room with the king bed. The rest of the boys are with you in the other room with two double beds. Jungwon got his pack a couple rooms too and they split up, saying goodnight.

You got into the room, it smelling stuffy and old.

“We will be back home soon. It’s just for the night.” Seungmin placed a hand on your shoulder, offering a smile.

You went to the bathroom, wanting to shower but too tired to do so. Plus you didn’t have a change of clothes. So you just wash your hands and go back into the room.

Changbin pulls you to the bed near the window, insisting you share with him. Jeongin joins in, leaving Felix, Hyunjin, and Seungmin to the other bed closer to the door. Laying between the two of them made you feel so safe and warm, lulling you to sleep rather quickly. The two of them stared at you in awe before they too fell asleep.

TAGLIST:

@estella-novella @lxvxchxrlxttxbxrsx22-blog @butterflydemons @readr1221 @gaby105-skz @notevenheretbh1 @bah2004 @sinfulfic @bowsnbang @just-a-blackthorn-cookie @dreamerwasfound @motheraiya55 @m00njinnie @writeuntilthebitterend @jutdwae-flower @staytinyluv @emmxxsworld @galaxy4489 @wolfo2027 @iknow-uknow-leeknow @thatgirlangelb @fr34k4c1dr41n @stwq2349 @rylea08 @sang-09 @scarlet789 @hxnnielk

Shout out to my lovely beta @cherry-erii

#stray kids abo #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x reader #han jisung x reader #lee felix x reader #bang chan x reader #kim seungmin x reader #yang jeongin x reader #seo changbin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #lee minho x reader #ongoing #stray kids ot8

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sapphicantics · 8 months ago

Text

Two Sides of the Same Coin | Chapter One

Pairing: Regina George x fem!reader

Summary: After a nobody destroys the Jocks and insults the Queen Bee without a care or an apology, you get catapulted to the top of the social food chain next to aforementioned Queen Bee, Regina George, who now has to learn to share the spotlight with North Shore’s new bad girl. | Or alternatively, your ‘don’t give a fuck’ attitude sucks you and Regina into each other’s worlds sending you down a path you never expected.

Chapter word count: 1.7k

Contents: vaping, underage drinking, mentions of weed, threats of violence, mentions of broken bones, shitty comebacks - I think that’s it, lemme know if I missed any

Note: Alright, I’m finally here with the first official chapter of Same Coin. Now I don’t know how often updates are gonna be for this fic but they will be coming, I’ve got so many ideas for it.

Intro - Chapter 2

— — — —

Menace is a bit of a crazy term to use to describe someone who sticks up for themself, but this is high school and everyone loves to exaggerate, especially boys with fragile egos who can’t stand the school knowing they got their asses kicked by a girl.

And when the girl is you — a girl who keeps to herself and minds her own fucking business like people should do any-fucking-way — oh, there’s bound to be countless descriptors thrown onto you to help rebuild their fragile masculinity.

Volatile, temperamental, crazy, psycho just to name a few.

You’re not sure how those are supposed to rebuild their masculinity, especially when you can just kick their asses and knock it right back down again. Despite those seemingly negative connotations that come with your new title, it does, admittedly, have a rather nice ring to it.

Anyways, nice ring or not, negative connotations or not, title or not, you’ve got far more important things to focus on instead.

Like why the fuck Charlie Hudson is in front of you right now.

It’s lunch and you’re under the bleachers with a strawberry flavored vape pen in hand. You take a hit and blow a cloud of smoke past your lips, raising a brow at him.

He doesn’t speak for a while probably assuming you’ll do so first, but you just take more hits from your vape and continue to stare at him. He approached you, he came over here to you, he’s interrupting your time so he must want something from you and he either tells you on his own or he doesn’t tell you at all. It makes no difference to you, but you’re definitely not gonna ask what he wants.

It’s only when you check your watch does he remember he’s on a time crunch and finally opens his mouth to speak. “I’m having a party tonight. I was thinking you could swing by for a bit.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Well, it’s gonna be a whole thing, you know?” No you don’t know, and that really doesn’t answer the question on why he’s inviting you or why he thinks you’d even want to go, but thankfully he continues. “Real big, real fun, real cool…” he reaches into his pocket, pulling his hand out and passing some cash over to you. “…really need someone to bring the Mary Jane.”

You tilt your head at him, looking between him and the cash before sliding your vape into your jacket pocket. You pluck the cash from his hands and flick through the stack. There’s a couple thousand dollars here — broken up into smaller bills because why not — a little over a thousand by your count, sixteen hundred to be exact, which is far more than you usually charge to supply a party, but if the rich boy wants to give you all his money then you’re not gonna stop him.

Perhaps, this might make you a thief to some, but really, what’s one more negative connotation added to your name?

You slip the cash in your pocket and nod. “I’ll be there at ten.”

He flashes you a smile as you walk past him and brush your shoulder against his. There’s no force behind it — okay there’s a little force behind it, not a lot though — but still he flinches at the pressure and you don’t miss the way he reaches up to rub at his shoulder out of your peripherals.

That reminds you that you need to make a few things clear. Well, one thing, specifically.

“Oh, and Charles?” He hates that name, thinks it makes him seem like an old man and what better way to ensure he knows you’re serious than calling him by his government. He seems to understand this as his eyes snap to yours and he tenses. “If North Shore wants a chance at making it to state this year, it’d be in your best interest to ensure your brother is on his best behavior tonight. Unless, of course, Lucas wants more broken bones. You got me?”

The bell rings behind you then, a seemingly ominous warning to the boy whose face is now alight with fear. You don’t bother waiting on a response, you know he’ll obey your wishes. You smirk and turn on your heels, disappearing into the school.

— — — —

You show up at 9:45.

Fifteen minutes before the agreed upon time, a rather gracious compromise in your opinion.

One you’re already starting to regret as you walk into the house.

The music is blasting so loud you can barely hear yourself think. The house stinks of sweat from the hundreds of people crowded around each other, dancing, singing, laughing, and making out.

Everyone is drunk — some way more wasted than others — but somehow they all seem to sense your presence and part for you like the Red Sea. Some of them even turn their heads to see if it’s really you before quickly looking away and whispering to their friends.

You roll your eyes at that and Charlie takes this moment to finally make his appearance, trudging his way out of the kitchen. He makes a detour once he spots you and after a quick greeting, he leads you out to the backyard. “You got the stuff?”

“What a stupid question,” you scoff. “You think I’d take your money and then show up to this party empty handed with this duffle just for fun?”

You shrug the bag off and place it on the ground between the two of you, unzipping it as you do so. Inside is a bunch of pre-rolled joints and plenty of bags of weed for those who prefer to use a bong. There’s some rolling papers in there so people can roll their own joints, but you’re pretty sure if anyone does rolls their own joints tonight they are not using the weed you bought — because they don’t trust you so they won’t trust the weed you bought, and also no one goes to a party without their own weed. On the off chance that they do use yours, however, the necessary supplies are there.

Charlie whistles at the haul, eyes wide, clearly not having expected this much from you, but that’s not really surprising.

“Damn, I knew you were a pothead but that’s pathetic even for you.”

It is surprising, however, that Charlie took time out of his day to summon an actual demon from hell to this party.

You say this out loud. On purpose. Because it’s your mouth and you’ll say whatever you want.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

You turn your head to see none other than the devil herself, Regina George, glaring at you.

“You fucking heard me, Regina. You’re a demon and you should go crawl back into whatever fiery pit of hell you came out of.”

“Yikes, someone’s feeling dramatic today. But if I left, who would teach you how to dress?”

You chuckle and shove your hands into your pants pockets. “Rather presumptuous of you to assume I would want fashion advice from someone who looks like a copy and paste Barbie doll.”

“Oh, sweetie, it’s adorable that you think your opinion matters-,”

You hold your hand up to stop any further comments and start talking over Regina, effectively cutting her off and shutting her up. “I’m so glad you said that because your opinion does not matter at all, not to me especially when I didn’t even ask, and acting like it does is only going to do you a disservice so I’m gonna go ahead and let you know - I don’t care and you can keep the rest of your shitty opinions to yourself.”

Regina scowls and steps into your personal space, pointing her finger at you, inches away from jabbing into your skin. She’s towering over you slightly and now that she’s so close, you have to tilt your head up to hold eye contact with her. “Listen here you little bitch-,”

For the second time in less than a minute, you cut Regina off, smirking at the little vein that bulges on her forehead. “No, I don’t think I will, actually.”

Regina is about to blow. You can see it in her eyes, in the way her shoulders are so tense, and if you can see it so can anyone else in the vicinity. You lean closer, lowering your voice to a whisper so only she can hear. “Be honest, are you just mad this shirt got to come out of the closet, and you didn’t?”

Regina’s hands are fast.

SMACK!

But so are yours.

You catch her wrist in your hand before her open palm can collide with your cheek, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the backyard. A hush falls around those outside and you feel dozens of eyes lock on the two of you.

Regina tries to pull her hand away and you tighten your grip in response - not enough to leave marks or to cause pain, just enough so she’s forced to stay where she is.

She glares at you, her eyes alight with fury and jaw tense. The air crackles with the intensity of her anger, and you can feel the heat of her rage radiating towards you. But there’s no backing down now.

“Enough, Regina!” you snap, your voice firm and unyielding. “This isn’t the time or place for this!”

Her eyes narrow, and for a moment, it seems like she might explode again. But you hold your ground, your own anger flaring to match hers.

“We’re not doing this,” you continue, your tone brooking no argument. “Not here, not now.”

She looks ready to argue, but you cut her off, stepping forward with a fierce determination. “Back off, Regina. We’ll settle this later.”

The tension hangs thick in the air, but she finally takes a step back and you release her, her jaw still clenched. Without waiting for her to respond, you turn on your heel and stride away, your heart pounding with the adrenaline of the confrontation.

You venture inside and slip into the kitchen, grabbing a beer. You down it in one go and grab another one for the road before leaving out the front door.

It’s gonna be a hell of a day tomorrow.

#regina george x reader #regina george #mean girls 2024 #regina george x fem!reader #regina x fem!reader #regina george 2024 #regina george x female reader

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charliedaltonswife · 22 days ago

Note

Just came back from the cinema after watching Blue Velvet (rip David Lynch), and I was just curious how it'd be to go with Henry to the movies. Surely he wouldn't fancy it enough to propose it, and even if he'd go, what would he watch? How would a little movie date go with him?

(Yapper Henry anon here hehe)

Off to See the Movies

Henry Winter x reader (The Secret History)

gosh i LOVED this idea so much, i was so excited to get to this one. And another amazing request from the yapper anon, i absolutely adored that one too and enjoyed writing it, probably one of my favorites

Summary: read the request

Warnings: possibly some inaccurate timeline of when movies were released but um just dw about it thanks! they're all movies i like so just put up w it

master list found here

“You must be joking.”

Henry didn’t even glance up from his book. He was perched in his usual spot, the armchair by your window, legs crossed, posture impeccable. You had long since stopped questioning why he spent so much time in your apartment, it was simply a given, like the certainty of gravity, or the way he never seemed to age. You had caught him here reading Ovid in Latin, scowling at the radio as if offended by its very existence, taking your books from the shelves as if they belonged to him.

Today, it was The Republic, open in his lap, fingers idly tracing the margin where some past owner had scrawled a hasty translation.

“I’m not,” you said, arms folding across your chest. “I want to go to the movies.”

He sighed audibly, turning a page. “And you need me for this, why?”

“Because,” you huffed, already exasperated, “I refuse to go alone, and everyone else is busy.”

He flicked his gaze up now, sharp and vaguely disapproving, like a teacher catching a student in a lie. “Bunny would go.”

“Bunny would go,” you repeated, “but I would rather walk into the Hudson with bricks in my pockets.”

Henry exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. You gave him a look before he spoke again.

“Francis.”

“Busy.”

“Camilla.”

“She doesn’t like long movies.”

“Charles.”

“Absolutely not, he’d fall asleep.”

He stared at you, expression unmoving, before flicking his attention back to the book. “Then I suppose you’re out of luck.”

You groaned, flopping down into the opposite chair with theatrical misery. “Why are you like this?”

“I find it keeps my life pleasantly uncluttered.”

“I am not clutter.” You pretended to be offended, placing your hand on your chest as if you had been shot.

“Debatable.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You know, for someone who looks like he should be serenading a dying soprano in an opera house, you are remarkably unwilling to engage in any real dramatics.”

He blinked, once, as if considering whether or not you were worth responding to. Then, with an air of utmost boredom, he asked, “What is it?”

“The Mission.”

His fingers stilled on the page.

You saw it, the brief flicker of interest before he smoothed his expression into dispassion.

“The Mission?” he repeated.

You nodded. “Robert De Niro. Jeremy Irons. Jesuits, imperialism, a truly heartbreaking Ennio Morricone score.”

He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. “And I assume it’s insufferably sentimental?”

“It’s devastating,” you corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Henry said nothing, merely looking at you with that quiet, considering expression that always made you feel like you were being weighed and measured. You held his gaze, unblinking, until finally, after what felt like an eternity, he exhaled through his nose.

“Fine.”

You grinned. “You just can’t say no to me can you?”

The lobby smelled of popcorn and stale air, the golden glow of dim sconces casting everything in sepia. You had been here before, of course, an old, independent theater tucked away downtown, its rows of velvet seats worn thin from years of bodies shifting against them, the screen slightly too large for the room. You had been here once with Richard and Judy Poovey, but with both of them at a party, you resorted to Henry. Not that you minded in the slightest.

Henry, naturally, was overdressed. His dark coat was tailored, his turtleneck perfectly pressed, and he carried himself with the stiff, unbending posture of a man who had not voluntarily slouched a day in his life. He stood out here like a marble bust placed unceremoniously in a dive bar.

“You don’t seem thrilled,” you observed, watching as he studied his ticket stub with vague disinterest.

“I am reserving judgment,” he said.

You smirked. “Not everything requires judgment, you know.”

He shot you a look. “If that were true, I would have significantly fewer headaches.”

You grinned, nudging him lightly as you made your way toward the doors. The theater was already dimly lit, the hum of quiet conversation settling like dust in the air. Henry followed you, silent as a shadow, and, surprisingly. did not insist on sitting in the very back like some kind of lurking specter. Instead, he took a seat in the middle row, legs crossing as he settled in with an air of studied indifference.

You sank into the chair beside him, sighing contentedly.

The lights dimmed. The screen flickered to life.

“Don’t be all up tight, yes?” You whispered, only earning a huff in response.

And The Mission began.

You had almost forgotten about Henry entirely.

The film was mesmerizing. From the very first frame, it wrapped around you like something holy, the vast, untamed jungles of South America stretching endlessly, thick with mist, a world so untouched it felt ancient.

Father Gabriel, Jeremy Irons’ character, climbing to the top of the waterfall where the Guaraní had thrown his predecessor to his death. The oboe, that soft, tentative offering of peace. The first few notes, high, trembling, carving through the quiet like a prayer.

It made something ache inside you.

And then, after some time, you became aware of Henry again.

He was still beside you, his profile etched in silver by the light of the screen. His gaze was fixed forward, sharp and unwavering, but there was something in the way he sat, some infinitesimal shift in his posture, that told you he was not unaffected.

Interesting.

You turned your attention back to the film, but you couldn’t quite shake the awareness of him.

The story unfolded as you knew it would, De Niro’s character, Mendoza, burdened by the weight of his own sins, dragging his past behind him like an anchor. The Guaraní, caught in the violent machinery of imperialism, their dignity steady even in the face of annihilation. And through it all, the music, Morricone’s aching, unrelenting score, threading through each moment like something woven into the fabric of the universe itself.

At some point, you shifted slightly, your arm brushing against Henry’s.

You felt him tense, just barely.

Fascinating.

The film reached its climax, and you felt your throat tighten, the final, devastating sequence, the Guaraní walking unarmed into the face of certain death, the priest holding the Eucharist high even as bullets cut him down.

You exhaled. And beside you, so quiet you might have missed it, you heard Henry do the same.

And you knew.

Henry Winter, impenetrable, unreadable, the coldest man you had ever known, reacted ever so slightly to the film.

You turned back to the screen, lips curving just slightly.

The theater was nearly empty when you stepped out into the cold night air, your breath curling in the space between you. Henry walked beside you, hands in his coat pockets, his expression unreadable.

“Well,” you said finally. “Was it insufferably sentimental?”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze stayed straight ahead, something unreadable flickering in his eyes before he finally said, “No.”

“Well I wasn't going to bring you to a chick flick.” You smirked. “Admit it. You liked it.”

He glanced at you, face betraying nothing. “I don’t know if ‘like’ is the right word.”

“Mm.” You pulled your coat tighter around you. “Well, I enjoyed watching you watch it.”

Henry exhaled sharply, something almost like a laugh. “Is that so?”

“Very much.” You grinned. “Would you go again?”

He considered this. “Under the right circumstances.”

You hummed. “And what would those be?”

Henry glanced at you sidelong, eyes glinting in the dim streetlamp glow. “Something worth watching.”

You grinned. “I’ll find something tragic.”

“I expect nothing less.”

And with that, you walked on, the city stretching out before you, the quiet hum of the night settling in your bones.

The morning was slow and golden, sunlight spilling lazily through the windows of Francis’s house, painting the walls with shifting patterns of shadow and light. A record was playing somewhere, something dreamy and orchestral, barely audible beneath the gentle clinking of teacups and the occasional murmur of conversation.

You were curled into an armchair, one leg tucked beneath you, stirring sugar into your tea with absentminded precision. Camilla was beside you, barefoot and still drowsy from sleep, her fingers idly tracing patterns in the condensation of her glass. Bunny was draped across the sofa, complaining loudly about something, or nothing, really, while Charles ignored him in favor of his newspaper.

And then, Henry walked in.

“Jesus,” Bunny said, blinking at him. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

Henry, entirely unaffected, merely poured himself a cup of coffee.

Francis glanced at him over the rim of his glass, eyes glinting with amusement. “So,” he drawled, “I hear you went to the movies.”

At that, Charles actually looked up from his paper. “You did what?”

Henry took a sip of his coffee. “I went to the movies.”

“With her,” Bunny added, jerking his chin in your direction.

You raised an eyebrow. “Good morning to you too, Bun.”

Francis was still watching Henry, his expression downright delighted. “I must say, Henry, I never took you for a man of the silver screen.”

Henry exhaled through his nose, setting his cup down with an air of finality. “It was fine.”

“Fine,” Camilla echoed, bemused. “That’s all you have to say?”

He shrugged.

Bunny let out a low whistle. “Unbelievable. You’re telling me you, Henry Winter, patron saint of disapproval, willingly sat through an entire movie and didn’t complain once?”

Henry shot him a look. “I fail to see why this is so shocking.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Francis said lightly. “It might have something to do with the fact that you refuse to acknowledge the existence of any cultural artifact produced after 1900.”

“I am not that extreme.”

“Oh, you are.”

Charles leaned back in his chair, an amused smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “So what was it?”

Henry glanced at him.

“The movie,” Charles clarified. “What did she drag you to see?”

You smirked. “The Mission.”

Silence.

Then, Bunny let out a cackle.

“You’re kidding.”

“I am not,” you matter of factly.

Francis shook his head, grinning. “And here I was picturing something ghastly. The one with the little thing from outer space, E.P or E.T or something.”

“God,” Bunny groaned, “can you imagine?”

“I quite liked it,” you interjected, feigning offense.

Bunny waved a dismissive hand. “Of course you did.”

Charles studied Henry, a knowing look in his eyes. “You must’ve liked it at least a little,” he said.

Henry merely picked up his coffee again and repeated his earlier response. “It was fine.”

“Oh well, that’s high praise from you,” Camilla teased.

Francis smirked. “Next thing we know, you’ll be asking us all to go see The Shining”

Henry shot him a flat look. “I am leaving this conversation.”

With that, he stood, slipping his hands into his coat pockets as he made his way to the back door.

“Where are you going?” Charles asked.

“The garden.”

Bunny let out a dramatic sigh. “Of course. The world is too crass for you, is it?”

Henry ignored him entirely and stepped outside, the door swinging shut behind him. For a moment, the group was quiet, watching the space he’d just occupied.

“Well,” Francis said, reclining languidly, “that was delightful.”

Camilla shook her head, amused. “I don’t know why you find it so funny.”

“Oh, come on,” he said. “Henry? At the movies? That’s hilarious.”

Bunny grinned. “I bet he didn’t even blink the whole time.”

You smirked, taking a sip of your tea. “He did, actually.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “Did he like it?”

You considered this for a moment.

Then, casually, you said, “I think he did.”

Francis let out a low hum, watching you. “Interesting.”

And with that, the conversation drifted back into its usual rhythm, the paper rustling, Bunny launching into another half-hearted complaint, Camilla humming along with the record.

And outside, Henry stood in the garden, the sun warm on his face, thinking, though he would never admit it, about the way the light from the screen had flickered across your cheekbones, the sound of your laugh when you had nudged him, the way the music had settled deep into his ribs and refused to leave.

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calaisreno · 10 months ago

Text

Under the Weather

There are days when everything goes wrong. I don't mind, as long as you're with me.

1731 words / Prompt: Weather

When John pushes the door open, he’s hit with a Baltic blast of air from within. This is surprising; it’s a cold day, but generally 221B is a bit warmer than outdoors.

“What’s going on?” he asks the bundle of blankets on the sofa.

“Not much,” Sherlock replies. “Lestrade called with a case. I solved it over the phone.”

John lets out a sigh; it becomes a small, vaporous cloud. “I mean, why is it so cold in here?”

“The temperature outdoors is minus seven degrees. In here, it is four degrees above zero. Eleven degrees warmer. You ought to be asking me, why is it so warm in here?”

“I mean,” John says, keeping his jacket buttoned and sinking into his chair, “Why is it bloody four degrees inside our flat?”

“Oh. Why didn’t you say that? The boiler’s broken.”

“Have you rung someone?”

The blanket bundle sighs. “Mrs Hudson is away, visiting her sister.” He’s using his patient voice, which means that John is going to have to shout if he wants an explanation. “I don’t know how to fix a boiler, and there’s no service tag on it, so I don’t know who to call.”

“You might have looked in the phone book. They do list people who fix boilers, you know.”

Sherlock waves a hand dismissively. The hand is wearing a purple mitten, which probably came from Mrs Hudson’s knitting basket. “This is 2010. Who uses phone books these days?”

“Maybe the internet knows who fixes boilers?”

Sherlock wags mittened hands at him. “Fingers frozen. Can’t type.”

“And all day you’ve been waiting here for me to come home and save you from freezing to death?”

The pile of blankets mumbles.

“What?”

“I said, you’re better at dealing with boilers.”

“It doesn’t take a genius to call someone to fix a boiler, Sherlock.”

“Exactly.” A pair of grey eyes and a pink nose peep out of the blankets. “The electricity still works. Can you make tea? That might thaw my fingers.”

Cursing softly to himself, John fills the kettle. At least the pipes haven’t frozen, though that might be next. He sets it on the base, and flicks it on. The light remains unlit. “What did you do to the kettle?”

“Oh, erm. Why do you ask?”

“It’s not working.”

“It is a very old kettle. They don’t last forever, you know.”

“Oi!” He holds up the base. “Why is the cord no longer connected to the base?”

More mumbling. He catches the word experiment and something about microwave not working either…

Cursing a bit louder, John opens his laptop and searches for someone who will repair a boiler. He casts an evil look at the sofa as he dials the first one he finds.

A minute later he ends the call. “It’s after hours,” he announces. “And the weekend is just starting. I left a message.”

He tries three more numbers, then five more, leaving increasingly desperate messages.

For a moment he sits, eyes closed, and contemplates the long, cold weekend that lies ahead. Maybe the telly works, at least. He takes the remote and presses the power button.

“Cable’s out too,” Sherlock’s voice says. He still in his blanket pod, but knows John well enough to anticipate his thought process. “Ice on the lines.”

“Well,” John says. It’s all fine for Sherlock, who is in a cocoon, unaffected by the weather inside the flat. “I’ll be upstairs putting on my arctic gear.”

“I’ll call for takeaway,” Sherlock says.

John’s room is even colder than downstairs. This is mainly because water has been leaking through a hole in his ceiling. The hole is a surprise, an unhappy one. Not big enough to see sky, but enough to let water in. This morning, before it started to rain and the temperature began to drop, followed by ice and snow, the ceiling was intact. His room was nice and warm—and dry.

There’s no way he can blame Sherlock for the age of the roof, the weather’s bad timing, or the bad luck that hovers over John like a small, dark cloud.

He curses loudly as he opens drawers, hunting for his long johns and wool socks. Finding them, he sits on the bed and curses again as water soaks into his pants.

“Bloody buggering hell! What did I do to deserve this!”

The fates have no answer for this.

Finally, having discarded his wet pants, donned his long johns, wool socks, a pair of corduroy trousers that fit over the long johns, a polo neck pullover, and the warmest jumper in his drawer, he heads down the stairs, cursing at a volume loud enough for the other resident of the flat to hear.

The sitting room is silent, the lump on the sofa unmoving.

“There’s a hole in the roof!” he announces. “My bed is soaked through.”

“We could make a fire in the hearth,” Sherlock suggests. He’s poking his head out now, looking like a curly-headed turtle.

“By we, I assume you mean me.” John grabs the blanket off the back of his chair and wraps it around his shoulders before sinking into the chair. “Do we have any firewood?”

“A relevant question.”

“Look, I won’t mind burning some of your books if it’ll keep me warm.”

“My books are valuable. You might try burning some of those idiotic spy novels you read. But there’s some firewood downstairs, by the back door. I’m sure Mrs Hudson won’t mind us using it. Better than coming home and finding our stiff, dead corpses—”

“Let’s not talk about corpses right now.” Not while I’m thinking about killing you. “Did you order some food, I hope?”

“Angelo’s is closed, due to weather. I ordered Chinese.”

“Thank god.” John leans back in his chair. Every muscle in his back is tight from a very long day, and he’s shivering hard, wishing for a cup of tea.

He hears movement from the sofa and opens his eyes. Sherlock stands, shedding his blankets. He’s dressed in a pair of John’s tracksuit bottoms, John’s Christmas jumper, and wool socks that look suspiciously like they came out of John’s sock drawer.

He’s glaring down at John with concern (if such a thing is possible). “Stop shivering.”

“Involuntary response,” he replies, teeth chattering. “That’s my jumper you’re wearing.”

“I didn’t have anything warm enough.”

“You made fun of that jumper at our Christmas drinks thing.”

“Well, it’s more appropriate now, isn’t it?” He arranges one of his blankets around John, tucking him into his chair. Then he strides out the door.

When he returns with a bundle of firewood, John is reflecting that there won’t even be hot water. No bath to warm him up. Just Chinese food and blankets.

The fire is looking somewhat robust by the time the doorbell rings.

The Chinese food helps, though it’s been in transit long enough that it’s not very hot. Sherlock apologises for the tea kettle. And the microwave. When they’ve eaten, he collects the empty cartons and takes the leftovers into the kitchen.

“Fridge still works,” he calls out. “Just warning you, though. It will probably stop when the indoor temperature drops below freezing.”

“Look on the bright side,” John replies. “We’ll be stiff, dead, corpses by then. Beyond caring about milk for the tea we can’t make.”

Sherlock comes back with a bottle and two glasses. “Here’s something to warm us up.”

He hands John a glass and pours. “Happy anniversary, John.”

John laughs. “Right. One year living at 221B. I didn’t expect you’d care about things like that.”

“Why not? One year is the longest I’ve managed to cohabit with anyone. It’s been… good.” He sits down, his face pink in the firelight.

“It has been good,” John admits. He remembers the first time he came through the door, saw Sherlock’s clutter, and wondered what he was getting himself into. He remembers carefully probing, trying to determine whether Sherlock might be interested…

Well, nothing ever goes to plan. That’s the story of John’s life.

He leans back, all the weariness of the day dragging his eyelids down.

“John, wake up.”

“Mm?” He sighs and opens his eyes.

Sherlock is standing over him. “You can’t sleep in your chair. In the morning your neck will hurt.”

“True, but my bed has become an ice floe.”

“Sleep in my bed.”

“What? Oh, you’ll take the sofa.”

Sherlock shakes his head. “Self-preservation, John. Body heat.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We must sleep together.”

“Together?”

“It’s the only way.”

“You want to sleep with me?”

“Science, John. If your core temperature drops too low, you die. And all the firewood is gone, so we have to improvise.”

Improvise, indeed. The bedroom is colder than the sitting room, but the bed is large and, more importantly, not a frozen slab of ice. Keeping their clothes on, they crawl under the covers and move towards one another. Sherlock’s arms go around him, and John lays his head against Sherlock’s chest.

It feels like something they do all the time. Or something they should have done months ago.

John shivers a bit, not from the cold. Sherlock smells like kung pao chicken and expensive scotch.

“Skin-to-skin might be warmer,” Sherlock says. “We shouldn’t take chances.”

John giggles. “Is the boiler really broken?”

“Of course. Did you think I was only trying to get you into my bed?”

“Sherlock.” He feels Sherlock’s nose with his own. It’s like an icicle. “You could have had me in your bed a long time ago, if that’s what you wanted.”

Sherlock is silent. He buries his face in John’s shoulder. “Really?”

“I didn’t think you wanted that.”

“Neither did I.”

“Do you?”

“Everything went wrong today,” he whispers. “And then you came home.”

“This was an especially bad day.” John snuggles into him. “The surgery was full of snotty kids and over-protective parents. Nothing interesting, just mucus and vomit. I didn’t get any lunch. The bus was late. And when I came home, it was freezing. But you were here.”

“John.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t mind all the things that are wrong, as long as you’re with me.”

“Not that I want more misery, but…” John kisses his nose. “You’re the one I want to share it with.”

Sherlock kisses John’s nose, then his lips, lingering. “Let’s get these clothes off before we freeze to death.”

#mayprompts2024

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cloudyappleart · 2 months ago

Text

that line where Jonathan steps out of a case like a well dressed flamingo. Flick is a robin because i say so.

#strangeworlds #strangeworlds travel agency #ld lapinski #digital art #jonathan mercator #flick hudson

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edosianorchids901 · 2 months ago

Text

Reciprocity

@sherlocktember2024 prompt - "cold"

“Really, old man, I’ll be all right.” Watson sneezed again, which didn’t help the look of near-panic on Holmes’ face. “It’s nothing, just a cold.”

“You have sneezed sixteen times in the last five minutes, and with considerable force,” Holmes said, hovering by the bedside and rubbing his hands together compulsively. “I hardly call that nothing. Shall I fetch a doctor?”

“I am a doctor.”

“A very sick doctor.”

“I am certainly not very sick, only a little sick.” Sick enough that he did not have the energy to get out of bed at the moment, but even so. “I do not need another doctor to attend to me.”

“Very well. Then I see I shall have to take matters into my own hands.” Holmes twisted around and swept out of the room. “Mrs. Hudson!”

Watson winced at the volume of the yell, which made his head ache. Of course, his head already ached, congested as it was. He’d felt a bit run down before bed, but had hoped it was just his ordinary fatigue after a long stretch of being particularly busy.

It seemed that wasn’t the case, however. He’d awakened today feeling even worse, his head stuffed up, his throat aching, and a deep exhaustion blanketing him. He might be running a slightly fever, too.

All in all, he felt terrible. He had little desire to do anything other than sleep, but the sneezing was making that difficult. It was the sneezing that had alerted and alarmed Holmes, too, and which meant that Mrs. Hudson was likely being jostled out of bed at a far too early hour in order to care for him.

When Holmes flung back into the room, Watson tried to give him a stern look. “You should not ask Mrs. Hudson to care for me. I am perfectly capable of—”

“My dear Watson, you wound me!” Holmes set down a basin of water and a towel. “I have merely roused her to start a pot of soup, warm some broth, and make tea. I intend to care for you myself.”

Watson stared at him. “But what about your murder case, Holmes? Surely you should be attending to that.”

“It is a commonplace murder. And besides, what does such a thing matter when my Watson needs care?”

“Murder always matters to the one who has been murdered.”

“Well, yes.” Holmes pursed his lips, looking irritated at the fact, and then dampened the cloth. He sponged Watson’s face gently, wiping away the sweat. “But it is the sort of case that can be solved without much difficulty. I dispatched a telegram last night and am merely awaiting the reply. Once it is received, I shall pass along the information to Lestrade.”

“All right, but what about your health?” Turning away, Watson coughed. This did not help his throbbing head at all.

“What of my health?”

“It is terrible, Holmes.” Woozy, Watson laid back and gave him a bleary look. “I am not prone to falling ill. You fall ill at the drop of a hat. You should not be near me when I am sick.”

“Well, well.” Holmes waved a dismissive hand, then smoothed back Watson’s hair. “If I fall ill, then you shall tend to me. But for the moment, it is I who must tend to you.”

“It really isn’t necessary.”

“Nonsense. You are always most attentive and caring when I am in poor health, whether of mind or body.” Holmes briefly rested his hand on Watson’s shoulder and gave his usual flash of a smile. “Please permit me the privilege of doing the same for you.”

That wasn’t fair at all, but Watson softened anyway. “Well, of course. If you’re sure.”

“Entirely certain.” Holmes shot an impatient glance at the door, then twisted around and hurtled off again. “Mrs. Hudson! Where is that tea?”

Watson chuckled, then succumbed to coughing again. His head spun, and he struggled to catch his breath.

The coughing had was not helpful for his aches, either. He found himself sore everywhere, and the restless night had worsened his usual pain in his shoulder and leg. That, in turn, had worsened his sleep.

Holmes charged back in with a teapot and flicked an apologetic smile in Watson’s direction. “There was a slight delay in preparation, as Mrs. Hudson is not at her most sprightly this early in the day. Would you like a drink?”

“Yes, please. And proper ventilation in a sickroom is important.” It was strange not to be able to attend to all this on his own, but Watson did not feel much like getting up right now. “If you could crack the window.”

Holmes did so at once, then carefully helped him drink the tea. He set the cup aside once Watson had finished and sat, taking his hand. “My dear Watson. Mrs. Hudson is preparing broth for you, and will of course make any other food you require. Is there any other way I might be of assistance?”

There was such anxiety on his face that Watson’s stomach twisted. He patted Holmes’ hand and managed a hopefully reassuring smile. “Not for now. And don’t worry, old man. I really will be all right.”

“I hope you shall. I admit it is a little disconcerting to see you ill, Watson.” A few tears glistened in Holmes’ eyes, and he ground his teeth. “You will let me know if I may help in any way?”

“Yes, I will. I just need to get some rest for now.”

“Ah.” Holmes sat there awkwardly for a moment. “Would you prefer that I left you in peace? I can return later with your broth.”

Watson very much suspected that if he said yes, Holmes would simply go sit on the stairs outside the bedroom. “There’s no need for that. Why don’t you stay, and then if I need you…”

He started to cough, and Holmes nodded vigorously. “Of course, my dear fellow. Now, you ought to cease conversation and sleep. I shall be right by your side.”

Watson smiled at him, then closed his eyes and relaxed. He suspected that Holmes would have to be ordered to leave eventually, or else he would not sleep at all. For the moment, though, Watson was glad to have someone so attentive watching over him.

#granada holmes #sherlock holmes #john watson #sickfic #sherlocktember2024

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butterfly-stitches · 24 days ago

Text

INSTINCT.

[ Explicit ] // MDNI

AO3

Pairings: Russell Adler x Bell, Frank Woods x Bell Ensemble: Russell Adler, Frank Woods, Alex Mason, Reader, Bell (Implied Fem!Bell), Helen A. Park, Eleazar "Lazar" Azoulay, Lawrence Sims, Jason Hudson

Warnings: Alternate Universe, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omegaverse, Military Inaccuracies, Medical Inaccuracies, A/B/O Prejudice, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Torture, Medical Experimentation, Accidental Knotting, Knotting, Claiming Bites, Animal Instincts, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Scenting, Scent Marking, Older Man/Younger Woman, Hurt/Comfort, Mildly Dubious Consent, POV Second Person, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

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

Chapter 2: memory test.

Words: 5,212 Summary: In which you are reminded …

CIA SAFEHOUSE E9, “DIE LANDEBAHN”

𑁋𑁋𑁋𑁋𑁋𑁋𑁋𑁋𑁋𑁋𑁋𑁋𑁋𑁋𑁋𑁋𑁋𑁋𑁋 Russell Adler, CIA 52.5200 N, 13.4050 E, West Berlin February 23, 1981

The dark sedan came to a stop underneath a canopy of a growing copse, gravel crunching underneath the wheels. Headlights cut through the night, illuminating the steel roll up door of an abandoned garage in the middle of the woods. Out in the far outskirts of West Berlin. From where the city lights irradiated in the far horizon, a singular beacon that beckoned and called like a lightbulb to nocturnal insects. It was the only guiding star in the moonless night, light pollution had snuffed out the stars above long ago. Leaving the night cold and lonely.

The rumbling engine ceased and the headlights cut out as the car ignition was turned off. Only then did a singular floodlight above the rolling door seem bright, having been overpowered by the car headlights to notice. It emitted a white light like that of a flashlight, soft but not too dim against an all-consuming night such as this. Eating away at the edges of the glow of the light. Like hands clasping around a candle flame, trying to smother it out. But inside the sedan, the night’s consumption was less apparent. As were the looming shadows of trees that surrounded the car.

In the driver’s seat was the gleam of a singular ember, bright like a burning coal. With it, the acrid stench of burning tobacco. Reminiscent of woodsmoke, but less natural and cleansing. And all the more heavy and lingering, filling all the cracks and crevices. Even with the window cracked open, the pungent smoke still stayed and nestled inside the car. Fresh new smoke curled out of the marred mouth of the driver and the cigarette burned even brighter with the exhale. It reflected in the dark lenses of aviators perched on a Roman nose, illuminating the complex network of a scar along the cheek. Shaded eyes flicked to the passenger seat where the sounds of a crinkling manila envelope and the rustle of a plastic bag were coming from.

“Again.”

Without hesitation, the plastic bag was pulled open to the plastic vials inside. Unlabeled now on purpose for the task at hand. Cradling the vials in your palm, you set them all in your lap. Lifting your legs up to keep them from rolling off and onto the car mat below. You picked up one of them and inspected it for any indication or clue you could pick up on. When you found nothing of the sort, you unscrewed the cap and brought it closer to your face then inhaled the scent inside. It was severely diluted, more than previous samples. And by the shallow crease that appeared between your brows, you realized this. It seemed distinguishing the scent was going to prove a definite challenge. Not to mention the secondhand smoke was making it far more difficult than needed as a pollutant for your sinuses. But you didn’t complain nor did Adler really care that smoking during this little exercise would be more inhibiting to your attempt.

Nevertheless, you tried. Taking more inhalations, both deep and shallow, as you tousled around your brain to put a face to the diluted scent. Adler watched diligently. Observant to any and every slight reaction or movement that would cause concern or his intervention. But you were focused, persistent. Unraveling the fractional notes of the scent given to you:

Vetiver and sandalwood with an undercurrent of ground cinnamon – a beta. And something in your head clicked.

“Sims.”

Adler nodded at your answer, satisfied. “Right. Next one.”

You handed him the closed vial, grabbed another from your lap and did the same as you did the initial one. Unscrewed the cap and inhaled the adulterated scent, trying to pinpoint the next team member it belonged to. This one smelt of beeswax. And gunpowder, like a fresh smoking gun. With an undertone of black pepper. Another beta.

“Lazar.”

Adler nodded again, left arm leaning outside the open car window as he flicked the ash from his cigarette. Then you grabbed the next: lavender, lignin and bergamot oil.

“Park.”

Then the second to last: blackcurrant, resin and oud with a subtle yet sharp spiciness in it, like a pinch of smoked paprika. Strong and overwhelming despite the dilution. Undoubtedly the musk of an alpha.

“Woods.”

And finally, last but not least. Though you deduced whose scent it was, you brought it up to your nose anyways. It was refreshing, almost fumigating. Unlike the previous scents, especially Wood’s, this one was far more mellow and far less invasive. A much needed reprieve for your olfaction.

Petrichor, patchouli and sea salt.

“Mason.”

“Good.”

Without delay, Adler grabbed the last vial, putting it with the rest in a biohazard bag. One to be disposed of properly later. There was a moment of tension, of readiness. As you sat patiently in the passenger seat, waiting for Adler. He took a final long drag of his cigarette, letting it curl around his words of ‘Let’s go’ before tossing the filter paper out the window.

Adler got out of the driver’s side and you got out of the passenger’s. Following as he led you towards the rolling steel door in front of you both. Adler could feel your uncertainty. How wound up you were inside like a loaded spring. It was apparent in the way you cautiously analyzed your surroundings, taking in each and every little detail you could. The whisper of the wind, the crunch of the gravel underneath your boots, the swaying of the trees, the city lights in the distance. As if there could be an ambush at any moment.

Adler eased his pace, turning towards you as he strolled on. “Bell. Welcome to West Berlin.”

Flicking open his lighter, Adler ignited another cigarette, fresh from his carton. Taking in the first drag, he blew the smoke up to the night sky. You audibly slowed as you saw a figure in front of the building. Until you recognized the figure in the floodlight – Agent Park. Now leaned against the steel rolling door. A leather duffle bag at her feet.

“We’ve got a job to do.”

The agent’s fist pounded on the rolling door at her back and it immediately began to roll up and open.

“Park.” Adler lifted the cigarette at her in greeting.

“Adler.” Park greeted him back. She picked up her duffle bag at her feet then looked behind her, at you. Nodding as she said. “Bell.”

The three of you walked inside the building that served as a safehouse; a base of command of sorts. You looked around. Towards what could be considered an armory, a makeshift gym, a giant evidence board and a metal table in the middle. Another man walked by – Lazar. With an empty shoulder holster. His own duffle bag in hand that he dropped near a workbench littered with diagrams, blueprints, boxes full of files, a frequency radio and a tape machine in the corner. Sims walked up, sat with one hip on top of the metal table, head canted to the side to look at Adler standing on the other side of the table.

“Let’s get started.”

Adler wasted no time. Found that there was no need for introductions or explanations. The exercise in the car functioned as the ‘scenting’ that traditionally occurred with the introduction of a new pack member. The exchange of each other’s scent, the familiarization of it, for the assimilation of the newly joined to all in the pack. Such traditions were more for show than anything, just to reaffirm pack bonds. But it was wholly unnecessary. Like you, the rest of his team had your scent given to them – excluding both Park and himself. To acquaint themselves with you and categorize your scent as a fellow teammate. It was a work around that didn’t eat away at their limited time to find an elusive Soviet organization. But it served its purpose as a replacement for it in a sense.

The whole team needed to wear a scent control system for their scent glands anyways; a job regulation and a preventive measure in covert ops. It came in the form of a government issued ozonic salve that dampened and blocked their scent. The salve was odorless and waxy to the touch, relatively water and sweat proof. The effectiveness lasted a good while before wearing off over time. Even you were required to wear it. Adler had you apply it before arriving here. He didn’t want you to distract or be distracted which usually came with the territory of having an omega in the mix. Especially a new one.

The debrief was kept short and simple. A goal was set and a potential lead was being investigated by Park and referenced with resources from MI6. But Adler was more concerned with your adjustment. Especially with the mention of Fracture Jaw and going down memory lane of time in Vietnam. The whole ordeal was another exercise. To test whether or not all that brainwashing worked as intended. That you were stable and manageable enough to be out in the field. Even though the whole thing was a quick fix. The narrative was held together by nothing but staples, tape and glue. He just hoped that you didn’t read between the lines, see the plot holes, and the conflicting timeline. Then, it was only a matter of time before you would see everything for what it was — a façade.

Adler had directed you to the evidence board after the debriefing. But curiosity got the better of you it seemed. But it was only natural he supposed, he had done the same when he first came to this neck of the woods. Adler watched you walk around your new place of conduct, analyzing and surveying. Particularly as Lazar brought Park’s duffel bag to the back room and brought her another box of files to her workstation. You eyed the wall of weapons that served as the armory and the lockers aside filled with clothes for a quick change or a disguise. Afterwards, talked to Agent Azoulay. Then you watched quietly from the sidelines as Sims coached Lazar at the punching bag.

You changed between the channels of the radio before it annoyed Adler so much that he flicked it back to the original station. You went towards the fenced off area, staring at the chain lock before walking away. You sparked up a conversation with Park. He pretended to be busy looking over a file, writing down information on a small notepad, but really he was listening in on the conversation.

Yet again, you avoided the evidence board as your conversation with Agent Park ended. Instead, you walked behind it and towards the unfinished Dark Room at the back, disappearing from his line of sight. Adler felt a prickle of uneasiness with your absence. He rounded the table, walking forward. Watched from the side of the evidence board just as you walked back out. His eyes locked to yours. Blood was drained from your face. Adler looked at you for a moment longer before he stepped away and walked back to the table. After a long beat, you did the same and approached him. A blank expression back on your face again.

“Bell. You’re looking a little pale. You up for this?”

Soulless eyes flicked up from where they were glancing down at the loaded pistol on the table, laid on a folder in front of him. Adler expected you to question him about his ‘spying’ on you. But if you didn’t notice or chose not to, you intended to ask about something else. Other questions of your own. But your reply to his question in particular made him unsettled. Your confession of having difficulty remembering Da Nang was what made his eyes sharpen at you from behind his sepia shades. You tensed up underneath his stare, the weight of it making you instinctively look away and shrink down. Acquiescing to the alpha in front of you; Proper etiquette of an omega.

He pressed his lips together, eyes narrowed at you now. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Maybe I just didn’t get enough sleep.”

You tried to reason. With him or yourself, Adler couldn’t tell. But by down playing it and understating its significance, you were already doing the heavy lifting for him.

That was a promising sign.

“Coffee, Bell. If you’re on my team, get to know it.” Adler said, trying to sound heedful. But the harsh bite of his voice couldn’t be concealed as he said. “I need you sharp.”

You were quick to change the topic. Asking him other questions. For more context and understanding, concerning Vietnam, the supposed familiarity of Park, the safehouse and so on. He obliged you.

“Don’t be a stranger.” Adler said as you ended your questions and stepped away. This time going straight to the evidence board.

From the corner of his eye, Adler watched you. As you went through the evidence and details. Stared in prolonged interest at the photo of Perseus in the center of the board. He couldn’t help but wonder if the depicted man was strangely recognizable to you. If you had an inkling in the back of your mind that you knew him, but couldn’t really remember from where. Or rather were you putting a face to the name. To the man that had eluded CIA capture for decades.

He shook those notions away as you followed the red string to the mission in Amsterdam. Stopping just short of the pinned plastic baggie where an extracted bullet was sealed away; the one pulled from your chest. Not that you remembered or anything, half-dead. Bleeding out in the backseat of your hummer. Your fingers ran over it, tracing the curves and edges. Adler narrowed his eyes at the action. Did you recall the pain? The bitterness of betrayal? How you fought against Adler when he pressed his hands against your chest wound, forcing you to live. By the way you quickly let it fall out of your hands, he doubted you did. More innate curiosity than a moment of remembrance.

The mission of Fracture Jaw was next in your sight. In this you were more distinct about, delicate even. Your previous answer swam through Adler’s head as you looked over the calendar of operations for January of ‘68. To the photo of Camp Haskins that served as the setting stage for this memory exercise, then to the photo of the nuke; the plot device in this case. Then your eyes fell on the photo of him and Sims in December of that same year. Days before Christmas Eve and a month before Fracture Jaw. Adler couldn’t help but notice how delicately you touched it, fingertips ghosting over the glossy film.

He found it strange. Perturbing even. What he witnessed made him tense. Memories started to resurface, perforate through his subconscious. He grit his teeth, remembering the taste of blood in his mouth, mire mud caked on sunburnt skin. The desensitization process of young alphas, him amongst them. The torturous training using omega heat pheromones to benumb them against it. Even betas underwent those trainings as nobody was immune to an omega in heat.

Other soldiers referred to it as a siren’s call and it was fitting. The VietCong were no stranger to underhanded tactics. Using Vietnamese omegas in heat as a distraction during gunfights and even to lure American soldiers out into the jungle. Like female wolves would do. Lured male dogs out in the forest to seemingly play, only to lead them to a pack of waiting wolves. Too many were lost to those tricks. The introduction of those training sessions were more experimental than anything. But proved fruitful. Too fruitful.

As quick as it came affront, Adler was quick to dismiss it all from his head and fortify his composure.

When you became well acquainted with all the information regarding the mission, Adler launched the memory exercise. Gathering the team as you, him, and Sims prepared to recall and retell what happened in Fracture Jaw aloud to Park. Breaking it down piece by piece, sparing no details. Perhaps, all three of you did in fact miss something significant.

“Alright Bell, we’re going back to Vietnam. First time Perseus pinged our radar.” He began.

Adler led the narrative, weaving background information to the prelude at Camp Haskins. Immersing you in your own head, making way for the injected memories to kick in and solidify your — his — personal account of the mission. You struggled at first, needed to be guided and reminded by Adler. And the reassurance of Sims. But soon, you nodded along to their retelling. To the Soviet activity in Da Nang. To the tip off that all three of you followed to a hidden cache of intel. You were the one who found that dossier. Confirmed that there was Russian activity in Vietnam. Defended the nuclear asset along with Adler and Sims, stopping it from getting into the hands of the VietCong.

With the memory exercise working as intended. You remembered finding the encrypted intel in Vietnam as anticipated. Now you were hunched over your work desk, meticulously going through the dossier and decrypting its coded contents. You had been at it for hours with little to no breaks in between. Even when Lazar brought back some late night grub for the team. Focused solely on the task. Adler was satisfied by your dedication, letting you work in peace. Not letting anyone, not even Park, disturb you. A sudden clink against your desk made you flinch. You lifted your head up and looked at the hot mug next to your forearm. Then glanced up at Adler who placed it there.

“Just a little pick-me-up to keep you going.” Adler answered the questioning look you gave him. “Trust me. You’re gonna need it, kid.”

The steaming mug of fresh dark brew filled your nose, a comforting aroma that softened the tension in your shoulders. An inscrutable look passed over your features, too fleeting for him to grasp. But from his observation you looked pleased, seemingly preening at his action. Adler shifted as you nodded your thanks, stretching a bit as he walked away. But Adler felt your eyes on him as he went back to the center table. Staring as he took a sip of his own fresh coffee. A coffee ring stain on an old, unimportant folder. As if catching yourself, you turned back around and continued where you left off, sipping on your mug occasionally as you worked. But even with multiple cups of coffee through the night, you and the team’s momentum waned as exhaustion began to grow. Making even breathing and blinking more tedious and energy consuming.

Park led Adler into the backroom for a private discussion, files in hand. Sims went to check on supplies in the basement as he was finishing up the inventory check, while Lazar kept his eye on you. Organizing the armory and doing gun maintenance meanwhile. Adler lit himself a fresh cigarette and leaned against the desk as Park closed the blinds and locked the door. Park pulled out her cigarette case, grabbing her own cigarette. Menthol based. Adler handed her his lighter and she was quick to light it. They took a deep drag, letting the nicotine dissolve away the stress and exhaustion. Then both blew it away with the exhalation of smoke.

“I went over some negatives in the Dark Room. Most were not important but I did uncover some false negatives. It will be helpful when Bell finishes decrypting the dossier. Which shouldn’t take much longer from what progress Bell had made. From there, I’ll be able to connect the dots and procure a lead.”

“Seems like we’re off to a good start.”

Park nodded. “Let’s hope it remains that way.”

She looked aside, thoughtfully. Through the gap in the blinds where a tiny sliver of your figure could be seen, hunched over, working at it still. “Bell seems to be adjusting well.”

Adler hummed in agreement. “Better than I expected.”

“It helps that Woods and Mason are still busy in Kiev. Too much too soon can be detrimental. But their arrival shouldn’t be a problem for Bell, if all goes well and both men act accordingly.”

Adler noticed her veiled concern. “Worried about Woods?”

“I’m concerned about his… temperament. He can be too much to handle at times. Blunt, brazen and impulsive – not unusual for an alpha. Bell is inquisitive, yes. But is mostly reserved. With Woods’s dislike for omegas it can cause problems.”

“I’ll handle it.” Is all Adler said, tapping his cigarette against the ashtray in the corner of the desk.

“I’m sure you will. You’re the pack alpha afterall.”

Adler peered at her as she feigned an innocuous smile. The curling of dark lips so reminiscent of a viper that he awaited for that split second lunge and venomous bite that came soon after.

“Speaking of which,” She went on, “Those accommodations we agreed on require your participation.”

“In what way?”

Park caught onto the slight way he tensed up.

Adler was Bell’s handler. But only in a way to keep the omega on a short leash and remain manageable and cooperative. Nothing more than that.

“Bell will seek your direction instinctively. Not only because of the implanted memories, but being the pack alpha. With the memory exercise successful, the main thing I am monitoring for now is nesting behavior from Bell.”

Adler scowled, lips pressed tight.

“It won’t happen right away, but hopefully in the coming week as Bell acclimates. As you know, it’s an omega’s safe space. If Bell doesn’t heed to that natural urge to build a nest then it could be a symptom of the beginning stages of distress.”

“And where is my participation needed, Park?”

“While doing inventory, Sims found a box full of extra blankets and sheets. I also had Lazar clean out the downstairs storage room yesterday before we arrived and put one of the field beds inside. It’s decently sized and it will make Bell feel more secure.” Park puffed on her cigarette, the crisp aroma of menthol mixing with the acrid smoke of his own. “It’ll be better that it was you that shows the room to Bell.”

Park grabbed a box from the floor. Situated to the side where the medical supplies were at. She placed an armful of sheets and blankets onto the office chair. “Take these with you and offer them to Bell.”

Adler eyed Park, sparing no glance to the neatly folded blankets next to him.

“Nesting material.” She explained.

Park didn’t say anything more than that. With that, the meeting was adjourned. Park left the office and soon so did Adler. The late night soon turned to the early hours of dawn. The team, exhausted, was already headed to their assigned rooms for some much needed shut eye. It was only him and Bell in the main area now. With the armful full of blankets and sheets, he led you past the armory and down the small steps to the storage area.

“This is where you’ll be staying, Bell.”

Adler leaned against the wall. Gesturing with the jut of his chin for you to open the metal door when you glanced at him in uncertainty. You did so reluctantly. Peering inside to see that it was mostly empty and decently sized. Save for a metal shelving rack, along the same wall as the door, and a few boxes and crates still on the shelves. There was a field folding bed pushed against the wall. Covered with a thin white sheet and single pillow, a thermal blanket folded at the edge of the mattress. Another door led to the cellar where the old boilers were, but it had been welded shut years ago for safety reasons and security concerns.

Adler stayed in the doorway, watching as you looked around the storage room turned bedroom.

“Bell.”

You turned around, looking towards the man quizzingly.

“Here.”

You walked up to him, grabbing the armful of extra blankets and sheets he proffered out. You glanced at the stuff in your arms, over the various different coverings that were all neutral-colored.

“Get some sleep, kid.”

Is all Adler said.

You looked like you wanted to say something but you only nodded, saying a soft goodnight. He gave you a curt nod in return, leaving you alone with the click of the door behind him. Adler climbed up the few steps, letting out a deep sigh and rubbing at his eyes, feeling the sting of them. Now he was the only one in the central area. Although the urge to continue working was there, Adler thought it better to at least rest for a bit even if beset with insomnia. His room was through the left hall, adjacent to the fenced off area, and the farthest down. The room he was staying in wasn’t the biggest room compared to the rest. The biggest was the middle room reserved for both Mason and Woods when they came back from business in Ukraine. And across the way was the room Sims and Lazar were sharing.

The room next door to Sims and Lazar was originally for both Park and Bell to share, but now it was just Park in there. It was best for an omega to have their own space she had said. One of those accommodations Agent Park strongly recommended. But he and the rest of the team didn’t put up a fuss, it was only temporary and just for a place to rest their head during downtime. A communal restroom was perpendicular to both of those rooms nearest to the hallway’s threshold. One that looked like it belonged in a locker room. A single toilet, an old porcelain sink with a rusty, barely working tap, and a shower head sticking right out of the wall, pointing to a drain fixed to the bottom of the tile flooring. No curtain, or a glass sliding door for privacy.

The hall was silent and dark. Only the sound of his footsteps echoed. Adler kicked off his loafers when he stepped inside to his room at the end of the hallway. Shrugged off his leather jacket and unbuttoned his shirt then unbuckled his pants. More comfortable now, Adler laid onto the field bed with a low groan and a hefty sigh. The metal frame creaked as he settled onto it. Adler stared at the ceiling for a while, before closing his eyes and trying to rest. It took him a while to fall asleep, but the duration didn’t last. Before long, he was wide awake again. Staring up at the ceiling once more, having only gotten a few hours of sleep. But Adler knew that was all he was going to get. There was no need for him to get greedy. Instead of laying awake in bed, he rolled off the mattress and stretched a bit.

Adler grabbed his blue button-up and his pants from the chair he put them on. Grabbed his aviators tucked in the pocket of his jacket and began to dress; tugged on his pants and buttoned his shirt before slipping on his loafers. He went to the restroom then walked out from the hall, beelining straight to the coffee maker. Making a fresh pot of dark roast. With a steaming mug in hand, using the same mug he left on the table, Adler sat down, deciding to go through paperwork and to look over some files Park had given him earlier.

But it wasn’t long before he heard someone getting up. Someone in particular. A door behind him opened, then the whisper of boots up on the steps. Adler didn’t turn around as you quietly walked closer, nearly hovering at his flank. Though Adler didn’t show it, you being at his back and out of his direct line of sight put him on edge.

“Can’t sleep, kid?”

There was a moment of silence.

“No.”

Adler hummed, turning to the next folder of the pile. Then said, “Grab some coffee and finish up decrypting.”

After a beat, wordlessly, Bell shuffled away. Doing as Adler said: grabbing a cup of fresh coffee and sitting down to finish up with the dossier. Then there was silence again as both continued working in tandem. Only the intermittent sound of writing, shuffling paper, or sips of coffee disrupted it. Adler found himself observing you from the corner of his eye occasionally. Discreetly hidden between the reading of files and his sips of coffee, more so with the help of his shades to hide those brief looks. A stray thought came and went, wondering what you ended up doing with all that nesting material. If you used it or threw it somewhere in the corner. If you even thought about making your nest.

Everything was going according to plan, you were doing what was expected of you. For now at least.

Now all they needed to do was monitor you and keep you on the right track. In that, Adler knew remembering Fracture Jaw and triggering those implanted memories would do so. A fabricated bond of camaraderie built in blood, sweat, and tears. But he knew such a hack job would backfire soon. It was only the matter of when. When you would figure it all out. When you would realize you were amongst the enemy. When you would turn on them. It was inevitable, an expectation. All they could do was hope it wouldn’t be so premature or detrimental to the mission. All Adler could do in the meantime was reaffirm their ‘camaraderie’ when needed and keep up the falsities, while also keeping an eye on you. Keep your leash taut in his grip and keep you situated at his heel.

It was his prerogative as it was his responsibility. And as Park had mentioned before, Adler was your handler. And although he hated to admit, your pack alpha as well. Adler reigned in his rumination. Idle hands were the devil's workshop as the saying went. He found himself occupied by his paperwork. Hours went by; the early morning eased into midmorning. Sunlight peered through the hopper and awning windows scattered sparsely in the safehouse. Then came the quick sound of a chair’s wheels rolling against the concrete as you stood up.

With quick steps, you walked up to Adler. Pages of paper in your delicate but deft handwriting in your hands. Adler looked at you briefly, intrigued, not by the solemn look on your face, but by the sudden fire burning in your usually dreary eyes. There came a sudden feeling of displeasure. A disappointment at seeing it still there. It seemed in the end, that fire in your eyes lived yet still. As was that vile desire to snuff it out himself. To break you down more than you already were. He couldn’t help but turn his nose up at you.

“I was able to decipher a list of names.” You said.

Adler hid his thoughts well. Keeping his composure. He grabbed the pages you gave him and looked them over. But one caught his attention on your list of names:

Anton Volkov.

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A/N:

not too proud of this but it was sitting in my drafts for too long, hope its up to par / not too boring 😅

Critique welcomed and encouraged as long as it is constructive and polite (don't be rude/mean pretty please ◡̈ ). Also if I made any mistakes, grammar or otherwise, please to let me know.

#call of duty #cod #cod fanfic #black ops cold war #russell adler #cod bell #russell adler x bell #adler x bell #russell adler x reader #frank woods x bell #frank woods x reader #omegaverse #a/b/o

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