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cryinginthebackseat · 3 years ago

Text

you’ve got more poison than sugar - part iv

AO3 part i part ii part iii

Fandom: Call Of Duty

Pairing: Russell Adler x Bell

Words: 5.856

Warnings: some mild sexual content and swearings, like usual.

Author’s note: hello, hello, i'm back. it's been 6 months since the last time i updated and I'm truly sorry for the delay, but i ran out of inspiration the first 2-3 months trying to write down this beast of a chapter, but thank god i managed to pull through. a word of warning, though, this chapter is quite the emotional rollercoaster ride to read so, buckle up, fellas *laughs nervously*

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“my hunger burns a bullet hole, a spectre of my mortal soul,” - radiohead

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Adler learns two things:

Bell is most definitely, unimaginably loud in bed. A contrast to her usual close-lipped routine.

He thinks he can’t get enough of her taste. If he has to choose between heaven and that baby doll softness between her thighs, he'd choose her over and over again even if he'd burn in hell for it.

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March 8

It seems a tad too pedestrian and normal, that they're now sitting side by side in her bed, naked, chain-smoking. His hand caresses the inside of her thigh. She's still warm there.

“Tell me something, have we ever done this before?” Bell asks in that sleepy, scratchy, post-sex drawl that never fails to strike him in the heel.

“Done what?” he asks, being purposely obtuse.

Bell rolls her eyes. “This. Fucking, getting it on, going all the way- whatever the heck you want to call it."

“No,” Adler admits. “Our relationship had always been strictly professional, actually.”

“Until now.”

Adler can’t help the smirk pulling his mouth. “Until now,” he echoes her words. “You don’t exactly make it easy for me, Bell- you never have," he quickly amends.

She nods and takes another drag of her menthol cigarette. Her face is shuttered, calculating, in other words, dangerous, nothing like the raw openness he’d seen her hours ago. The memory of it sits tangible and confusing on him. Adler remembers everything: the hot, wet clutch of her around his cock as she came, her blunt nails marking red all over his back, her mouth pressed against his cheek as he felt her skin overheat under his.

He’d licked at his teeth when she went to the bathroom.

He knows what Bell tastes like now.

“Why now, though? What changed?” she asks now, honestly curious. “Did it really take Alex to stick his cock inside me for you to finally cave?”

Beside her, Adler goes still as a bomb. His sex-addled brain carefully considers his answer. How awful if she caught his smoke and mirrors now, of all times.

Fortunately, it’s easy to slip back behind his mask. “No. No, it’s not like that.” He’s been taught to shapeshift to get what he wants. It’s easy like this, lying. “I was married,” he continues.

“Oh… Oh, right.”

A miniature of pause stretches. A breath escapes her; a start of a laugh, tinged with something that sounds a lot like embarrassment or frustration.

“Actually, no, I don’t have any recollection that you were married," she admits, voice unsteady. "Hell, I barely recognized you when I woke up."

He is left staring at this beautiful, abused, raw woman beside him. If he must kill her, he might as well make it matter.

"Hey," Adler says softly. "Look at me." Bell, however, remains stubbornly still, so he grasps her chin with his free hand and tilts her face towards his. She looks up at him with a vulnerability he’s never seen in her before, no sharp edges, no mask.

"Hey,” he says again and kisses her forehead, her temple, her cheek. “It’s alright, Bell. You’re alright. These things take time, but you don't have to shoulder this all on your own. You've got me."

She pulls away and looks at him, her eyes searching. “Yeah?”

He holds her gaze, but he’s confident he’s giving nothing away. This doesn’t have to mean anything, he tells himself. Nothing at all.

“Yeah." The words roll off his tongue perfectly. Lying to her is easy. "Yeah, you've got me."

Only sometimes, Adler wonders if the guilt he’d feel for telling the truth would be less than the guilt he feels for lying to her.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Bell walks him to the door, barefoot and indolent. He decides not to stay. There’s no reason for making this than what it already is. Except Adler doesn’t know what any of this is supposed to mean.

She'd snatched the blanket off the foot of the bed and draped the quilt around her naked form. She's quiet now, like she's thinking or maybe she’s regretting what they've done.

Adler wouldn't hold it against her if it's the latter. He knows damned well he wasn’t supposed to fuck her, he has no clue why he did what he did and now he can still smell her all over him, taste her when he moves his tongue and Jesus Christ, he really is fucked, isn’t he?

He saunters past her, hand reaching out the doorknob. Bell grabs him by the wrist and he turns back to look at his hand, their hands, then glides up to her face. Her face is that hard to read in the semi-darkness, but there’s a nervous glint in her eyes.

“Bell?”

She doesn’t move; her fingertips are cold against the cuff of his leather jacket.

“Do you really need to go?” Bell asks glibly.

Adler blinks. The corner of his jaw leaps, a twitch. It doesn’t matter, his head says. None of this has to mean anything, but he’s desperate to know. “Do you not want me to go?”

“I don’t know.” She’s frowning now, still not letting go of his wrist. “I don’t think so.”

Something like fear settles over him. It’s not Bell he’s afraid of, not anymore. It’s him. He’s afraid of what he's about to do.

“What do you want, Bell?”

He moves his hand and entwines it with hers. His body bows towards hers until their foreheads touch. Their noses bump together. She smells exactly like him- or is it him like her? There is no telling which is which anymore.

Bukowski once said: 'There is always somebody about to ruin your day, if not your life.'

Bell mustn't know that she’s ruining him. It’s not like he’s keeping tally, after all, how could he know this city was tailor-made for his downfall? But she will. She’s already ruined him.

“What do you want?" Adler whispers, his mouth- his cheek is rough with stubble as it’s pressed against hers. "Tell me."

Bell exhales, like relief. Then she does: “Stay.”

He doesn't react, doesn't move. He’s weak. This is a fall of his own making. He’s chosen this, not Mason, not Perseus. But his.

“Say it again.”

"Stay, Russell." A drag of mouth and teeth over the hinge of his jaw and he fucking caves every single time. "Please."

Adler sighs, like he’s been waiting for that word all his life. No one has ever asked him to stay and said it like they mean it. Of course he stays.

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March 9

In the morning, Adler ties his shoes on the bed he fucked her on last night, but they get ready with the unspoken agreement to arrive at the Garage separately.

He’s to leave first. Bell approaches him, handing him his jacket. He, at least, has the grace of keeping a straight face about this strange domestic dynamic going on between them.

Bell brings her mouth closer to his.

“Be careful,” she says and then she kisses him, almost tenderly compared to last night.

He nods- don’t worry, it says- and pulls her to him. Adler knows her this way now, the shape of her body against him, her face close to his, close enough to hit save.

“Don’t forget to take your meds,” Adler utters. He kisses her bare shoulder and moves towards the door, wondering why he did that. “I’ll see you at the safehouse.”

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Adler had to trudge through a ridiculous amount of dossiers to find replacements for Mason and Woods since they’d deserted the team, but he found them- a Marco Ocaña and a Gary D'alessio. One of those sharp-jawed, dark-haired, no-nonsense types that remind Adler, unfortunately, of two things in the following order: they’re only half as effective as their predecessors and the blame for this is exclusively, solely on his shoulders.

And now they’re here, picking up where Mason and Woods had left off. But it’s not the same.

Adler is looking over the evidence board, reviewing the intel they’ve gathered so far on Hastings, when Sims appears at his side.

"What's your reading on the temperature, doc?" Sims asks suddenly. There’s only them in the corner, while the rest of the room moves around them.

“What, on Hastings?" Adler asks back, not looking away from the board.

"No." And Adler twists his head to him, a curious brow raised. Sims nods his head towards the direction Adler can’t see. "Ice cube with his new chewing toys yonder."

Adler turns around. Halfway across the room, Hudson orders and barks in that cold, machine gun staccato; D’alessio pages through a black leather binder, laser focus; while Ocaña, the unwilling understudy, frowns behind the desk. It’s the fucking Jason Hudson special.

Faint amusement crowds Adler’s face. “Someone’s thinking of knocking Hudson’s teeth off, someone’s actually going to do it."

Sims snorts. "Man, I'd pay to see that happening."

"Get in the fucking line." They both smirk. Adler turns back to the board. Neither speaks for a moment. "So, you wanna cut the shit and tell me what's eating you?”

Sims' face goes cagier, before he laughs, wry and forced. “Hang on, I’m getting there,” he drawls.

"I mean, small talk? You?" Adler's smirk grows. "You really have gotten old, haven't you?"

"Yeah well, fuck you, doc."

Adler chuckles. "Hey, hey, relax. I'm just trying to pull your leg a little, Law."

"Uh uh. Right. Jesus, why did I even bother volunteering for this operation again?" he says, but his lips still tilt up into a small smile. Then it slips off of Sims’ face, as if it was never there. “But yeah, I wanted to ask you something.”

Adler thinks he knows what it is, but nods anyway.

“Why did you do it?” Sims asks with that practiced carefulness. There it is: the real purpose of this conversation. “Why did you tell him?”

A breath escapes Adler. The thing is, he doesn’t think he has the answer to that either (this is false. He does know, but refuses to call it by name and he’s not sure what to do with that), but there is that ambivalence to what feels good and what’s right, and it just struck him, with resignation and dread-filled clarity, how he would purposely take the path that gains the most collateral until he's fucked and that’s awful. Awful because it fucks up most of everything external in his life and for some reason, he can't stop. He keeps doing it over and over again, fucking himself straight in the ass and then feeling bad at everything, and then going ballistic nuts and then fucking things up even more until eventually he has no choice but to sack up and clean the mess he's made.

“I don’t know,” Adler says after a pause, “I guess I thought I was doing what’s necessary to win.”

Sims nods, like he’s expecting that kind of answer from Adler. “And was it worth it?”

Was it? The answer to that he thinks, the one he refuses to take at face value let alone consider, is that he knows he can’t always test his strength and luck by how far he can bury himself and dig himself out at the last second. One day, it’ll bite him in the ass.

One day, he is going to reap what he sows.

He ducks his head. “No,” Adler finally says. “Fuck no.”

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It has started drizzling when Bell slips inside the car.

They're a few odd blocks away from the safehouse, where she had waited alone for him on a chilly, blustery March night.

Bell ducks her head into the collar of her coat as she makes a beeline for his car. Adler reaches across and opens the passenger door from inside.

“Hi,” she says, as she enters. Her hair’s damp and messily pulled back at the nape of her neck and she looks impossibly astronomical like this, in the brusque lights of his car. But a beautiful beast will always be a beast, and he mustn't forget that at the end of the day, this is all just a game. “Where are we going?”

Adler puts the car into gear. “How’s Italian for dinner sounds to you?”

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After dinner, they left straight to her hotel.

Bell lets him fucks her again that night, into her desk where all her medicine and papers are sprawling haphazardly on the tabletop. The wood cries out and thuds noisily against the wall. His mouth finds her breasts through her lacy bra and bites. Bell whines. She takes what he gives her. She grabs onto his shoulder, her other hand roughly twisting into his hair and pulls and something jackknives in him. Something primal. He doesn't stop fucking her, murmuring, "that's it. Come for me, Bell," in her ear until she's shaking violently and he feels her coming apart around him.

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March 10

He wakes up before Bell does and slips out of her bed to get ready.

He pads back into the room from the bathroom, scooping up his clothes only to hear Bell stirs in the bed. Adler turns to face her, eyeballing the curious lines of her flesh as she stretches and mewls, that narcotic way she moves. Her nipples are pink and bruised from where his teeth had grazed them; her legs parted slightly.

And he can't fucking look away. He should really look away. He can only look at her and the satisfied quirk of her mouth suggests that she was aware.

“Morning,” Bell mumbles in a yawn, feigning innocence. That minx.

“Hey,” he replies, his throat suddenly feels tight. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I usually get up around this hour.” She stretches and yawns again. She looks at him. “Well, you’re all dressed up.”

"Thought I’d head downstairs and get us something to eat. Are you hungry?”

Her mouth suddenly spreads into a closed-mouth grin. “Famished,” she intones, voice low and there’s a bit of that coy, I have my finger on the pulse of those who crave me, neo-noir undercurrent to it.

She props herself up on her elbows, spreads her legs wider. He can see her that much clearer now, wet and bare just for him.

“Okay.” He takes off his sunglasses and tosses them carefully onto the table. “What will you have?”

She frowns, confused lines drawn between her eyebrows. “I wasn’t talking about food.”

Carefully, Adler sheds his jacket. He comes to her and it's like a wild animal wearing his skin every time. There’s that wanting again, that impulse pulsing through him, to the point where the ocean demands violence and the only thing left to do is drown.

So he does.

“Neither was I.”

And then he gets down on his knees.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

In his car with Bell, on the way to drop her off at a nearby bus stop, Adler sees her rubbing her temple and wincing ever so often.

Adler places his hand on her thigh and asks, “You okay?”

Bell turns to look at him, glassed-off blank, like she’s being sedated. “Hmm?”

A frown quickly descends over his face, tinged with something akin to fear. “You keep rubbing your temple. Headache?”

Bell turns his hand over, her fingertips soft against his skin. “Yeah.” Her hand closes around his then, and holds him in place. Like he’s her only anchor. “Yeah. It’ll usually pass, though. Don’t worry about it.”

But he worries anyway, especially when he can tell from the sidelong look she gives him it’s not true, but now his tongue is chained to the roof of his mouth.

“Okay,” Adler eventually forces the word out. The record crackles. “Let me know if it gets worse." And she nods.

There’s no denying it, time is catching up to them. Their two week is almost up. It’s moving fast. They need more time.

Maybe he’s only deluding himself at this point. After all, he knows all too well there is only one way this could go and it usually ain’t with the two of them walking out of this alive. It’s when you know what you’re up against, when you know the dyad that is Bell and Adler is never meant to form a line and the possible answer narrows itself down to that single marker in the center of the screen. Only that.

But Russell Adler is just human. Without his persona and gravitas, he’s no one. Only a name; a man. And for once, Adler lets that man govern his emotions.

Maybe that’s why he allows himself this one moment of weakness, when he wishes they had more time.

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There’s a knock on the door. Adler switches his gaze from the papers to the door only to see Park marches inside his office furiously.

“You’re playing with fire,” she declares once the door’s locked.

Across the desk, Adler’s face is cautious and cold, his posture stiff. Park isn’t dumb, he should have known that it’s only a matter of time before she finds out.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She points an accusatory finger at him. “You bloody well know what I’m talking about,” Park spits out, waspish. She stands there, fucking staring daggers at him; a gun with its safety switched off. “Or do you want me to drag her in here to jog your memory a bit?”

Adler scowls at her, then exhales. It’s time to face the music, he thinks. He needs to choose his next words carefully.

But first, “How did you know?”

“I am not the one who wears sunglasses indoors, thank you very much.”

Adler sighs. “Who else knows?”

“I’m not sure, but Lazar already has a sneaking suspicion about the two of you. So, I’ll say it again: you’re playing with fire.”

"I know what I'm doing."

“Oh, yes, of course. I’m sure you do.” Her voice laced with sarcastic mockery. “I thought the point of telling Mason about her is to nip this in the bud?”

“No, Mason was gambling the whole operation because he couldn’t save his own marriage and needed someone to keep his bed warm. This is different,” Adler says, almost sounding like he really believes it.

“And how is this exactly any different?” she demands.

“Because none of this is real.” He doesn’t know why he says it, but it is the truth- a sliver of it, at least. It’s the first time Adler acknowledges it aloud, though, and in a way, he’s got to thank Park for making him say this. At times, it’s so easy to let the lines become a blur until it’s like looking into a blank sheet of glass. “It’s nothing. Just a ploy to keep her close."

Park is quiet for a while. Adler can tell she still doesn’t approve of any of this, but a pause means uncertainty; it means she’s considering this.

“Christ, Adler,” she says, softer now and shakes her head, once and then again. “You’re putting everything we’ve built on the fucking edge here and if it plummets, do you really think you come back from this?”

“If everything goes according to the plan, then it won’t come to that.” But Park doesn’t look convinced. “Park, trust me. It’s all sewn up. I wouldn’t have done this if the odds weren't in our favor.”

“That doesn’t mean I approve of this… this farce.”

“Listen, I understand your concern, but save it for somewhere else, hmm? I’ve got this,” Adler argues.

“Alright.” She holds a hand up. “Alright, fine. I just thought it would be unconscionable for me if I didn't say anything regarding this."

"And I hear you."

"Oh, you better." Then she spins on her heel to leave and scoffs, as if he's nothing but a lowly piss boy at a tavern. "Men and their cocks."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Later, he tells Bell about his little ‘tête-à-tête’ with Park and to his utmost surprise, Bell snorts and laughs.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” She waves her hand half-heartedly at his confused stare. “Well, it’s not really a nothing, actually, but Park once warned me about you. Told me to give you a- quote-unquote- ‘wide berth’.”

Adler hums, like it’s funny. Maybe it is. Maybe the point of this whole thing is to see who has the last laugh.

“That’s one way to phrase it.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

March 11

Here’s another way to phrase it:

He finds Bell crying that night. It’s 2 am.

A harsh breath escapes her. Sounding like a pained gasp, then she opens her eyes and sits up, her body angling towards the door. Adler watches as Bell stays that way for a solid 2 minutes. There is something way off about her, like she's forgotten whose skin she lives in. She's gripping the bedsheets so hard like she's hurting even if her face is blank.

Honest concern rushes through him. Adler makes his way to her. He stops in front of her and kneels before her by the bed.

“Bell?”

And just like that, the spell breaks. Bell blinks at him. And refocuses.

And then she fucking sobs.

“Bell, what’s wrong?” He places a comforting hand on her shoulder, the other on her cheek. She says nothing. Her whole body’s shaking. “Bell?”

“I can’t,” she chokes out, a wet gurgle sound. “I can’t. I-” she sniffs and groans. “Russell, it hurts.”

“What hurts?”

She’s breathing heavily. Bell grabs his hand on her cheek and holds it, her grip white-knuckled. Then, she drops their joined hands down over her chest. Adler can feel her heart beneath it; beating, alive.

“I don’t know,” Bell squeaks. “Everything. Everything hurts.”

Adler stills, the fear overwhelms him now. “Bell,” he says, careful and slow. “Bell, I’m here, sweetheart.” And pulls her into his arms. He doesn’t know what else there is to do. “It’s alright. I’m here.”

Her crying stops as suddenly as it started. Adler notices the shift, her body going lax before his and she’s slumping against his chest now. She’s asleep.

He gently lays her back onto the bed, tucks her in, rearranges her pillows. Adler doesn’t know how he finds the strength to rise and walk away, but he does.

He walks to the armchair and collapses atop the velvety upholstery.

Bell slips back to dreaming. Peaceful amidst all this mess that keeps on piling in his head.

Adler sits there, like a statue, staring up at the ceiling.

He doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

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“How are you feeling?”

Bell cranes her head and stares at him with the mildest of embarrassment. “I’m okay.” She’s not. There are bags under her eyes; Adler never noticed her pallor beneath her skin, but he sees it now. Everyone in the Safehouse would have guessed the breakdown she had last night. “I’m sorry you had to see all of that.”

Adler ignores her. “Does this happen often?”

“No, that was the first time it happened,” she says, sounding steady enough.

Adler closes his eyes. Shit. He’s pretty sure he’s aged fifty years just about now. The things this operation does to him.

“Then we need to tell Park about this. If she thinks you need a pharmaceutical intervention, I can notify the OMS to switch your medications and we could monitor for any developments from there,” he tells her.

Bell doesn’t react for a while. Then folds her arms over her chest and heads to the chair. She takes a seat. Adler remains standing, pacing; restless and distracted. It’s spiraling, the ticking grows faster. They fucking need more time.

“I don’t know. Sometimes I think maybe we’re trying to fight a losing battle here,” and Bell pauses, her mouth twisting into a sad smile. “Sometimes, I think maybe I’m living on borrowed time.”

Adler glances at her in surprise, his mouth thins. “Bell, don’t say that.”

She leans back in her chair, like she’s about to cry and goes on, “The truth is, I’m very scared of living like this.” Here she is, the woman whose life he has shattered into million pieces and she is showing him every single shard. “Ever since I woke up, I feel like I’m being thrust inside this confusing, never-ending hall of mirrors and I try- I’ve been trying to find the way markers, anything that could get me out of here, but,” she shrugs. “It’s like every turn I make always leads me back to square one and I don’t know what to do about it.”

Adler can only look at her. He can't have this conversation; he doesn’t trust himself for it.

“I’m tired, Russell,” she continues, voice wavering. This time, a tear does fall from her eye. “I’m so, so tired of being so… lost. I’m trying so hard not to lose hope, but hope is not exactly something you could see in a dark room.”

“No.” Adler breathes out the word more than he says it. “No, it’s not. But you have to have it.”

“I know. I do.” She wipes the tear away from her face. Bell looks down at her hands, knotted together in her lap. “It’s you, you know? I know you’re technically my handler, but you do make it easier for me to see in the dark. So, thank you for that.”

Something nonnegotiable crawls over him. She might as well have slapped him, she might as well have put a stake through his heart.

Nonetheless, he moves to sit beside her. Body moving on autopilot. The inward pull of the noose around his neck tightens.

“I’ll be here. I told you I’m not going anywhere, Bell.”

Bell nods, once then again before she starts to cry into his arms. Adler lets her tears ruin his shirt, lets her hold onto the last bit of hope. He feels sick. For the first time since he's destroyed her, he feels poisoned.

“Do you think I'll ever get better?” Bell asks into his shoulder, looking up at him beseechingly. “You know me, do you think I’ll get through this?”

"You will,” he says, slowly, and the trap door opens. His body collapses. Suffocate.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

In the Safehouse, Lazar tapes several documents on the board regarding Hasting’s recent movements and, to Adler’s curiosity, a single note card which reads: “The only victories which leave no regret are those which are gained over ignorance.”

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“So, it's not enough that you brainwashed her, you're also fucking her into submission?”

“It’s not like that.”

Hudson had cornered Adler in the garage earlier. There was that expectant coldness on his face, like anything else can be used against him.

“We need to talk,” he spat out. “Meet me at Die Stube once you’re don-”

“The bar?” Adler interrupted. “What, we’re mixing business with leisure now?”

"No, because I can't exactly shoot you at point-blank range in a public place."

"That didn't seem to be an issue for Michael Corleone."

"Yeah, well, I'm not Michael fucking Corleone." Since Adler isn’t planning on signing up for an early death and for lack of anything else, he agreed.

“You must be desperate,” Hudson continues now. “To do this. What, the girls back at home didn’t do it for you anymore?”

Adler doesn’t take the bait. “Sure. Whatever the fuck you say, Hudson.”

“I’ll admit, I thought you’re above these things.”

“What did Sun Tzu say again? All warfare is based on deception.”

“I’m pretty sure Sun Tzu didn’t tell you to fuck your enemies, Russ,” Hudson drawls.

Adler’s mouth twists. “Is that why we’re here? You, grilling about my personal affairs until I hit well-done?”

“Oh, it’s personal now?”

“Whether it is personal or not, you have no right to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. Let alone on my operation,” Adler says coldly. Hudson’s frown deepens.

“Technically, if you managed to upend this whole operation just because you couldn’t keep it to yourself, I’m the next in line to the throne.”

He should have seen this coming. Hudson only cares for what he can control or who he can undermine and cast out like garbage just to get what he fucking wants. It’s a ruthless game.

Adler leans forward in his stool, places his glass down noisily on the desk. “Listen to me very carefully,” he says. “If you think you can intimidate me and steal everything I have bled and fought for from me, then you really don’t know me at all. You are not in control here, Hudson. If you have problems with the way I operate my operation, then feel free to walk the fuck out like Mason and Woods did.”

“Then tell me something in return,” he’s quick to parry. “If somehow, by a miracle, you get the chance to save her- when push comes to shove and it’s either putting a bullet in her head or not, which one do you choose?”

“You damn well know which one I’d choose.”

Hudson quirks a brow, near mockingly. “Do I?”

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“Are you doing this for us or for yourself?”

Funny, his wife had once asked him the same question, years ago before she took a French exit out of his life.

They had plans. They were supposed to move upstate- a change of scenery would do them good, he’d thought; maybe have kids. They would reinvent and thrive and get together and all that shit married couples around their ages do. They thought they could be happy there.

“Why are you even asking me this? Of course I'm doing this for us."

She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “Sometimes I feel like I hardly know you at all.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

March 12

This is what will happen:

In less than 14 hours from now, they will catch a plane to Cuba. She will be sitting next to him and they will be talking about the weather, the travel magazine she’d bought at the airport.

He will assign her with Lazar and Park for the mission. She will nod and head into the other room to get ready, and he will follow. At this point, he will not remember why he’s doing this- why he’s being this reckless. This dime-store fascination, the corruption that is spreading through their veins; they’re all merely afterthoughts.

He will pull her into his arms and kiss her. “Be careful,” he will say.

And she will nod- don’t worry, it will say- and pull away from him. They’d done this before. The familiarity had scared him then, it will scare him now.

“I’ll see you on the other side, milyj,” Bell will reply. She will walk out of that door. He will let that happen.

Oh, he will let so many things happen.

But there is only now . And now Adler and Bell are reading in her hotel room. Now, Louis Armstrong is playing on the radio, crooning a song he’s once heard before. Again, there is something so irrationally domestic and quiet to this; a life that is normal enough to belong to anyone who makes up the landscape of anything average.

She is with him, and he’s with her. It’s as simple as that.

Bell is sitting across from him on the armchair, knees pulled up to her chest. She’s watching him, grinning.

Adler looks up from his book.

He chuckles low.

"What are you smiling about?” he asks kindly, his mouth stretches in a line that mirrors her own.

Bell shakes her head. "Nothing.”

Adler lifts an eyebrow. He puts aside his book on the coffee table. The smile never leaves his face as he says, “Come here.”

She does. Bell gets to her feet, giddy and impatient, and crosses the distance between them. Adler pulls her wrist closer and she straddles him on the couch.

Adler tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Tell me?”

Bell doesn’t say a thing for a beat, but her face grows serious. There is a lack of knowledge of what’s about to come out of her mouth.

"I like this," she tells him, gesturing to the world around them: her book he was reading, his shirt clinging onto her lithe frame, the music that is playing, the pale sunlight creeping through the sheer curtains- this little corner of the world they’ve been hiding together for the past few days.

"Me too."And he knows without a doubt that he means it.

Adler really can’t help himself- not when it comes to her. He knows that now. He feels like Bell might understand him fully, if he lets her; that she’s the reflection he sees in his hall of mirrors- and his opposite; that he’s that lost, that lonely too, despite everything he’s done.

He doesn’t really know what any of this means, he never did. He’s crossed that line- or if there was even a line in the first place and now he could not return.

Park was right, you don’t come back from this, no matter what will happen.

You just don’t.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

March 13

He heard the explosion through his earpiece and the first line of thought that hit him was Bell.

The plane seems to be swallowing him up. Adler runs a hand through his messy hair. His gloves are hot and sticky with blood. His hair’s permeated with it too now. Ocaña and D'alessio are looking at him worriedly. They heard it too, the moment the RPG hit them. The look on their faces tell him that nothing good can come out of this, but Adler refuses to cling to mere assumptions.

“We’ve got contact on the Ground team.” The pilot’s comm buzzes and Ocaña quickly rise from his seat, makes his way to answer.

“Did we manage to get all of them?” he asks, looking sidelong at Adler.

“Negative. Confirmed contact on one personnel, over.”

The three men exchange looks with each other.

Something cold lurches in Adler’s chest. “One?”

At that very moment, Adler’s earpiece crackles.

“-dler, do yo-” the line goes static, “ead me?”

Park.

“Park,” he exhales, almost like a relief. “What the fuck happened? What’s your status?”

“We’ve been compromised. Bell-” another static, “ She-” A gunshot rings on her end. “-eft us. I don’t have much time,” her voice grows shaky, like she’s holding back tears.

Did he hear that right? “What did you say?” Adler asks. “Park, did Bell abandon you down there?”

Adler can hear a man barking in Spanish on her other end, followed by another gunshot. He thinks he hears Lazar screaming, but he does think he’s losing focus here.

He approaches the pilot cabin. He’s shaking so hard with repressed anger, frustration. This is all so fucked up. He needs to do something about this.

“Park, listen to me. We’re coming back to get you and Lazar, do you hear me? So, sit tight,” he yells. “We're coming back for you two.”

“No.” And then: “I’ve done my part,” she utters slowly, an invocation passed by one soldier to another on the battlefield, their enemies growing closer on the horizon and something switched behind Adler’s eyes.

“Now it’s your turn.”

One final gunshot and the line goes dead.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Notes: sooooooooo, yeah, please don't kill me. also the song that is playing on march 12 section is louis armstrong's we have all the time in the world, so if you know you know.

#russell adler x bell #russell adler #adler x bell #cod bell #cod #call of duty #call of duty black ops #call of duty cold war #cod cold war #alex mason #frank woods #helen park #lawrence sims #jason hudson #lazar azoulay #vikhor stitch kuzmin #vikhor kuzmin

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justalads · 3 years ago

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c!niki and c!wilbur enjoyers. pspspspspspsps

alright guys so last night i rewatched pretty much all of the pogtopia arc. and this isn’t meant to be a big, important analysis post (it’s kind of incomprehensible), because my brain is fried from, you know. rewatching pretty much all of pogtopia. but i do have some stuff i’d like to say.

(this also just became a niki meta sorry i love her. i really just got emo about her during the second half of this and it got long. i have a lot of feelings about her and wilbur’s friendship.)

it’s a pretty general conclusion that wilbur’s real “downfall” began on october 8th, during the stream “who are you go away”. of course, his spiral and the process of him losing faith had begun much earlier, more around the end of the first war or during the election. but the big switch, so to say, was definitely here, when as wilbur walks back from schlatt’s announcement, he asks tommy if they’re the bad guys.

this entire scene was so interesting to me. wilbur here is a man who has lost hope, someone who is backed into a corner morally and has nothing left. he points out that they can never really reclaim l’manburg without forever tainting it, and that schlatt knows this. the entire half an hour or so before, schlatt has been taunting wilbur about losing that power. the emphasis of the festival on “democracy” is so clearly a barb thrown at wilbur, and it works.

wilbur’s “nothing left to lose” in this vod is a mirror to niki’s “you know what they say about a woman who has nothing left to lose”. this will not be the first time they mirror each other.

basically, wilbur’s angry. when schlatt announced the festival, wilbur realized that maybe it wasn’t a terrible thing. so once he worked around into the mindset of “we’re the bad guys”, he was able to justify saying he was going to blow up the nation with no remorse. he wants chaos! he wants no survivors!

does he do it? god no.

during the streams leading up to november 16th, wilbur is consistently scared. he goes back and forth on it, and makes multiple “conditions” that determine whether he’s going to do it or not, almost begging someone to stop him. he whispers to himself that he’s scared, that his hands are shaking, that he’s not sure if it’s the right thing to do. because despite what he says about “not caring about any of them”, the instant niki is threatened after tubbo’s death, wilbur walks up to schlatt and tells him that if he’s going to kill anyone it should be him. later, when quackity and tommy talk him down from pressing the button, he can’t press it because they’re there and he can’t bring himself to kill them as well.

but he has no problems with putting his own life at risk. he refuses to wear armor half the time, and actively places himself in harm’s way to save others. he still cares about everyone else, as much as he says he doesn’t. even when he does cause harm to others, during november 16th, he immediately begs phil to kill him. “look, they all want you to.” he can’t live with what he’s done, and how he’s hurt people, but he couldn’t allow manburg to continue.

the man is terrified and angry and he can’t win. and even as he tries to stuff himself into the mind of someone who doesn’t care, he cannot. when he finally does, he cannot live with being that person.

but the reason i rewatched this arc was to see niki’s point of view, especially after her statements during her last stream. i genuinely think that wilbur’s only betrayal of her was pressing the button, because he betrayed everyone. they might have known he was going to do it, but they had faith he wouldn’t.

wilbur cared a lot about niki. her life under schlatt was awful, wilbur hated that she was suffering, and the scene where wilbur plants himself directly in the center of the festival and tells schlatt to kill him instead hits pretty hard. he has the argument with schlatt, and then turns to niki and tells her to run. he then hits people and sprints away, trying to give her time to escape.

this is also when he asks her to join pogtopia, because now that schlatt has said he’d kill her, it’s a safer place for her.

so the man did care about her. niki is angry at the memory of him that she has. it’s been twisted by time and her own grief and paranoia.

in rewatching pogtopia, i realized that a lot of people hate the memory of wilbur. not him, and what he did. they think he didn’t care. and to quote hamilton (apologies):

“history obliteratesit paints me in all my mistakes”

does niki have a right to be mad at him? absolutely. he caused direct harm to her by blowing up l’manburg, once it was reclaimed. but she’s wrong that he never cared.

(an interesting note: wilbur only blows it up after techno starts fighting people outside. he hears it, and says “look, they’re fighting”. he didn’t re-initiate the conflict of the country. the fact that even after peace was won people were fighting just gave evidence to his belief that the entire country was corrupted.)

niki has been hurt a lot, and wilbur has things to answer for. but we as the audience know that her statements are just her perception. she is a character who acts on perceptions. the entire stream was in black and white. during doomsday, upon seeing wilbur log on (as ghostbur), niki has a panic attack and destroys her bakery, trying to rid herself of the pain of the memories. her lines during this stream are chilling, whispered repetitions that are a mirror of wilbur’s end.

(paraphrased, it was long and confusing but there are a few bits and this was the essence of it)

“wilbur is gone. this isn’t happening. he is dead. l’manburg is gone.”“it is real, i am real, he is real and he is dead.”“l’manburg is gone, i am real, i am l’manburg”.

(god. dude i could spend Months analyzing this one stream alone. there’s so much here.)

doesn’t that sound a bit like “my unfinished symphony”? wilbur and niki both attach their own self to the nation they fought for, and can see it as an extension of themself. they both destroy parts of it in acts of fear, attempting to save everyone else from what they’ve made.

what i pulled away from niki’s stream is that she’s not healing. i remember the chamber she locks herself in at night. i remember her refusal to eat. i remember how she was so angry at tommy, and she later realized that anger was misguided. niki genuinely believes that wilbur did not care about her, and that’s not surprising: when he died, she denied the fact that he was gone. she represses the things that she can’t handle, same as lots of other people. it is easier for her to pin her hurt on wilbur, because she needs somewhere to pin it. people feel more in control if they’re angry, not sad.

the song cc!niki said was for her character really emphasizes this. it’s a coping mechanism.

but even condemning wilbur won’t help, because she will still never get closure. niki cares about what others think of her, and so she can’t move on from someone hurting her. she can’t move on because she thinks he hated her. she is angry that he is back, but it is an opportunity for her to heal. she couldn’t heal when he was gone. she’s not the only one with a negative perception of wilbur, after all. he has one too. the two of them really need to talk.

i want niki to be healthy and safe. i want to see her heal so badly, and i do think it will happen. after wilbur died, his betrayal of her stayed with her, and it eventually became her memory of the betrayal that she hated, not the thing itself. it’s been months since it happened. niki wants to find an outlet for her hurt, because she wants to feel better. there’s a pattern i noticed: she only gets mad at people once she hasn’t seen the person themself for a while. and once she sees them and talks to them, and realizes that they care about her and don’t want to hurt her, she stops blaming them for it. she only hates her perception of them. example one? tommy.

man was in exile for a long time, and when he came back he “brought” fighting. that’s how niki saw it. but the fact that after she spent time with tommy (trying to kill him but. details, details) she forgave him because she saw it wasn’t his fault is a really good sign.

i genuinely think that speaking to wilbur will help niki, and it will also help wilbur. after all, they both hate wilbur. the entire perception of wilbur as some heartless, crazy manipulator needs to be shattered for both of their sakes. they both buy into it.

i want niki to know that others care about her, and that she has places she can feel safe. she hates that wilbur is invading the syndicate, because she’s scared of his memory hurting her. i don’t think wilbur will hurt her on purpose, because even though he sees himself as awful, he doesn’t hate her. he never did. usually, with people who have hurt someone else, i want them as far away from the person they hurt as possible. if wilbur does hurt niki i’ll probably cry. but again, it’s not him that hated her, or really him that hurt her in the way she thinks he did. when wilbur was dead, niki didn’t get any better. her memory of him festered and made her feel worse. that’s also why niki killing wilbur or hurting him somehow wouldn’t help her heal. i want wilbur to explain that he didn’t hate her. is wilbur even close to self aware enough to help niki? nah. this is going to take a Long time, and it’s going to hurt.

last thing i swear lol

during niki’s stream, she says that wilbur manipulated her. again, i watched pogtopia last night, and i’ve watched the rest of season one recently as well. i genuinely don’t see it. but i do think i know why she said it.

during season one, wilbur doesn’t manipulate niki. he doesn’t have a chance to later, he’s dead. so then, what is she talking about? of course it’s a perception, same as a lot of her other claims. i think she’s talking about how she cared for l’manburg.

niki joined the server as wilbur’s friend, to join his nation. she grew to care for l’manburg. she devoted herself to it, same as he did. but doomsday showed us that she hates that. in niki’s eyes, l’manburg only brought pain for people, and because she ties herself to it, she hates that she ever cared about it. she can’t allow herself to care for it, because it was used to hurt. so how does she cope with knowing that she once did? she pretends she didn’t.

if she can convince herself that it was wilbur who convinced her to care about l’manburg, she can avoid blaming herself for her own pain. and yeah, she shouldn’t blame herself for it. it’s not her fault. the entire situation is tragic and a little hopeless and once again really makes me hope that she recovers. l’manburg was ruined for her by others. schlatt, techno, dream, wilbur. again another place where she and wilbur are similar: they convince themselves they never cared about l’manburg because of the hurt it caused.

to summarize: wilbur’s going to get a shock soon. don’t know when, but probably the prison visit. something is going to shake his perception, the story is hurtling towards that. once he is able to take responsibility for what he did, and feel safe (because a lot of what he does now is out of fear of being alone or useless), then he and niki need to talk. niki needs something to get her out of her own head. she’s spiraling too. they are essential to each other’s recovery because of how much they meant (and mean) to each other.

anyways i miss early season one niki i liked it when she was happy :(

~ Lad 2

#wilbur #c!wilbur #niki #c!niki #dreamsmp #dsmp #mcyt #rp #long post #dreamsmp analysis #dsmp analysis #revivedbur #pogtopia #lad speaks

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carrotmakar · 4 years ago

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fic recs january 2021

hi guys!! okay so i got to thinking and i’ve seen a lot of these posts around so i made my own!! i think that fic rec masterposts are such a great way to support writers and get more people to have the chance of seeing fics!!! plus i’m leaving a bit of feedback too :))

if you know of any fics that you’d like to share a little love on / you’d like me to read so that i can reblog and give it a little love, send me an ask with the title and the author’s url!!!

so here it is, all the fics that i read in january 2021 (and the very end of december but i’m including them anyway)

total number of fics listed: 92 (series counted as a single piece)

@moonchildstyles

aster / tattoo artist harry aster | daffodil | sweet pea | gardenia | poppy

i read this entire series at like 8 am after not sleeping the night before and oh my god i was literally so soft!! like this is so fucking cute i literally felt like i was going to throw up the entire time (in the best way yk) like omg the butterflies i got from this series? unmatched. also, i feel that it’s necessary to add the part of this that made my heart absolutely explode: Harry’s thumb stroked her jawline, a smile molding his features. “Y’not a baby love, unless you want to be my baby. And I like you a lot, too. And stuff. like okay kill me <3

alright so h is literally so sweet in this one!! he’s so gentle and lovely and i truly fell in love with him in the very first few paragraphs. and he’s so out of tune with everything but he’s trying his best to understand and just... sigh. “I’d look forever for you, if I had to.” love love love this line so much it’s literally the perfect way to tie everything together

this is very creepy during the first chapter but in such a good way!!! i literally found myself gasping and i barely ever vocally react to a fic unless i am squealing at the fluff or crying but i vocally react to lindsee’s fics literally they are so good pleaseee. and omg the growth throughout this fic truly is impeccable i swear.

@gucciwins

adore you

okay this is so cute!!! loved every single word of it!!! there was a bit of angst at the very beginning that had my heart hurting but it was all mended by the end!!! the dad!harry content was absolutely immaculate omg i literally loved reading about atticus!!!!! i absolutely love long pieces and i think that this piece was the perfect length!! there were so many things that were packed in there but it didn’t seem rushed or jumbled or anything like that!!!!

@soysauceharry

watashi no sakura

okay first things first, i love japanrry in any form so i knew just by looking at the description that i was going to love this regardless of what was in it. to be honest i didn’t expect him to have a penny board that he used to get everywhere but there’s something so cute about that to me. throughout this entire fic, i was so amazed at the way that their relationship moved along so naturally and at such a good pace. i feel like there’s an art to making things move along at the right pace, and you definitely have that down!! i truly loved this fic so much and will probably be coming back at times to reread!

@havethetimeofyourstyles

143

i am very in love with this!!! boxer!h is so freaking yummy plus it’s so well written that i can feel everything, which is so amazing. i love that i’m able to feel all the emotions and picture everything while reading!! my heart broke a bit for harry while he was sad and just looking for love in any way he could find it. like mega sigh. also, i love the way that the characters are introduced. like, y/n doesn’t come at the very beginning but it’s so natural when she’s finally introduced. and omg the interactions that they had??? the reassurances??? *chef’s kiss*

baby, it’s cold outside

before i even started reading this, i knew i would love it!!! teacher!h has a special place in my heart for some reason i truly love him so much!! oh my god the yearning in this piece is so heartbreaking!!!! i literally read through the entire thing thinking that i was going to cry because of how much i could feel y/n and harry yearning for each other. sigh this is so cute i will definitely be rereading (most likely multiple times)

bright & blooming

ahhh this is literally so cute i live for the long distance friendships + only seeing each other over the summer!!! that is literally so amazing to me that you love someone that much to wait all year to only see them for a month!!! and this was such a good representation of the love and yearning that come with that!!! and i absolutely adore the way that you described each of them and their nicknames for each other!!!! love love love!!!

where the world takes you

this is my study abroad dream!!!!! the loveliness of them meeting and drunk!harry is just so sweet i love it so much!!! and the way that the flashback is in the middle and explains everything is so genius!!! and the full circle of it all makes me so happy!!! also the way that i cried at the end of the four months!! like that was heartbreaking but everything was pieced back together as it went along!!!

extra credit

this is prof!h so you know it’s great!!! i am such a sucker for this au i swear. this was so cute!! the way that everything progressed and the confession and the tension!!!! and then the “Yours.” at that one part had me screaming!!! and the way that he literally had a plan oh my god that’s so cute!!!! i love their dynamic so much!!!

deep sleep

this is so :) :( :) :( if that makes sense!! like i love love love dad!harry but there are just a few things that make me want to sob <3 i absolutely adore it though!!!!! it’s very sweet how mr. styles comes out here comforting as he should!!!!

beautiful inside & out

this is so sweet oh my god it’s beautifully written and i really felt everything that was going on!! personally, i’m not a person of color, but i think that this piece truly was written so wonderfully and it’s very lovely!!!! the insecurities made me literally want to cry, but the way that h was there to comfort was very nice, it made me so soft!!

admiring

this is so sweet!! the background snippet in there is so well done i love getting to know exactly how they met!!! and the way that harry’s being admired is just!!! so good!!!! like i love the descriptions and the feelings connected to that!!!! the entire thing is just so cute!!

for your eyes only

i shed tears reading this!! like it is so sad but also so happy!! i know that makes no sense but there was just a sense of my heart breaking and then it being put back together again and i love that!!! definitely a fantastic use of ‘if i could fly’ which is one of my fav one direction songs so that’s just a plus honestly!!!

@greenorangevioletgrass

to feel good

miss ava!!!! coming out strong with your first harry fic!!!! it’s so lovely, so pure, so sweet!!!! the memories that are included make everything that much better!!! the flashback really fills out everything nicely!!! the interaction that the two of them had at the end was so comforting to read like... that’s literally one of the most wonderful endings i’ve ever experienced on a fic like this!!!

@adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy

demon!harry angel!y/n - a total of 51 blurbs, drabbles, and one-shots demon!y/n - a total of 8 blurbs, drabbles, and one-shots

yeah okay so there are...... a lot of things here so i’ll do a demon!harry + angel!y/n feedback thingy and a different one for demon!harry + demon!y/n demon!harry + angel!y/n: he’s such an asshole but he’s... already kinda turning soft like... he’s already got the little simp showing through!! “ When it comes to love, if it doesn’t hurt, it isn’t fun.” i’ll cry right here right now what the fuck is this?? sigh. “Tell me…” He gulps thickly, licking his burning lips in anticipation, “tell me you want me. Tell me this— whatever this is— tell me it’s real.” yeah that made me almost scream literally shut up andrea. also not me reading this and literally sobbing at some of the pieces like... no <3 “I promise on my soul— as damned as it may be— that I will not let anything bad happen to you. I swear.” i literally want to set myself on fire what the hell the things your brain comes up with literally what the fuck. i literally read all 51 pieces in a day and cried a million times but they were just because i’m soft for simprry. demon!harry + demon!y/n: okay so i am writing this after i’ve read the first two pieces and.... that escalated quite quickly i would say!!! if you like smut, you’ll like this!!!!!! if you like smut just go to andrea she’s got you!!!!! and we see some more simprry but not full swing because he doesn’t want to admit that he’s wrapped around her finger!!! and the way they’re not exclusive but they’re each other’s? *chef’s kiss*

@jawllines

harry is the bad boy cliché of y/n’s dreams, she just doesn’t know it yet

this is so very sweet, so very soft!! all the pet names have me crying omg it’s literally one of the cutest things!!!! the way harry is so soft for her and he’s just so sweet and so obvious about his feelings even though she doesn’t completely see it is so sweet!!!!

harry’s a porn star and y/n is new

i love their dynamic here!! they automatically click and everything between them is so genuine and lovely!!! the way that they care about each other so immensely even though they haven’t known each other that long is so beautiful!!

harry is y/n’s dominant

okay obviously this is like... smut but it’s so much more than that!!! their relationship is so sweet and lowkey domestic even from the very beginning and i love the trust that they have in each other!!! very cute!! and the ending was so so perfect!!!

y/n works in a roller rink and harry goes there to read

literally so sweet!!! the shy, kinda introverted h is to ide for!!!! and the way that they’re so cute together ahhh!!!!!! and i absolutely love the way that they support each other and are falling for each other before they even admit that they are!!!!

harry’s a vampire and y/n never dresses for the weather

i love how when they met it wasn’t on great terms and he couldn’t get her off his mind so he was like “no, stay away!” but he was already so whipped for her and then!!!! when he asked how to be warm for her??? that made me so soft i literally thought i was going to cry.

harry and y/n are best friends and y/n isn’t his “type” (or so she’s heard)

this is so absolutely soft!!! they’re so whipped for each other and don’t even know it!!! and miss y/n hearing things made my heart break but all was well at the end!!! love love love!!! the entire dynamic that they have is so fun plus there were peeks of jealous h so that’s always a win!!!

y/n and harry don’t really mesh well, until they do

we love a bit of an enemies to lovers moment!! and the whole “y/n’s being a good friend to jeff, that’s it” and the tension and the drunk cuteness and literally all of it, it’s so wonderful!! harry being a softie is one of my weaknesses and although he’s a bit mean at first, he redeems himself!!

harry’s on the football team and y/n steals a dog

this is absolutely so cute!!! y/n has such a beautiful little personality and harry feeling things with her even though his “reputation” is different than hanging out with people like her is so great!! and the way that he takes up for her and the way that she comforts him is so lovely!!

harry is y/n’s grumpy neighbor and he has a secret part 2

this is actually the second time that i’ve read this fic tbh!! it’s just so good!! the dynamic of him trying to stay away from her because it’s dangerous for her to be too close to him and then him trying even harder to stay away from her and hide his feelings only for her to make a move is golden.

y/n pretends to be harry’s girlfriend

okay this one hurt a bit at first. i wanted to flick h in the forehead at first for trying to make someone else jealous with y/n but he redeemed himself as he does so i shall let him off the hook this time haha. i think that the way that they progress is so sweet plus!!! everyone loves a good fake dating au!!!

werewolves exist... pt. 2

this is the first werewolf au i’ve read in a while and it’s actually really good!! i love how everything progressed and the way that harry was like.... this isn’t supposed to happen like this!!!! it’s all very cute and it’s very enemies to lovers-esque even though they aren’t enemies lmao

y/n delivers sweets and harry lives on the side of a mountain

this made me so sad tbh like... the fact that they treated harry so bad just because they judged him before they know him makes me so sad and i really wanted to punch some people but it’s a fictional universe so i can’t actually do that lol. but the way that y/n was with him made me so soft i really love this piece

y/n is on harry’s tour crew and harry just think’s she’s lovely

y/n is so sweet in this piece!!! it makes my heart hurt when harry gets overwhelmed and snaps but thankfully everything is well in the end and he gets his act together so that he can realize what is truly important!!!

harry is y/n’s criminology instructor part 2

this dynamic is an automatic yes and that’s on my love for this au. anyway, the way that he was like “it’s just a kiss” made me absolutely want to scream but i didn’t and thankfully i didn’t write him off as a prick because he’s actually so sweet and he takes care of her and loves her and just... he’s everything.

harry used y/n as a model for his art final

i wanted to smack harry upside the head so hard when he kept talking about his crush when y/n just wanted a good partner. thankfully he finally saw the light and realized that the only thing he wants is y/n by his side because y/n is there for him and cares about him and loves him

#fic recs #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #i was reading SO MUCH at the beginning of january but i've kinda dropped off :(#i'm hoping to read more this upcoming month though!!#i have three fics that i want to read before i go to bed but they'll be on the next list :)

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asexualone · 3 years ago

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(pls take the time to read)

Signs I should have known I was aro: Disney edition

I think this topic has been stressed a lot already. But here is my take, anyway.

Of course, romantic love had been, is and will always be one of the main themes in kids' movies. Why, I can never fully understand. I'll explain below how I like other themes more.

Some time ago, I did a post on the kiss/hug scenes in Rapunzel which depicts how much more I value acts of showing love that don't include kissing.

Not only those two. I have a history of hating Disney on-screen smooches. As a kid, I thought, "Well, maybe, I don't like seeing these characters kiss because it's a grownup thing."

Could you blame me? When my parents were in the room and a kissing scene appeared on the screen, they changed the channel. So my toddler brain concluded that the reason I didn't like watching kisses was because I wasn't of age to like it. Or something.

At the time, I had no idea that I was hand-picking my favorite movies by the level of romance they had in. Or lack thereof. And I was a very judgemental kid. Let's go through my original thoughts on some Disney classics.

Snow White — No. Just no. She's a child, fourteen. Marrying an older guy she doesn't even know. After he kisses her corpse. NO.

Cinderella — The age difference is a little better, I guess. So is the age of consent. But they only talked one (1) night and he relied on that slipper to find her instead of asking to meet all women and see for himself. Fairytale logic I guess. I didn't like how she called it love immediately and kissed the prince at least once that same night. Or how they got married immediately.

The Sleeping Beauty — Must I even explain? Aurora didn't even know Philip that much, had only met him once (if you exclude the "dreams"). And yet, he's her true love, the only one who can revive her corpse. Ridiculous. And yes, kissing a comatose body, ew. Also, the arranged marriage trope pisses me off, royalty or not. Aurora was engaged as a newborn baby, come on.

Mulan — Cinematic gold. I didn't know it back then, but the fact that romantic love is such a pushed-aside aspect in this movie gives me life. The songs give me life. Especially when the trio dresses as concubines and "Be a Man" plays in the background. An absolute gem, lmao. The sequel however ruined the story somewhat for me, too much lovey-dovey stuff. I like Mulan more when she's fighting than when she's acting all sappy towards Shang, sorry not sorry.

Peter Pan — Loved it, still do. But I did dislike the mermaids, the image of fangirls who are petty towards other girls. And Pan's brief "relationship" with Tiger Lily was nauseating to me. I couldn't explain it but when Pan blushed at her nose-nuzzling thing, I always pulled a face.

The Princess and the Frog — In my opinion, (remember, always my opinion): Tiana, this hard-working girl who doesn't belong to anyone, was lost to love. Well, not lost. But falling for Naveen in the course of three days? Unrealistic and kinda unnecessary. Sweet, but still. I adored the "relationship" between Ray and Evangeline more. Either way, it's a movie that I enjoyed when love wasn't that prominent on screen.

Aladdin — I love this movie because of the Genie. The relationship between Jasmine and Aladdin is meh. She forgot his face and didn't recognize him until later. Their coming together is a lot like that trope "first guy who treats her right sets the expectations and wins her heart". Usually that's a thing, not only in Disney movies but media in general. The female lead settles for the first guy that treats her right because the bar is that low. A good movie, all in all. Love how Jasmine stands up for herself at least. Not a lot of princesses fight against the objectification of women.

Pocahontas — I used to hate this movie. I didn't sit right with me: the racism in it, the manipulation, the murders. And the romance, yes. Pocahontas fell for the strange man who tickled her curiosity in the span of two days. I also hated how her father just sold her to marry Kocoum like that. I know it's tradition. Heck, that's a tradition that still goes on in my country. Maybe that's why I didn't like seeing it on screen. And Pocahontas doesn't even end up with John Smith. The second movie definitely ruined the story. So yes, she's the first princess who fell for a man in three days, TWICE. Needless to say, only the songs kept me from blacklisting the movie entirely.

The Little Mermaid — I actually loved this movie for some reason. I can't explain why, maybe it was my obsession with mermaids. Yeah, that was probably it. But I was pissed when Ariel exchanged her tail for legs. Not to mention human periods and overall, all the bad in the world, for a man she'd only seen once. As I grew up I realized just how f*cked up that story was: Ariel giving her entire lifestyle, family and identity up for a guy she hadn't even spoken to. I don't know why I loved that movie, alright? Hell I still do a little. The sequel too. Say what you want.

Brave — (I know this is technically Pixar, shut up) Much like the paradox with Ariel, I didn't like this movie. I can't explain it. Maybe because Merida wasn't the typical Disney princess I had been used to seeing. Now though, I ADORE that story. No, it's not because Merida knows archery... Okay, yes maybe a little. I love the aro-arrow word play, alright? Anyway, the way Merida fights against being shipped to a husband like the "tradition" I aforementioned asks her to, has always had my heart, even when I didn't like the movie. The focus on the mother-daughter relationship is special, I love it. Stellar movie.

Tangled — One of my favorite Disney movies, my favorite princess. But her relationship with Eugene.... Well. Again, three days. That's all it takes to fall in love. Classic of Disney. Not only that, but Eugene is literally the first man person Raps has ever since, besides Gothel. The bar is nonexistent for her, she would have fallen for anyone. He lied to her and she still... Well, I won't stress that any longer. Their relationship in the end is sweet, one of the few cases where we are actually shown that they would risk their lives to save each other. Respect that. Mostly, I love her magical hair and Pascal. And the guys of Snuggly Duckling.

Moana — EPIC MOVIE. The story, the culture, the character growth, the plot twist, everything! Loved it at first sight, at second and forever. Even more when I became aware that there's no romance in it. I don't think I need to say more.

Frozen — My opinions on this movie have always been changing, accompanied by mixed feelings. So the relationship between sisters was cute, but Lilo and Stitch made that more realistic. Anna's relationship with Hans, ugh. I think that for a long time I used the fact that he was the antagonist to justify my absolute hate for the way Anna "fell" for him in one evening. Again, Anna sweetheart. This is the first man you've met. The bar is nonexistent for you too. God bless Elsa for forbidding her to marry Hans. And while it's cute to think Elsa as a lesbian, she has aromantic vibes. Sorry not sorry, but she's also a God by the end of Frozen 2. Gods are beyond attraction, I said what I said.

Raya and the Last Dragon — Loved it, still do. Say what you will about "dragon Elsa". Sisu is her own character, and I adore her. And yes, I love the lack of romance in the movie. Make no mistake, I shipped Raya and Namaari from the first moment they smiled at each other. I swear on my name that I paused the movie and screamed, GAYYYY, at the top of my lungs. Luckily, I was home alone. If only Disney directors would do the right fcking thing and give me a queer main couple!! I swear I wouldn't mind the lovey-dovey romance one bit.

Of course, I've left dozens of movies out. This post is already way longer than I wanted it to be. But I think that was enough to make a point.

While I'm not romance-repulsed, seeing animated kisses (and unnecessary relationships) on screen makes me uncomfortable. As a child and as a grownup. It just doesn't sit right with me. Not to mention all these princesses who identify with their princes and specifically their relationships with said princes when they're perfect on their. Wreck it Ralph 2 made them a favor, I think, by making them work together and showing their strengths. Another movie I love.

Friendship just makes an overall better theme to apply to kids shows, my opinion. Family, work, self-discovery, mental health, happiness. These are all better themes to portray in media dedicated for children. Which is, again, my opinion.

And yes, Disney has been getting better. They've fixed the age difference and the age of consent. The female characters no longer depend on the male ones, at least not as often. They understand the assignment, alright. There are still many questionable things about Disney's reputation though, things we all choose to overlook for the sake of the good movies. But who knows? They might change. Hopefully soon we'll also have an obviously queer couple in a movie. Hope dies last.

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draco-spencers-paramour · 4 years ago

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congrats for 300 followers! can I request a 🖤 with draco they have a sort of arrangement where everyday after work he goes to her house eats her out and have sex and then he leaves. they never talk but are catching feelings so one day when he comes as usual. Instead of him going down on her she gives him head and asks him to stay the night when they talk and finally confess?

This description is dirty af.....i love that😉

What you don’t know can’t hurt you

You never expected that after the war the person who helped you forget about the painful memories was the one and only Draco Malfoy.

You had spoken a few times, nothing serious. It was evident that you were both attractive people and there was a mutual awareness of that. Nothing really happened until after the war when school ended. Both of you were left broken and sad, ending up at the 3 broomsticks and then fucking back at yours an hour and a half later after at least 4 drinks about 6 weeks since you’d left hogwarts.

Draco had a job as an auror and you were a healer. Your arrangement was simple. He enjoyed going down on you much to your delight, and sex. But he never gave you the opportunity to do oral on him. Being the gracious person that you are, you wanted to return the favour but no. Because then it was over and he’d leave.

This had been going on for 6 months straight. You and him both trying to find some kind of release and comfort. The only issue was that you both became absolutely head over heels for each other but you had a fear of messing things up and ruining your arrangement which stopped your confessions of love. He longed for you, silently pining in desperation for one of you to just say something. Whereas you thought he just needed someone to use to fulfill his sex life, like his own personal fucktoy. Not that you minded but it did make you feel like shit after he left.

However, would you even call Draco your friend? Or was he just a lover..a regular hookup? you weren’t sure but you wanted more than oral and sex. It was mind-blowing but there was not much interaction though just whining of names, moaning and curse words. Even when you’d see each other in the street or at gatherings, you’d exchange the soft hello and not say a word to each other for the rest of the night but would probably leave together to go and fuck at yours.

Tonight was the same weekday routine. You finished your shift at St. Mungos before coming into your apartment in Godric’s Hollow. You got undressed had a shower and put a robe on before sitting on your couch with a mug of tea practically waiting for the boy you loved to knock on the door. And he did.

You swung the door open to see Draco looking rather upset. ‘You alright?’ you asked. He nodded before entering the room and you swiftly shut the door. He placed his work bag down before turning around and immediately placing his lips on yours. You became dizzy and light headed from the emotion he was pouring into the kiss. He must’ve had a really bad day you thought. He picked you up and pinned you against the door, lips never leaving yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist as you submitted full control to him, the bottom of your robe hiking up around your legs almost exposing you bare as his hand travelled along your thigh.

Draco carried you to the bedroom like it was second nature and laid you down on the bed. He began to kiss down your neck as per usual trailing down to your panties. You really wanted to give him full pleasure tonight so you stopped him at your navel by tapping him on the shoulder. ‘Could we switch tonight? maybe i go down on you instead?’ you bit your lip nervous at his reponse. He gave a small smile ‘If you want.’

You smirked and flipped you both over so that he was against the bed lying down. You slowly and teasingly removed your robe. Draco’s icy eyes were over taken by his pupils and his lips parted at the sight of your beautiful naked body. You removed his shirt before sinking to your knees, on the carpet, below the bed and began unbuckling his belt. You took of his trousers and boxers in one swift movement so that he too was now naked. Draco’s dick was prominently standing up against his stomach when you then slowly wrapped your hand around his length and licked up from the base to his tip.

He threw his head back and moaned ‘Oh god y/n, good girl’ this encouraged you to slip your lips around him and slide his cock in and out of your mouth. Draco kept moaning, grunting and swearing as you explored different pressures and boundaries. ‘Fucking hell..i’m gonna-.’ he said as you took him all in and sucked lightly. He gave a long low moan as he came in your mouth and you swallowed every bit of it.

you came up to kiss him which he gladly accepted and flipped the dynamic again with him on top. he pressed your hips into the mattress as he slotted his body in between your legs whilst his mouth was still on yours. He looked at you with an expression you’d never quite seen before. It was soft, curious and lustful almost bordeline loving. He then looked at you as to say ready?

you nodded and smiled before feeling the tip of his cock rub against your clit making you moan softly. Immediately after, you felt what you had been waiting for. Draco. His dick entered you slowly and he set a slow pace. He put his head in the crook of your neck and began kissing and panting. The pressure of the pleasure was too much for you both. The slow pace was absolutely fucking heaven. You were both on cloud 9, involuntarily clenching around him with every thrust. This was not sex, he was making love to you.

‘Oh Draco. Yes...yes..more.’ you whined. He moved his head to suck on your tits as he was fucking into you. That was what pushed you over the edge and you screamed out a string of expletives along with draco’s name as you orgasmed and clenched around his cock. Seconds later he met with his own release cumming inside you, pulling you into a kiss as he came.

Draco slumped on top of you waiting to catch his breath. You knew it would be about another 30 seconds before he got up dressed himself and left. Just as you predicted he stood up, out of the bed and went to the carpet where his clothes were and began to put his trousers back on. No you thought you couldn’t go on like this any longer.

Before your brain could even stop you the word fell out. ‘Stay’ you said, terrified. He blinked and look at the ground and then back up at you and it was simply ‘Okay, sure.’ He removed his trousers being naked once more and climbed back into your bed with you. Draco’s arms instantly came around your waist and you put your leg across his stomach, rested your head on his chest and put your arm across too. You were cuddling Draco Malfoy post-sex.....this does not happen ever **The beautiful boy laid there looking up the at ceiling as you just looked at him

Your eyes finally met ‘You know, we don’t actually speak very much, if at all. Everytime we see each other we say hi but then we don’t talk.’ Draco pursed his lips ‘I don’t know how to speak to people. Especially if i’m fucking them.’ you looked at him confused ‘But the only person you’ve been fucking for the last 6 months is me and when we were in school it was pansy in 5th year and you spoke to her ’ he nodded ‘I know but she was terrible and I didn’t and don’t even like her. It’s just different with you.’

you removed yourself from him and sat up and furrowed your brows ‘Why? Because I’m worse?’ he sat up also and put his hand on the small of your back ‘Merlin, no you’re the best I’ve ever had. But it’s not because of any of that.’ you looked at him even more puzzled ‘Then why?’ you questioned again. He sighed before looking down ‘I love you.’ he admitted. Your eyes widened ‘What?’

Draco frowned ‘Im sorry. I do. I love you. I see you at gatherings laughing so carelessly with your friends and I wish it was me making you laugh. I time exactly when I’ll get to yours so that i know you’ve had enough time to get ready and settled before i come over. I know that you have green tea always and you enjoy watching the rain and having baths. You hate anything orange flavoured and you like muggle TV for who knows why. I know a lot more than you think I do because I want be the person who you feel like home with because I love you and i’ve just ruined everything.’ he put his head in his hands.

You carefully took his hands away taking in his broken hearted expression ‘I love you too Draco. So much’ you held your hands in his. He gazed at you in shock before tackling to you to the bed and kissing you. ‘So how about we get to know each other a little better?’ you suggested ‘Like a date night?’ he beamed. You laughed ‘Yes but right now I had more of a ‘round two’ situation in mind considering our current state.’ you looked between you two to see that you were still both naked.

He smirked ‘Read my mind Y/l/n.’ You kissed him again ‘I love you.’ ‘I love you more.’ he said

well....thank you anon. I enjoyed writing this far too much 😁

#draco fanfiction #draco fluff #draco imagine #draco angst #draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy x reader #draco smut #draco lucius malfoy #draco series

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joontier · 3 years ago

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Subliminal in Scrubs | V2; report xiii

pairings: dr. jeon jungkook x female reader

chapter rating: NC-17 | genre: humor, workplace relationships

warnings: swearing

word count: 1.8k

g/n: decided on a bit of a filler for this one as a sort of prelude to future scenes 👀👀 ((likewise manifesting my plan to post another chapter this week))

[taglist]: @nottodayjjk @ditttiii @zeharilisharaban @btsbunny07 @turquoiseandplaidinautumn @aamxxrii @codeinebelle @btsmakesmehappy @stargukkie @moonchild1

Subliminal in Scrubs (the records) | navi. | m.list

Jungkook locks his apartment door behind him, jiggling the doorknob afterwards for ‘double security’ as one would usually call it. He grabs his backpack from the floor and places one of the straps on his shoulders and heads on his way. As he passes by two of his neighbors who live in the same floor, he nods at them, adding a brief hum in greeting.

“Hey man!” One of the men, Jikwang (as what Jungkook believes this man’s name was), calls out just before Jungkook reaches the elevator. “There was this hot girl asking about you last night.”

Jungkook raises a brow. He hadn’t really met anyone recently, besides that one cute law student who was looking for a new tenant - and eventually turned out to be your neighbor this whole time. She was cute and all, but she didn’t seem like the type that was ‘hot’ to these types of people.

Jungkook racks his brain for anything, trying to remember the very few number of his one night stands.Surely,none of them would have gotten pregnant with protection on….surely? On top of that, he hadn’t really disclosed his address to a lot of people too, so there was no way someone would be looking for him, all the more a “hot” woman,as these two would claim.

“Did she say what her name was?”

The one beside Jikwang shakes his head, adjusting his beanie. He’d seen this dude a couple of times hanging around, but he never actually got his name. “Nah bro, I don’t think you’re the commitment type of dude…” he comments, dark eyes looking at Jungkook from his head down to his toe. Who was this guy anyways and who was he to judge whether Jungkook was the type to enter a committed relationship or not?

“She just...looked rich, rich. She had a driver... who helped her come down from a nice Benz.”

Jungkook feels his heart drop to the ground. No way in hell.

“I think her name was Hee something...Junghwa? I dunno man, I’m not good with names. But it sounds similar to that…”

“Was it Junghee?”

“Yeah I think that’s it…” bonnet-dude replies, tapping a finger against his chin as he approaches Jungkook. “You think maybe you can set me up? With you know…”

Jikwang knocks the back of bonnet-man’s head. “I got dibs first, shithead. “If she’s not already yours though,” he adds, delivering a wink aimed at Jungkook. “Her friends will do.”

Jungkook squints his eyes at the duo. “No. She’s my sister. And she doesn’t have any friends.” A chill courses through his spine as he replies, wondering how she managed to find out where he lived, and why would she even reach out? Why now, when she had so many years to do so?

Beanie guy simply laughs at him - if it was even considered laughing, when he was practically splitting his sides with laughter - like the thought of having a sister was hilarious to him. “You’re real funny, man. There is no...way...in hell… that that lady was your sister.”

Ah yes, this man is a health vice personified. Jungkook notes the discoloration of his teeth, the god-awful odor coming from his mouth, and they both reek of alcohol and drugs combined. From a safe distance, Jungkook watches their amusement over the subject that is his sister, thinking about why he even indulged these two in the first place. For all he knows, they might have been shitting on him the whole time.

“Sorry man. I mean...she’s rich and hot… and you?” Jikwang shrugs his shoulders.

‘And he?’ What about him?

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Jungkook clicks his tongue silently, clearly taking full offense with Jikwang’s statement. Did they just imply he didn’t look rich and hot too? Well, compared to them though, they’ll obviously have way longer to go.

Jungkook blinks before equally returning their level of disbelief. “For real, bro?” These men diss him, won’t believe he has a sister whose aura dwarfs his by a million percent, and now they want him to set up a date with her? He shakes his head. Only crooks like these would say insane shit like this.

If only this wasn’t the cheapest and most convenient apartment he could find to accommodate his daily hustle, Jungkook would have moved out of this crap excuse of an apartment building a long time ago.

“Keep dreaming man.”

“Hey, this is what I get for selling you my bike for a good price?” Jikwang eyes Jungkook, taunting him.

“I owe you nothing. I paid for it ages ago.” Jungkook turns on his heel, leaving the two in the crusty ass corridor of their apartment building. He needs to get a new place. Quickly.

With a sigh, he pulls on his down jacket, keeping himself warm as he walks to the garage.

‘King Auto’

There’s a certain warmth that envelops Jungkook whenever he sees the garage, a place he’d rather call home than his terrible apartment building. It sits right at the corner of two busy streets, just six blocks away from his apartment.

Funnily enough, it wasn’t him who first found out about the garage but the other way around. Well, technically, the owner did. Lee Dongmin, owner and manager of ‘King Auto’ repairs and restores almost all types of cars and bikes alike, occasionally servicing high-end cars on lucky days.

Dongmin would usually see Jungkook pass by the garage in the morning on his way to the university or his part-time job.Well, being located at a busy street in the city of Seoul, there would normally be a lot of passersby but Dongmin knew these people either worked or lived around the area; Jungkook, however, always lingered when he walks past the garage.

It had come to Dongmin’s knowledge a few months later that Jungkook purposefully used a longer route on his way, walking two extra blocks just so that he could pass by the garage. Dongmin hadn’t initially done anything about it, as he thought Jungkook simply took interest in cars - especially when the shop had its fair share of servicing cars from the western market.

There was this particular day though one summer, that their paths would finally cross. Jungkook’s bike, the same bike he bought from sketchy Jikwang, broke down. Coincidentally just in front of King Auto too. Funnily enough, no one in the garage was familiar with fixing up bikes, but Jungkook simply asked if he could borrow a few tools and he’d fix his bike himself.

Ultimately, Jungkook became part of the King Auto family. He’d spend his spare time in the garage when he’s not busy with his part-time jobs and on occasion, Jungkook gets to keep a tiny commission whenever he helps out with the repairs.

Jungkook goes through the front door greeting the new receptionist, Clark, a good morning before heading straight to the garage. Jungkook spots a familiar shade of blue peeking through the scissor lifts, just by the end row. He practically dashes to the car in excitement, too thrilled to greet his favorite car he had worked on previously.

“My baby!” The boy exclaims as he rests his chin on the Porsche Panamera’s roof. “Kook! Get your hands off that! I just had it cleaned!” gruffs Mansik from the other side of the car, flinging his towel at Jungkook who mumbles a sorry but continues to cradle the car, a little more gently this time.

“If you continue doing that, you know a towel isn’t the only thing Mansik is going to throw at you.” Lee Dongmin’s voice is low, careful that the man he’s referring to won’t hear his words. “I’m glad he hasn’t resorted to tools yet...just a couple of smelly socks and a t-shirt that smells like it hasn’t been washed for months... “

“Fuckers.” True to Jungkook’s foreboding, Mansik does throw a sock ball from out of nowhere, one which barely misses Jungkook’s face. Dongmin simply shakes his head at his workers, who he has considered family at this point, Jungkook included. “I’m just glad none of that fell into my first coffee of the day.” Dongmin observes, drawing himself father from the Porsche and any flying objects later on.

“By the way, the owner is actually here to pick up the car. I may or may not have mentioned your infatuation with it.”

Jungkook almost instantly jumps to his feet, searching for the owner inside the garage, but disappointingly ending up with all the familiar faces at the garage. “Chill, kid. He just grabbed some coffee down the street,” Dongmin mentions as he takes a sip of his own. “Ah, speaking of the devil,” the latter states, nodding his head towards someone behind Jungkook.

“Seokjin-sunbaenim?”

“Oh hey! Wasn’t expecting to see you here...Jungkook, right?”

“Yes sir!” Jungkook’s pupils shake, animatedly looking back and forth between the garage owner and his upper-level resident. “So...you’re the one who owns this Porsche?” Seokjin raises his cup, adding a small nod in Jungkook’s direction. He internalizes his excitement, before confessing his love for Seokjin’s Panamera.

“And so, Dongmin here mentioned. Also said you were the one who fixed her up. Thanks man!”

Dongmin looks at the two of them, eyebrows creased in the middle. “You two know each other?”

“Seokjin-sunbaenim is a senior of mine at Woocheon.” Seemingly shellshocked at the new piece of information, Dongmin turns to Seokjin, “You’re a doctor?” The owner of the Porsche rolls his eyes fondly, “Yes, Dongmin. We can have lives outside the hospital too, you know.”

“Anyways, ‘Mera’s ready to go yeah?”

“Of course. Kook fixed it up just fine.”

“Alright. Got a shift today man? Need a ride to the hospital?”

Jungkook is tempted to give in, but merely fixing Seokjin’s car is enough honor for him and he can’t take advantage of his generosity. “No thank you, sunbae. I’ve already got a ride to work today.” Jungkook points to his bike on the other side of the garage.

Seokjin tuts his disbelief. “You’re kidding me right? In this weather?” The older doctor points outside, then rubs his palm against his down coat. “No way in hell, kid. Get in the car.”

“Really?” Jungkook mumbles, dimple on display as his lips form a thin line. Seokjin makes a hum of approval as he takes off his jacket while Jungkook dashes back to where he’d left his backpack. “He’s a good kid, Jungkook. Can be a bit of a delinquent sometimes, but he’s good. Take care of him, yeah?”

“Huh,” Seokjin smirks, “this handsome face got nothing he can’t handle.” Dongmin rolls his eyes this time, “Seriously doubt we’re the same age honestly.”

Jungkook returns to where the Porsche is parked, and Seokjin gets a spur-of-the-moment idea. The surgical resident throws his keys to Jungkook before settling inside the passenger seat. Jungkook, surprised as ever, simply stands there in surprise. “Well?” Seokjin asks, ducking towards the dashboard so he could take a look at Jungkook, “We’re gonna be late!”

#jungkook x reader #btswritingcafe #bangtanarmynet #btsghostie #jeon jungkook #bts aus #bts fic #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #doctors au

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montrealmadison · 3 years ago

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t'étais réel parce qu'il t'aimait

or, “you were real because he loved you”

i work at a place that accepts children’s book donations, so when “the velveteen rabbit” came across my desk the other day, the beginnings of this popped into my head. then the lovely lau at @weneedtotalkaboutfic posted this and also this about ftm!bitty and my brain just took off! enjoy <3

“Has her fever gone down?”

Bitty blows out a long breath and twists around to look at the clock, on the off chance that it’ll give him a better answer than the truth—but all it tells him is that it’s 8:07, and he’s exhausted.

“No.” He pins the phone between his cheek and his shoulder so he can dry his hands. “Hasn’t budged all day.”

On the other end, his mama hums sympathetically. “It will, baby. Y’all are doin’ everything right.”

“Thanks,” he sighs, folding the dishtowel over the oven handle. “It’s just—I hate that she’s so uncomfortable.”

Bitty used to think that he’d made his peace with chaos. He’s moved schools, changed sports, reinvented himself half a hundred times. He’s come out on national television and transitioned publicly on the Internet. He’s written a book, is in the process of drafting another. He’s married to one of the most prominent NHL players in the league, for crying out loud.

But sick toddlers, Bitty is learning, are a whole other hockey game.

read more below or on ao3

Thankfully, at least the kitchen routine is muscle memory at this point: pots dried, dishwasher started, dog fed and watered for the night. The mess in here isn’t too bad, all things considered. He checks the lock on the back door and then lets himself sag against the counter, just a little. It’s been a day. A week, really. He's barely slept for the stress of it all.

“Dicky, honey, you sound like you need a break.” He can picture the frown on his mama’s face when she says it. Funny how her voice still feels like a hug from seven states away. “How’s Jack? Is he alright?”

“Mhm,” he says. “Upstairs puttin’ Ellie to bed, bless him.”

“Good. Well, listen, y’all call anytime if you need us, alright? Your daddy and I will be up, we’re goin’ to the Callahans’.”

“Ooh. Save the good gossip for me?”

“You know I will,” Mama promises with a laugh. “Now go on and sit down for me. I love you.”

“Yes, ma’am. Love you too,” Bitty says, almost absently, and flops onto the couch as the line clicks into silence.

He tries to relax—promise, he really does—but he only makes it about five minutes before the worry wins out and he has to get up again. He just can’t sit still today, especially when he hasn’t heard anything from upstairs in so long. He climbs the stairs and starts down the hall towards Giselle’s room, but pauses and peeks around the doorframe at the soft sound of Jack’s voice.

In the dim light, he can just make out Jack’s giant form carefully folded to fit into Ellie’s bed, one foot planted firmly on the floor to keep him balanced. Bitty presses a hand over his mouth, trying to resist the sudden urge to laugh at the sight of his husband trying to fit in a bed made for a toddler. Thankfully, it works, because neither Jack nor Giselle notice him—their daughter’s curled up next to her papa, tired and sleep-soft, with her flushed little face on Jack’s chest and her slow-blinking eyes fixed on the book in his hands.

The dog’s on the floor in here, too, tail thumping away against the carpet. He huffs, looks up at Bitty with big, understanding eyes as if to say: We got it in here.

Which is clearly the case—they’re already in the middle of a story. Jack is reading in soft, measured tones: “And when the Boy dropped off to sleep, the Rabbit would snuggle down close under his little warm chin and dream, with the Boy's hands clasped close round him all night long.”

It's the French translation, but Bitty feels himself melt almost immediately. He’d recognize The Velveteen Rabbit anywhere. It’d been his favorite as a baby, part of the reason his mama had come home one day with Señor Bun, and—well, the rest is Bittle family history. He leans in the doorway, closes his eyes and drifts while Jack reads.

He’s had a lot of time, now, to learn the differences between French Jack and English Jack, and why each language is important to him—especially where teaching his children is concerned. In French, his voice is softer, lilting, expressive in a way that transfixes Giselle and Bitty alike. Bitty himself has fallen asleep to the sound of that voice many times, and is mostly impressed that Ellie can still fight her own exhaustion just to listen a little longer.

Jack turns the page, and Bitty watches as his face and his voice soften with emotion at the next line: “And then, one day, the Boy was ill.”

Oh. Bitty remembers this part well, too—remembers the feeling of his own mama curled around him when he was sick as a kid. Remembers Coach’s shadow in the doorway, his quieter concern, his gentle hand on Bitty’s shoulder. Jack goes on: “But the Rabbit snuggled down patiently, and looked forward to the time when the Boy should be well again, and they would go out in the garden amongst the flowers and the butterflies and play splendid games in the raspberry thicket like they used to.”

Bitty remembers Señor Bun, equally patient, snuggled up under his chin, and has an idea. He backs quietly out of the room and retreats down the hall to their bedroom, where the bunny himself is propped on the pillows, waiting for them to come to bed. Bittly inhales the familiar scent of the fabric, looks into his bright embroidered eyes. He swears they look understanding somehow.

“You ready to work your magic, buddy?” he asks. “Let’s go.”

Jack does notice him this time, eyes crinkling in acknowledgment when he sees Bitty in the doorway. His voice is getting softer now, the words slowing in time with Giselle’s blinks, and Bitty crosses the room to lay Señor Bun in their daughter’s arms.

Neither of them move until they’re sure that Giselle is asleep at last; even then, Jack extracts himself from the bed as quietly as possible, smoothes the covers over her with a feather-light touch. When they meet in the hallway, Jack presses his face into Bitty’s neck. They stand there in the quiet, breathing together, for a long time.

“How is she?” Bitty finally asks.

“Hot,” Jack says, frowning. “I gave her another Tylenol.”

Bitty sighs deep, presses his forehead into Jack’s chest. “Mm, okay. Let’s hope she kicks this soon.”

“She will,” says Jack. “She’s our kid, that’s gotta count for something, right?”

“Oh, yeah.” Despite himself, Bitty finds that a smile comes easily enough. It always does with Jack’s reassurance. “Gotta be tough in this family.”

Jack laughs lightly. “Yeah.”

They retreat to their bedroom, turning off lights as they go. Their nighttime routine, too, is as comfortable as breathing now. When Bitty comes back from brushing his teeth, he finds Jack in bed, reading glasses on, still flipping through The Velveteen Rabbit.

“I’m glad you picked that one for her,” says Bitty slowly. “That was my favorite book as a kid.”

Jack turns it over in his hands, looks up at Bitty with warmth in his eyes. “This one?” he asks, smiling. “That explains Señor Bun, eh?”

“Yeah.” Bitty has to swallow around a sudden lump in his throat, and almost immediately finds himself blinking back hot tears. He bites his lip. “Well, and I, um—no, it’s stupid.”

“Bits?” says Jack, concerned. He closes the book and sits up. “Hey, no it’s not. Why else was it important?”

Bitty looks down. “I used to want to be Real,” he says, all in a rush. “Just like the Rabbit. Used to wish there’d be a fairy that would see how unhappy I was, and come and—oh, Lord—”

It’s like a switch flips in his brain; all of a sudden he’s crying in earnest, days of pent-up stress and fear rushing past the floodgates at once. Jack makes a soft sound and holds Bitty close, letting him cry it out, rocking him just a little. His hands are big and warm on Bitty’s back.

“Shh, bud, hey,” he says. “That’s not stupid at all.”

Bitty sniffles and scrubs at his eyes, lets out a burst of slightly hysterical laughter. “I—God. I don’t know what it is, I was looking at you and Ellie and—I don't know, I just wish the person I was when I first read it could see me now. I wish that little kid hadn’t had to go through all the shit I did to get here.”

Jack doesn’t say anything at first, just pulls back a little. Bitty looks up, confused—but Jack’s just reaching behind him to grab the book off his nightstand, flipping through it until he finds the page he wants. Then he puts an arm back around Bitty’s shoulders and pulls him close, kisses his temple.

“Generally,” he reads, in English this time, “by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.”

He fixes Bitty with those bottomless blue eyes. "I hope you'll let me keep telling you," he says slowly, "that it all meant something, bud. You made yourself real. You gave us our daughter."

Bitty laughs, watery. "I did."

"You did." Jack kisses him again, soft and full of meaning. "And I promise I'll never stop trying to understand."

#eric bittle #jack zimmermann #zimbits #omgcp #check please #my writing #thank you lau for the inspiration I literally RAN to my computer lmao

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queenmuzz · 3 years ago

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So, anyways, I saw something @liulyam had posted for Spardaverse a while back I DON'T KNOW HOW I MISSED THEIR WONDERFUL ART FORGIVE ME! Anyways, I saw specifically THIS piece of art, and it sent the brain juices into overdrive....

So, the same thing plays out everyday. Nero gets off the school bus and runs in, backpack flying, and tells his uncle excitedly about his day at school, before racing up the stairs to tell his dad the same thing, in the same adorably animated manner. Unfortunately, Vergil doesn’t respond the same way as Dante, sitting still, not even acknowledging that the boy is talking to him. Initially, Nero doesn’t mind, understanding his recently rescued father has been through a lot, and needs time and patience to recover. But as the months pass by, Dante notices that his nephew doesn’t run up the front steps as eagerly, his descriptions of school become shorter, paler. And most worryingly of all, Nero spends less and less time with Vergil, preferring to peek his head in the man’s room, sigh, and slowly make his way to his own room, closing the door sullenly.

“What’s going on Nero?” Dante takes the plunge and asks him one day, before the boy trudges up the stairs. “You haven’t been that rambunctious ball of energy lately.”

Nero kicks the worn hardwood floor. “It’s dad… I know you told me I need to be patient,” his face scrunches up at the word, it’s a thing he’s never been able to truly do. He’s definitely a Sparda boy. “But he just keeps ignoring me. He won’t talk, won’t even look at me. It’s like I don’t even exist! Maybe...maybe he doesn’t want me to exist-”

“Hey now!” Dante needs to nip this train of thought in the bud. He knows first hand where it can lead to. Had he not found Nero nearly nine years ago, while wandering the world, drinking up every bar’s entire inventory in a vain attempt to fill a void in his chest, who knows where he would have ended up? “Your dad...well, even without the stuff he’s been through, he was never much of a talker. Always preferred to have his actions speak for him.” “But that’s the thing, Uncle Dante!” Nero blurts out, close to tears. “He DOESN’T DO ANYTHING!!! He doesn’t care!” And with that, Nero bolts up the stairs, past Vergil’s room, not even checking up on him, and slams his bedroom door with such force, Eva’s portrait wobbles on the desk and tips over. Dante sighs, sets his mom back up, and slowly makes his way up the stairs. Not to Nero’s room; Dante knows better than to provoke that tiger cub when he’s in an ornery mood. It’s time to talk to his dad.

Vergil, or what’s left of him, is sitting in an oversized chair, the only one that fits his giant frame, facing the window, the only one in the place with a view. If he’s heard the ruckus (and Dante knows he has), he makes no indication that it affects him.

“Verg,” he calls out, “I know it's been rough, I know I piled on a lot of shit on you, the whole thing about having a kid and everything these past nine years. I’m not expecting you to just snap back to normal, and start insulting me like in the good old days, but…” Dante’s not good at this sort of thing. He’d rather Royal Guard his emotional turmoil. It used to be with alcohol, but now it’s with a cheery smile. “The kid needs a sign that you’re still there, you’re still fighting. I know you are, hell, you’re the one that helped me take down that bastard Mundus on Mallet Island. But that’s the thing, Nero’s only heard things that you’ve done, not seen them. You need to show him yourself, otherwise…” Vergil makes no motion, and even Dante, stubborn as he is, knows it’s fruitless to continue much more, “you’re gonna lose him too.” And then Dante heads back downstairs, to see if he can whip up a snack to bribe his nephew to come out of his lair. Strange, he swears he hears the rustle of fabric from Vergil’s room, as if his brother had just moved.

Nero sits at Dante’s desk, working on his math homework. It’s his least favourite thing, fractions. Uncle Dante is a whiz at them, and usually would be able to help him, but he’s gone out on an ‘Really quick, won’t be more than a half hour’ errand run. It’s been nearly two hours, and the only other adult here is his dad… so Nero is practically by himself.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of Nero’s neck prick up, and he hears scrabbling at the front door. He’s still not allowed to go out with Uncle Dante or Auntie Lady on their hunts, but he knows what a demon feels like, especially when there are a lot of them. ESPECIALLY when they’re really powerful Instinctively, he grabs a chair, and wedges it underneath the door knob, and looks around in a panic. He’s never had to deal with a demon attack by himself before. He remembers his uncle has a case of weapons that he was told to NEVER touch beside the jukebox, but Nero figures that he can say sorry to his uncle later. He smashes the lock with a billiard ball, and yanks open the lid. He’s disappointed. He thought there would be a treasure trove of swords and guns, but all there are two swords, one red and one blue. But he doesn’t have much of a choice, and the whine of protesting wood ends with a thunderous CRASH, and demons pour through. “FIND THE HERETIC GOD SLAYER!” One says, before turning in Nero’s direction. Without much warning, it shrieks as it launches at him with razor sharp obsidian claws.

Nero might be little, but his uncle has trained him well. Whipping the two blades around, they connect the monster’s waist in a pincer move, and like a pair of scissors, bisect it in a shower of blood and ash. Nero swears he hears a voice (or is it two voices?) approvingly say, “Impressive!” but doesn’t have a chance to savour his very first demon kill as another demon comes at him, knocking him over. The reddish gold blade clatters away on the floor, way out of reach, not that it matters. Nero’s pinned to the ground by a skeletal foot, as the demon lifts a blade to impale him. He squeezes his eyes shut, preparing for the end.

The final blow never comes. Instead, he hears shriek, and the pressure on his chest instantly subsides. He opens his eyes, to see it stagger back, its decapitated head clattering to the floor. Its brethren likewise are either dead or dying, their high pitched screams shattering the glass in the jukebox.

Nero’s first thought is that his Uncle has finally come home, Dante’s come to save me! But what’s odd is that there’s no sound of Dante’s beloved Ebony and Ivory. And last he checked, his uncle never was able to shoot out blue ghostly blades that now impale most of the horde. But it doesn’t matter, because his uncle is here to save the day! That is, until he yelps as he’s quickly, but not roughly picked up and held as whoever holds him spirits him out of the building, the blue blade still clutched in his hand. Nero begins to panic, but hears a voice, almost like a croak, as if the vocal cords had been in disuse for years…

Nero

And even though the voice is harsh sounding, it's one of the most comforting things Nero’s ever heard.

Of course that half hour errand run would turn out to be three hours. But when he was promised a free pizza for clearing out that demon nest on the West side, Dante couldn’t say no. Besides, he’d pick up some freshly baked chocolate chip cookies on the way home as a way of apologising to Nero. The kid might be cross with him, but he’d forgive him the moment he smelled those chewy biscuits. Dante might even let him have more than half of the package.

So when he gets home to find his front door smashed open, his office trashed, and worst of all his jukebox shattered-wait no, worst of all, his nephew missing, all thoughts of pizza and cookies vanish from his mind as he rushes in, guns drawn. There’s no sign of life, but the black splatters of demonic ichor painting the walls shows that some real bad mojo went down here. The strangest thing though, is Agni, a weapon Dante was definitely sure he had under lock and key, laying there on the ground, alone.

“Alright, time to spill your guts” he yanks the blade up so that he’s at eye level with the pommel, “What the hell happened here?” Agni makes the same response as Vergil. Which means silence.

“I swear to…” he pulls out ivory, and presses the muzzle into the (more troubled than usual looking face), “You’re gonna tell me what went down, or we’re gonna see how many bullets I can jam into your ugly mug.” “You told us to remain silent.” He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, consider that rule temporarily relaxed.” “There was an attack.” Agni starts, its distorted voice unusually agitated, “The little one fought with great valour, but eventually even he was overwhelmed.” Dante’s blood goes cold. “But then a great bulk of a demon came out and slaughtered the attacking filth, and spirited the boy away, alongwith my brother.”

“Rudra’s still with Nero?” That’s odd, if they were trying to capture the kid, they’d disarm him first.

“Yes, they are not far, I think they’ve stopped moving.”

“Alright,” Dante makes his way out of the disfigured wood, “let’s go find the kid and your bro...and if he’s alright, maybe I’ll reconsider giving back your talking privileges.” “Oh, that would be wonderful, will you allow us to leave the dark box? It’s been so long since we’ve fought, we crave batt- ”

“I said IF, and I won’t guarantee anything if you keep jabbering on and on.”

Angi directs the demon hunter to a dark secluded alleyway, a few blocks from Devil May Cry. One hand on its hilt ready for attack, the other fingering the trigger of Ivory, he cautiously makes his way past the recently overturned garbage cans, to a shadow alcove, where a shadow crouches. Beside it is Rudra, glowing faintly, it’s turquoise blue light providing enough illumination for Dante to make out what has happened. There’s Nero, peacefully slumbering away, apparently unharmed, not even his shirt is torn. And holding him gently, stroking his downy white hair with a giant hand...is Vergil… And for once, even though he is still staring straight ahead, there’s a different look on his face, a sense of contentment.

Huh Dante thinks to himself as he holsters the weapons, I was right, actions DO speak louder than words.

#Devil May Cry #Nelo Dadgelo #Dante #Vergil #Nero #canon divergence #I didn't want to connect this to their post via reblog #because that should stand alone in its own perfection #my writing

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kashimos-hajime · 5 years ago

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slipping away | b.b.

summary: and now, he’s not your bucky anymore.

WARNINGS: ANGST, hospital talk, swearing, vomitting, pairing: amnesiac modern!bucky x gender neutral!reader word count: 5.3k

a/n: a small study on a long-term relationship and the strains and disagreements that come into it. it’s been a hot sec since i’ve posted any marvel stuff. still tryna get back into writing for bucky, but this is written for @mushyjellybeans. prompt is bolded :)

“I don’t think this is something we should be arguing about,” you mutter, throwing your phone down into the car’s cupholder as Bucky’s grip on the wheel only intensifies. You slide hands over your thighs, stretching your legs against the red carpet of his newly refurbished Mustang. If there’s one thing you haven’t argued about yet, it’s the renovated ‘87 Mustang Bucky’s done over with his father, not completely done yet, but still, it looks hell of a lot better than it did before. “It shouldn’t have been made an issue tonight, of all nights.”

“You wanted to make it an issue.”

“Because all you ever want to do is fight!”

“I don’t want to fight!” he exclaims, his voice still barely containing itself and you cross your arms, slinking into your seat as you toss him a glare. “I just asked if you could see yourself even considering marrying me, and you said no.”

“Because you said I could take my time with this decision,” you snap, eyes darting from his face to the tense paleness in his knuckles. The car is thrumming beneath your thighs, purring down the highway and you shift your gaze to the window. He always drives fast when he gets pissed. “Put your fucking seatbelt on. You always get so reckless when things don’t go your way.”

The barb is meant to dig in deep, and it does because he doesn’t put the seatbelt on to spite you.

“Bucky, seriously. Put the fucking seatbelt on,” you growl, head snapping to him again. He ignores you, and you sigh incredulously, planting your chin in your palm and glowering out into the night. “Fucker.”

He’s shutting you out. He’s shutting you out, and not listening, and you’re about to throw yourself out of this car if you don’t roll down the window.

So you do and as they travel over a speedbump coming off the highway. It’s green lights ahead, and you hope the twenty minute drive to his parents’ house is enough to let things cool off a titch, but you know it’ll only crop up because his mom will ask when Bucky’ll propose and—

Fuck. They’ll have to talk about it at home later tonight.

Bucky switches on a playlist on his phone to fill the uncomfortable silence and you think this is the kind of choice you don’t make when you’re eighteen. You never thought you might break up with Bucky because of the thought of marriage. When you were eighteen, you thought it would be something like cheating, or university, or some other factor that would force you apart.

But no, it’s marriage. A union.

Ironic, that is.

You bypass the first green light easily and in the distance, you can see the next. Leaning your head against the side of the car, you rest your arm along the window sill and just let the wind whip at your face, numb it until when you breathe, your lungs seem to freeze. The wind softens when they approach the intersection and Bucky slows down just enough to scan the road before heading forward to the next one. There are side streets feeding into the main road but there aren’t many cars. Not a lot of people drive in the suburbs on a Sunday night, and it’s been an easy drive otherwise. As they head for the last intersection between them and Bucky’s parent’s house, you spot the green light and feel Bucky speed up.

He’s eager to get out of this suffocating car, too. An uneasiness curls up in the pit of your stomach as you hear another car’s engine growling into the quiet night. Straightening up, you look around and spot no car in their direction coming close to the speed Bucky’s going. He’s pushing the speed limit, his hand fidgeting with the seatbelt as it tries to slot into the buckle and you reach forward with your closest hand and help it slot into place.

You don’t miss the way his lip twitches in thanks and you merely turn your head back to the road, watching with an empty mind, letting his music wash through you as the growling of that speeding engine somewhere down the street grows louder. You’re about to ask Bucky if he hears that when a car speeds through a red light from a side road.

“Bucky, stop!” The words are torn out of your throat as you throw your hands out in front of you.

His foot slamming the brakes, the harsh whine of the tires burning against asphalt rings in your ears before a sickening crunch sends you forward. Glass cracks, something thuds, and the last thing you know is blood slowly dripping your face, something smoking in the distance and the screams of someone before everything goes black.

The lights are bright and blurry as you let out a muffled groan.

“Don’t worry, we’ve got you.”

Your face is splitting pain and you groan, trying to turn your head but you’re frozen in place. Something’s wrapped tight around your neck, keeping you in place as someone shines a light into your eyes. Lungs seizing, you let out a choked cough, back arching off the bed as you try to raise your arm to the plastic mask digging into your cheeks. Something is prodding your stomach, something runs along your legs—there’s too much all at once and you try to shift away from whatever keeps touching you, but hands take you, keep you still.

“Try to stay still. I know it hurts, but you’re safe now.”

“Bucky.” His name slips past your lips, throat burning, but there’s no response. There are voices buzzing at the edge of your hearing and you blink, trying to clear your vision. Your head is spinning and you try to raise your hand weakly. Fingers take you by the wrist, gently ushering your arm back down to the bed. “Bucky.” Eyes slipping shut, your mind plays the crash over and over again. You’re nothing but a bystander.

Where are you, Bucky?

“We’re losing ‘em. Give me the paddles.”

Are you still here?

“Clear!”

Please. Stay for me.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“How’re you feeling, Y/N? C’mon, stay with us.”

Who? Steve, is that you?

“Bucky had to have brain surgery, Y/N. They said… they said it went well but they won’t know how well it really went until he wakes up.”

He’s alive? Oh, thank God. Thank you, thank you, thank you—

“But he’s getting stronger. He hasn’t woken up yet, but they think he’s getting stronger. Nat and Sam are sitting with him, now. We’re taking shifts to make sure the two of you aren’t alone.”

That’s nice of you, Steve. Thanks for being here.

“Oh, God, hey.”

Yeah?

“Hey, can you hear me?”

Loud and clear, Captain.

“Hey, nurse! I think they’re waking up!”

Eyes opening, you squint at the warm lamplight in the darkness of the room. Your throat is burning and your stomach is twisted, nausea swimming behind your eyeballs as your eyes flutter shut again. There’s something digging into your skull, your abdomen sore, and your whole body is wracked with an exhaustion that barely allows you to move. It’s a slow, dull ache all over you, pressing you deeper into the bed.

“How’re you feeling, Y/N?” one of the nurses asks quietly and you groan, voice cracking.

“I’m thirsty.” As they slowly raise you into a half-sitting position, your eyes barely open and you spot a shape in the corner. “Steve?” The shape moves closer and you spot golden hair gleaming in the lamplight and you laugh despite how much it aches in your chest. “Thought it was you.”

“Hey. How’re you feeling, huh?” Something nudges at your lips and you part your lips just enough for a straw to slip in. Sucking down water like you need air, you let out a silent groan. The water pushes down like a thick block of ice down a swollen throat as you manage to keep it down. “Feeling like turning away from the light?”

“Feel like I got run over by a truck,” you mutter, head sinking into the pillow and Steve’s relieved laugh soothes the ache between your temples. “Where is he?” Blinking, you see Steve’s face clear before you and his lips press together. His eyes are red-rimmed and his face looks a bit too splotchy, but you don’t point it out because it’s Steve and you love him. Your best friend’s trying to be strong as he tries to find a gentle way to put it.

“He’s asleep right now.” Asleep, you repeat dully in your head as Steve sits down by your bedside. “When you’re stronger, we’ll go see him, alright?”

“Okay.”

Bucky looks like he’s dead.

It’s the one thing you can’t help as you push yourself to his glass door. He’s inside, awake and talking to your friends inside and there’s a thickness to the air as he sits up straighter. Your whole body is still aching with a pounding in your stomach as you pause at the edge of the glass, frowning when Steve says something that makes Bucky shake his head.

It’s been only a day since the crash and you’ve just gotten strong enough to get up into a wheelchair, and although you’d insisted on wheeling yourself to his room, your nurse still stands a few feet away as you watch Natasha reach out a hand towards Bucky but he slaps it away, running his hands ragged over the bandages wrapped around his skull. Like he wants to pick himself apart because he’s missing something and you know.

Somehow you just know because there’s an emptiness in his gaze that spears right through you.

Tears already begin to bite at your eyes, and you open your mouth but not a sound comes out. He’s paler than a ghost and his expression is one of blank agony. He’s scrambling for something to hold onto and you think you can hear Steve beg, a quiet, trembling thing that frightens you because Steve doesn’t beg.

“So you remember nothing?”

“Nothing.”

The silence that follows hollows you. You turn to the nurse, you think her name is Linda, and silently ask her to take you away.

It takes a long time for someone to come find you. Blinds pulled closed, door shut, your room is drenched in darkness beside the lamp on your nightstand. You feel numb everywhere, but your heart is in pieces in your hands as you shove food down your ungrateful throat. Every bite feels like another bone broken and you stare blankly at the wall ahead of you.

“Bucky, stop!”

If you’d just been quicker—

“Y/N? Can I come in?” Blinking, you swallow the thick pudding, feel it stick to your throat as you let out a hoarse ‘yes’. Sam enters the room, eyes scanning the area and soaking in the bleak aura that is your recovery room. You set down the pudding on the tray beside your untouched lunch and blink again, turning your gaze away dismissively.

“What?”

“Bucky’s awake,” Sam says, closing the door behind him. You can see two other shapes outside your room as you cross your arms over your chest and lean back into your bed that’s frozen in it’s sitting position. You don’t want to look at him—have to look at him and watch his mouth form the words that’ll destroy you. “Doctors give him a clean bill of health. He’s going to have to come in for PT and checkups, but otherwise, he’s good beside a few deficits.”

“Yeah?” You feel sick, feverish. You feel like your stitches are splitting open with every second Sam doesn’t tell you the truth you know is bottled up inside him. “Anything else?”

“He doesn’t remember who you are.” But he knows you, you assume bitterly in your head and you finally look at Sam. He’s staring at you with something you might think it's pitiful and it disgusts you because you don’t want to be pitied. You don’t want anything except Bucky and you can’t have him. “He doesn’t remember anything after graduating high school, so… that’s seven years he doesn’t remember.”

Seven years.

Seven years of his life gone like smoke.

“Anything else?” you grit out between clenched teeth. Sam’s eyebrows rise but you merely set your jaw and meet that incredulous gaze of his.

“They don’t know whether or not it’s going to go away, they don’t know why it’s that time span, but it just is. They say maybe the amnesia will go away but it's a chance, and he has to regain his strength. So he’s going to have to go through a lot of therapy. It’ll help if he has a support system, you know?”

“Okay.”

You don’t mean to sound cold, but you do, because if you’re anything but, you will shatter. You know Sam wants you to jump at the chance, jump out of your bed and run up to see Bucky. You think Sam might hope that the instant he sees you, all of it will come back like something out a fucking fairytale but this isn’t a fairytale.

You’re not enough to bring him back. You’re not a miracle worker.

Tears are clotting in your throat and it’s becoming hard to breathe when you add, “Is there anything else, Sam?” He’s clearly taken aback but you can’t bring yourself to care about Sam in this moment as you grab your banana pudding again and swirl your spoon within just to make yourself look busy. You look from the yellow goop to him, a smile pulling strangely into your cheeks.

His eyes flitter from your untouched meal to your face, and he shakes his head.

“Let us know if you wanna see him, I guess,” he murmurs and you keep that tight smile on your face until he leaves. When the door clicks shut, you toss the pudding back onto your tray, grab the plastic receptacle the nurse left on your nightstand, and throw up everything.

Water, pudding, breakfast, it burns its way up your throat as you try to keep yourself quiet. You can hear your friends talking outside. Struggling to keep yourself quiet, you choke, spitting saliva out of your mouth as you grab the water from your food tray, swishing it in your mouth and falling back into the bed.

Your whole body clenches as you spit out the water and rinse your mouth again. Every movement is an aching thing as you set the receptacle down on your nightstand and close your eyes.

Your wait until you’re sure your friends are gone before you break.

You fall apart slowly, like pieces of you peeling away until you’re nothing more than your broken heart. The sobs that wrack your body are relentless and you shove your forearm into your mouth to muffle your cries. You want to bite into your skin. You want to distract yourself from the agony tearing you to shreds. You want to feel anything but the pain.

Tears sweep into your hair, cloud your vision and your whole face floods with heat as you try to breathe through the pain. You’re cleaved into pieces on that bed, eyes squeezed shut as the tears keep flowing, and your throat burns.

Shoulders shaking, you suck in gasping breaths as your hand crawls over your face, smearing tears across your cheeks, fingers digging into your skin. You’re suffocating and behind closed eyes all you can see is your Bucky, launched through the windshield. Your Bucky, bleeding as you reach for him but you can’t. Your Bucky, left behind on the scene because they extracted you first and you’re screaming, screaming for him to be alive, and then it’s your Bucky, smiling and laughing and whispering confessions, and he’s crying and then he’s sick with the flu and he’s finished his bachelor’s, and he has flour on his cheek, and—

And then it’s your Bucky, shouting, begging, your Bucky with his back turned, your Bucky frowning and there are new lines in his face, and new questions that never would’ve cropped up, and it’s your fault, your fault, your fault; damaged, damaged, damaged.

Your Bucky slipping away between your fingers.

And now, he’s not your Bucky anymore.

Your fault, your fault, your fault, a voice you can’t shut up in your head chants quietly.

You’re inclined to agree.

You sit in the cafeteria, watching as lunch hour draws to its close. You’re nothing but cracked glass slapped together with duct tape and it’s beginning to peel.

It’s only been a day since your world has fallen apart around you and you haven’t spoken to anyone. There’s nothing to say.

Natasha pokes half-heartedly at what’s left of her salad beside you as you stare blankly at the napkin holder. Your own lunch tray is empty because you’ve forced it down your own throat, but every bite had been bland—nothing but a soft mush in your mouth.

“Y/N,” your best friend begins, and your eyes drag dismissively towards her. Her blue eyes are soft, eyebrows drawn together as she sighs. “Don’t you think you should at least see him?”

“Why? He doesn’t even know who I am,” you mutter, dragging your arms towards yourself and crossing your arms over your chest. A heaviness pulls at your shoulders. “Maybe it’s better that way.”

“Hey, don’t say that,” Natasha scolds. “Don’t ever say that.”

“Why? It’s not a secret we were basically on the brink of breaking up and it’s not like you’ve told him who I was. Told him that I even existed,” you spit coldly, sinking in your chair, Your gaze drifts off to the little fake plant decorating the cafeteria table and you think, How lucky you are to be forever. “You know, at least this way, he doesn’t get hurt.”

“Except he is hurting,” she says. “His life has been wiped clean and he has no idea what to do next.”

“Get better. Move on.” The words crawl out of your mouth, torturous, and Natasha shakes her head, frustrated, but you don’t care. You’re sick of feeling like this, but you can’t help it. You can’t help feeling half-dead and exhausted and the need to look over your shoulder constantly has become second nature because you don’t want to see the man you love as nothing more than a ghost. “What do you want me to say, Nat? He wasted seven years on me and I couldn’t even say yes to marrying him. I couldn’t give him the one thing he really wanted and he gave me everything.”

“That’s not what matters. What matters is that he loves you and just because he doesn’t remember, it doesn’t mean it’s not real. He knows you’re out there. He knows he loved someone because Bucky has so much love to give, you know that.”

“He was going to leave, Nat,” you tell her quietly. The words drag against your throat like a cigarette against skin and it burns so much you have to close your eyes against the pain. “I know it. He was done.”

“No, he wasn’t.”

“He was.” You never needed eyes to see it. You know him in a way no one else does. You know that every time he looked at you, he wanted the future, and it was something he couldn’t pry out of you. “He had one foot out the door last night, so it’s a fucking blessing he doesn’t remember.”

“But you miss him.”

The words ring you hollow.

“Of course I fucking miss him. What kind of question is that?” you ask with half a forced laugh and your chest aches so much you think it might burst. “What kind of question is that?” you repeat, softer, and the laughter is gone because you want to melt away. You’ve missed Bucky for ages.

“Then, maybe you should fight for him. Maybe, you should see this as your second chance,” Nat whispers just as the door opens to the cafeteria and your head jerks up to see Steve push someone in on a wheelchair and she stands immediately. Your eyes find his pale figure before you can help yourself and you chew on the inside of your cheek to keep yourself present.

He’s better, although a bit unsteady, and he’s regained some colour but he’s still pale. He looks sick to his stomach with every second he stays awake. Natasha heads over to take the tray from Steve’s hands and retreats back to your table, setting it down in the space on the other side of you. Once Bucky slides into the empty spot beside you, you barely manage a slight smile before picking up your fork and pretending to be interested in your own lunch.

“This is Y/N,” Natasha says and your lungs spasm when you meet his blue gaze. They’re bright, warm but tired, and you swallow, trying to formulate an appropriate response. How long has it been since Bucky—your Bucky—looked at you like that? “We, uh, we were just chatting while I was waiting for you guys.”

“Hey.”

“I’m James,” he says, textbook because that’s how he meets every new face, and if you think you remember eighteen-year-old James Buchanan Barnes, his next words will be: “But everyone calls me Bucky.”

Like you said, textbook.

You drop your fork and shake his outstretched hand, ignoring how warm he is, and it’s like history is repeating itself.

“Nice to meet you.” You want to smile and the corner of your mouth lifts as Natasha grabs her lunch tray and gets up.

“Sam’s probably waiting for us to get him some coffee. He has a shift starting soon,” she says with a pointed look at you. Steve shoves his hands into his pockets and smiles at Bucky when he sends him an unsure look.

“We’ll be back in a jiff, Buck,” Steve says. “Y/N’ll take fine care of you.”

“Uh, okay.” Bucky’s eyebrows quirk and as your two friends leave, you can’t help the anger licking at your insides. You hate the feeling of his gaze on you so you resort to staring after your traitorous companions. “Sorry about that. I can go, if you want.”

“No, it’s fine,” you dismiss it quietly, resigning yourself to your fate. It’s not like Bucky can go without someone else’s help and his nurse is chatting to yours in the corner of the cafeteria. You don’t want to bother her. You’ll yell at your friends later. Right now, you just want to sleep it off. “Natasha’s nice.”

“Yeah, she’s like that once you get to know her,” Bucky returns, digging into his mashed potatoes. You pretend you don’t notice how he lowers his head as much as he can so not too much food is lost on its quivering journey to his mouth. His hand is so visibly unsteady, it aches to watch but you know he won’t want your help. “What are you here for? You look a bit banged up.” His eyes dart to the bruises along your arms and your smile grows at the concern laced behind a curious question.

“Got into a crash.” you say with half a shrug. You’ve grown used to the bruises by now. “Wasn’t too serious for me. Just a bit of a scratch on my liver.”

“Oh, me, too. I had a partial splenectomy” he says. “My brain got the worst of it, though.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, can’t remember a single thing after eighteen. So, that’s seven years ago?” he says it like he’s desperately trying to remember and your smile flickers. His face is wrought with distress now that their friends are gone, and his lips are pressed into a tight smile. “Glad I still kept with the same people, though.”

“Yeah.” He brings a scoop of mashed potatoes to his mouth and his smile sinks into your gut when he notices you’re not eating. “Are you hungry?” You blink at him, at his offer. He even looks younger without the burden of your time together.

“No, I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you insist before clearing your throat. Your gaze goes from your lap to Bucky just eating and you try to formulate the words you want to say into a coherent sentence. Do you remember even part of who I am? Can you even see me? “Uhm, do you… do you, like, remember a bit of what you’ve lost?” Your eyes widening, you put a hand over your mouth and duck your head. “Oh, that sounds stupid. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” Bucky smiles again, easier, as if he’s happy to talk about it, and it’s so startlingly bright your heart flips in your chest. You duck your head and grab the glass of orange juice just so it doesn’t seem like you’re just watching him eat. It’s sweet in your parched mouth. “I get what you mean. Uh, no. It’s like an empty slate,” he says and you don’t know whether or not feeling so fucking relieved makes you a shitty person or not. “I think I know time has passed, but when I try to think of those years, nothing comes up.”

You’re quiet for a long time, letting it sink in. So, he doesn’t remember the bad at all. The pain, the screaming, the empty beds and silent dinners, and you think you could cry from relief and cry from how you’ll never hear him call you dolly again.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, eyes flickering from his food to you, and your shoulders fall at those eyes. You’d fallen in love with those eyes first. They grounded you when your world was toppling—ever so steady, so collected. Now, they’re weary, lost, and you know it’s your turn.

Reaching forward, you lean on your forearm and place your other hand over his wrist. His hand, on instinct, flips over and your hand falls into his so easily. Your skin is burning at the contact as his fingers wrap over your palm.

“I’m sorry,” you utter quietly, choked out and raw, and his eyebrows knit together as they run over your face. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

“Uh, it’s okay,” he says with a lilt of his lips. He’s trying so hard to be happy.

“You don’t have to lie.”

The hand holding the spoon tightens, knuckles blanching and you smile softly. That’s your Bucky, trying so hard to keep it in. You scoot your chair closer, not letting go of his hand and he sucks in a harsh breath. You can hear it tremble in his throat as you sit down close enough that your knees touch and you tilt your head to catch his gaze.

This could be a fresh start, a voice in your head whispers. He doesn’t remember the pain you brought him. You could disappear.

“It’s okay. I’m nobody,” you tell him quietly. “You don’t have to pretend with me.” He blinks, lips trembling and pale with how hard he’s attempting to keep the cries in before he drops the utensil in his shaking hand and he brings his palms to his face, hiding himself away as in shame but you only chew on your bottom lip, wrap your arms around him.

He leans into you as if on instinct and you suck in a shuddering breath at his soft weight against you. You’re holding the love of your life. Almost.

Cradling his head against your chest, you let him sob as his shaking body shrinks in your arms. His hands wrap around your arm, fingers like knives digging into your flesh. They’re talons that sink and drag down, falling limpy into his lap, and you let your eyes close, simply using your free hand to brush through his hair.

“It hurts so much,” he whimpers, his hot breath against your arm as he pushes the words out, gulping breaths filling the silence and you feel tears slip down your cheeks. “I can’t… I can’t remember anything. I can’t do anything. I can’t…”

“I know.” You pull your chin back, admiring the mess in your arms and you smile for a moment as he lifts his head up and his gorgeous eyes are glistening with tears. He lowers his head again, drawing back in your arms to wipe at his face with weak, shaking hands and you take the napkin to help him.

You gently wipe his cheeks down and his cheeks are burning to the touch.

He’s blushing.

“God, here I am,” he begins miserably, “sobbing on someone I just met. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” The words come out hushed and you smile, running your fingers over his hair again because you know that’s what he likes, and his smile is barely a ghost, but it’s there and that’s all that matters.

“It’s fine. I’m a great shoulder to cry on,” you joke and his smile grows just slightly. “Well, at least it’s better than my first impression on my… ex,” you say, and your throat cinches shut as he arches an eyebrow. You pull your arms back towards you and pick up your fork hesitantly. He nods, eyes focused on you, and you sink the fork into the mashed potatoes, bringing a bite into your mouth.

“How’d you meet them?”

“Uh… at university. First day, freshman mixer or something. I was a bit drunk.” Fresh-faced, doe-eyed Bucky Barnes in a vest and jeans bumping into you. Still a picture perfect moment in your mind where you met eyes with him and didn’t want to be a goner but you were, no matter how much denial was there. “He bumped into me, spilled his drink all over me, and all I could think was, ‘What a handsome guy.’”

“Was he?” His whole face lights up, like he’s genuinely invested in this, and your smile grows, bittersweet as you nod. His smile grows sly and you want to scream. “Better looking than me?”

“I, uh—” You clear your throat— “No. Not better looking than you.”

“So, what’d you say? Or what’d he say?” Bucky asks, sniffing, and you watch as he grabs his spoon again, other hand reaching for the tissue. He blows his nose and you grab some napkins from the napkin holder for him. He dips his head in thanks as you lean against the table.

“Well, he was stumbling through his apology and I just let him finish.” Your body fills with warmth as you remember his embarrassed smile, the way he shoved his baseball cap farther down his head, chin tucked to his chest, trying to hide that face. “When he was done, I opened my mouth to say something polite but what came out was ‘You look like someone I’d very much like to kiss’.”

“And did you?”

“Did I what?” you ask, smiling.

“Kiss him.”

��Yeah.”

He smiles, then, happy for you for a moment before he remembers ‘ex’ and then there’s a silence in the cafeteria.

“Do you love him still?” Bucky asks quietly. His gaze is cast off, some far off corner that you don’t see, and you realize you’re still close to him. Close enough to smell the sickness clinging to his skin, the sweat. He smells like an antiseptic grave of all the memories lost.

“Yeah. I didn’t believe in love until I met him,” you say softly, watching as Bucky raises a trembling spoon to stab at his potatoes. It’s you. It’s you. It’s you. Your heart is screaming, but your mind is a muzzle. “I wish he was here.”

“I wish he was here, too.” He blinks and it’s like he’s back with you again, gaze on yours. “I wish he was here for you. You deserve a shoulder to cry on, too.”

You barely croak out, ‘Thank you’.

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topsytervy · 3 years ago

Text

Good Books, Bad Movies ~ Rafe Cameron, JJ Maybank

Blurb: After reading the first two Percy Jackson books, JJ discovers that there are movies.

Word Count: 988

Warnings: swearing, grammar/spelling mistakes, no big spoilers just brief plot description, I think that's it.

This was based on a random little shit post I made a while back and I decided it's been a while since I've completed ANY of my writings that I'd whip up something short and new. This is definitely not the best but it's here and it exists.

also, don't mind me dropping off the face of the earth for months at a time and never posting anything, just interacting and reading things. Between work and my brain finally grasping at the fact that I don't need to have every little thing I write to be at least a thousand words, I've got barely anything to post.

~~~~~~~~~

You sighed as both of the boys got situated, Rafe and JJ making themselves comfortable with their heads on your chest.

Just a couple of minutes ago, they were playing some video game as you sat on Rafe's bed, a book you've read countless times before in your hand.

"Seriously, Y/N/N. What book is more interesting than us?" JJ whined as he paused the game, looking back at you as you raised your eyebrows and looked at him over your book.

"A 13-year-old boy killing monsters."

Rafe and JJ shot each other a look before setting down their controllers. "What?"

"Percy, the kid, is a demigod and he has to head out on this quest and a lot of shit goes down in the process. Good series. I've read it at least five times all the way through." You explained, shuffling into a more comfortable position.

Rafe glanced at JJ before returning his gaze to you. "Would you read it to us?"

Your eyes flickered between the two boys before nodding. "Sure."

And now here you were, looking like a mother about to read her two sons to sleep, the game forgotten about as you flipped to the beginning of the book.

"Chapter one, I accidentally vaporize my pre-algebra teacher." You began, earning a smile from each of them.

By the time you reached chapter four, you grabbed your bookmark, assuming both the boys had fallen asleep on you but Rafe lifted his head.

"Why are you stopping?"

You stared at the older boy as you shut the book. "Well, I thought that'd be a good place to stop for now."

"No. One more chapter. Come on." Rafe whined like a child.

You felt JJ nod his head against you and you sighed once again. "Fine. One more chapter."

You didn't end up going to bed until 1 AM, making a good dent in the book before you told the two that there was no way you could make it through another chapter. Over the next few days, every time you were with JJ and Rafe, you three got comfortable somewhere and read The Lightening Thief.

It didn't take long for your little trio to be on the third book, you reading and sipping a tea or hot chocolate as one of the boys played with your hair and the other drew mindless shapes on your legs that you had draped over his lap.

It was early morning when JJ burst into Rafe's house with a bag in hand, looking as if he won the jackpot.

"Rafe, Y/N's been holding out on us." He said as he dropped the bag on the counter, making his way towards the pantry and pulling out the popcorn.

Rafe and you both raised an eyebrow at the blonde pogue as he walked towards the microwave, put the popcorn in, and set the time before hitting start.

"Did you know that they made the first and second Percy Jackson books into movies?"

Rafe's eyes lit up as you groaned, placing your head on your arms that were resting on the island. "JJ, please tell me you did not spend money on those movies."

Rafe walked over and placed his hands on the younger boy’s shoulders. "JJ, please tell me you did."

JJ grinned. "Oh, I did, my dear friends. I did."

Rafe clasped his hands together and closed his eyes, a smile on his face as you groaned again.

"J, no." You drew out, as you slowly shook your head, not moving from your position.

Rafe and JJ both shot you a look. "What are you whining about? You love these books, rightfully so, and now we have the movies to watch." JJ pulled them out of the bag.

"That's why I'm whining. I love these books and the movies...oh my god." You raised your head as you looked at them. "I already watched the movies and, on their own, they're good but they don't do the books any justice. Like, the writers fucked it up to the point where Rick Riordan was like 'uhm people aren't going to like this'."

Rafe and JJ both blinked at you before Rafe spoke up.

"I'll go grab the beers."

"Yeah. Grab some blankets too. We gotta be comfy for this."

***

You shot the two boys a look that screamed 'i told you so' as they made a face as the credits of the second movie rolled.

The two had spent the majority of both movies pointing out the differences between the films in the books. Rafe even opened up his notes app and began writing all the flaws, claiming he'll need this for reference later when he writes a review.

"I cannot believe the writers would do Uncle Rick dirty like that," JJ muttered, shaking his head as he tipped back his beer.

You stood up and crossed your arms. "Maybe next time you'll listen to me."

The boys shot you a look before turning back to each other. "I wasted money on this." JJ sighed.

You walked over and placed yourselves between them, leaning your head on Rafe's shoulder as your hand-rubbed JJ's back.

"Time to start a podcast called 'books vs. their movies: which ones were good and which were disappointments'." You closed your eyes as you remembered all the books you read and then watched the movies just to feel the regret of watching them.

"Had your heart broken one too many times?" Rafe asked, smiling down at you.

You nodded. "The only reason why I watch the movies at this point is for the actors."

Rafe patted your thigh. "Well, how about we grab The Titans Curse and continuing reading that to take our minds off of this?"

"Alright." You agreed before you all stood up and made your way back upstairs to Rafe's room, the boys stomping up ahead of you, skipping steps as they did.

~~~~~

#jj maybank #rafe cameron #jj obx #jj outer banks #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #drew starkey #rudy pankow

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hatake-no-sharingan · 4 years ago

Text

A Well Loved Copy (PART 1: Magical Places)

Kakashi x Reader

Story Summary: Your cozy life as a bookseller is disturbed when a box of the worst books you could ever imagine arrives at your store, and with them a certain silver haired ninja to whom you are definitely not attracted.

Relationship: Kakashi x Reader

Warnings: None

A/N: I wrote this first part a few days ago, but it still had a few things missing and I finally finished it today. I’m thinking it’s going to be at least 3 parts long (depending on how much my brain allows me to write) and that it’s going to be mostly fluff and romance, but I also want to add some angst. Hopefully you’ll all like it <3 Be kind and enjoy.

Magical Places

“God who even reads this crap” you tell yourself as you arrange the 20th copy of the latest Icha Icha Special Holiday Edition on the hot new arrivals shelf in the bookstore. “It’s unbelievable how they keep making new editions of the same trash and people actually buy them”

Last night, your boss had explicitly told you that he wanted the books in the most visible part of the store, because they were always a massive hit, unlike the beautiful short story books you had been forced to stash in a less noticeable shelf almost at the back of the store.

You spent hours admiring the graceful prose and the magical places they took you to, wishing your own writing was half as good. You knew most of those books by heart, and every time one of your favorite authors published one, you read it so many times until you could almost recite it word by word. That’s why your personal collection of books was small, but very well loved. Whenever you got the chance, you recommended them to customers, though almost none listened to you. However, those who did, always came back to thank you for it.

“It’s better to know one book intimately, than a thousand superficially” your mother told you when you were little, and to this day, the phrase stuck with you.

When your boss, the shop owner, told you to remove your favorite stories, the ones you knew intimately, from the best shelves to make space for what was basically porn disguised as a romantic thriller, it felt personal.

“I’m sorry, I know they’re good, but we need to give up the space for the best selling authors” your boss had told you yesterday night when he saw your frown as you removed them from sight. You ignored him for the rest of the time you were there while going through the new inventory together, and left the new arrivals unopened

“I’ll arrange them in the morning. If you don’t need anything else I’m leaving” you slipped your very worn book in your pocket, grabbed your keys and left.

That’s why people don’t read real literature, because it keeps getting hidden from sight and replaced with trash, you sigh.

Now you look towards the remaining boxes, the publisher sent way too many for your judgement, and decide to put them away in storage until more copies are needed, so you can still keep a few other not so crappy books on the star shelf.

When you’re returning from the storage room, you hear the door chime, signaling that a new customer is here. You check the time, barely 8:00am.

God, who’s here this early?

“IT’S HERE!” A silver haired man acting like a 6 year old in a candy store rushes in, and grabs 3, no, 4 copies of Icha Icha Special Holiday Edition without noticing he’s messing up your perfectly arranged shelf. “I literally waited a month for it! I need to read it now, it’s gonna be so good”

Is he talking to himself? Or to me?

The guy is bubbling with excitement, running his long fingers across the cover of the book on top. You don’t know why, but seeing the motion sends shivers down your very tired spine. You shrug, and start the computer to enter the day log into the system.

He walks to the counter, feeling giddy with the books and you get tense at the realization of who the guy you’ve been gaping at is.

The signature mask, the covered left eye and the nonchalant but confident walk give it all away.

He’s kinda hot in person, but his awful taste in books ruins it, you think.

“Would you like me to wrap those for you?” you manage to ask, pointing to the four copies he dropped on the counter. “Or would you rather do it yourself at home?” If I were his friend I’d kill him if he gave me that as a gift.

“Huh?”

“We offer a gift wrapping service.”

“Oh no, thank you, they’re not gifts. All four of them are mine”

“All four?” You ask, confused.

“Yeah, one’s my mission copy, another is my house copy, then the back up one, and the last goes on my shelves untouched”

“You must really like the series.” You say sarcastically, emphasizing on the word really.

“They are really good, contrary to popular belief. I know a lot of people judge them, but I swear if they actually read the series, they’d know it’s not just porn” he says with a chuckle, clearly aware you’re judging him.

“Ummm I don’t know” you say scratching the back of your head “I’d rather stick to real literature”

“Wait, you’ve never read them?”

“Nope”

“Not even one?”

“No no, wouldn’t want to waste my time”

“No wonder you’re staring at me like that” he says under his breath, and you pretend not to hear him. “What do you read, then? If you’re only into real literature”

You nod towards the last shelves in the room and then gesture to your own battered copy of The Cursed Beauties and Other Stories.

“They made me hide them away so I could make space for your special edition.”

“I’m sorry about that, maybe they can share a shelf next time.” Did he just smirk? Is he hitting on me? No, it must be me reading too much into things. “I’m Kakashi, anyway”

“I know, you’re kinda notorious amongst us booksellers, as the guy who buys too many copies of Icha Icha”

“Really?”

“No”

“Oh”

“You’re an important ninja okay?” He’s barely aware of it apparently “I have a few modern leaf history books here that mention you. And I think there might be a biography on you too, you’re definitely in the Yondaime’s. I had to read it for school, though I’m not very sure of how much truth is in it. Non ninja writers tend to exaggerate things huh? Not because I’m a ninja myself, becau-well, ummm I’m not, but I have read a lot, on ninjas I mean.” You get flustered when you catch yourself speaking a lot. He makes you nervous, alright? Even though he has bad taste in books and is a bit of an asshole, you can’t help but feel attracted overwhelmed by him.

You get an embarrassed smile from him too.

“I can’t imagine what in my life would be interesting enough to write about” he says, gently tapping his fingers to his temple “but I’ll tell you something, Icha Icha is interesting, way more fun to read than my life. I’d leave one of these copies here for you, but this isn’t the first book in the series, so you really wouldn’t understand it. But you should give the first one a shot, if you don’t like it, you’re allowed to hate me forever and judge my poor taste in books.” He heads for the door and makes his departure, but not before turning around and flashing you a big smile that you swore his whole face was glowing beneath all those coverings.

Something about him lingers with you for the rest of the day, as if he’d never really left the store.

The next morning when you come in, you notice there’s something inside the mailbox which catches your attention, only for the simple fact that you never get mailed anything small enough to fit in the mailbox. It’s always boxes upon boxes of books and gadgets related to literature.

You open it and take out a well worn copy that has definitely seen better days, of Icha Icha Paradise. There’s a small post it note stuck on the back cover scribbled with messy handwriting

Give it a shot, I promise you’ll like it.

-K

P.S. Take care of it, it’s my favorite copy. Hopefully by entrusting you with it, you’ll decide to entrust me later with your own book ;)

Despite all your judgements and aversions to the series and the author, you make yourself a strong cup of coffee, sit back on your familiar spot, and open the book to the first page.

#naruto #naruto fic #naruto imagines #kakashi #kakashi hatake #kakashi imagines #kakashi x y/n #kakashi fanfiction #kakashi x reader #kakashi headcanons #kakashi fluff #naruto fanfiction #hatakenosharingan #magical places

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thedumpsterqueen · 4 years ago

Text

Standards of Performance, Chapter 10: Accommodations

From the Beginning, Previous Chapter

AO3 Link

Thank you guys again for being so kind about the new posting schedule (or lack thereof). Your comments and messages and rbs always make me laugh and cry (in a a good way).This is just a lil chapter about them being awkward and cute after The Kiss, and introducing some bigger plot stuff. You'll wanna buckle up for the next one ;)

Summary: You’re the BAU’s newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?

Chapter Summary: Some creep is stalking the team and all you can think about is kissing Hotch.

Words: 2059

Rating: Explicit, 18+. Warnings on AO3.

Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You

The BAU had a stalker.

To put it in a way more relevant to your views on the matter: the BAU’s stalker was interfering with the (hopefully) budding spark between you and Hotch.

It wasn’t that you didn’t care that there was potentially unhinged maniac apparently obsessed with the team, it’s just that when you got the slightly panicked phone call from JJ that Morgan, Reid, Garcia, and herself had all found letters on their doorstep professing an alarming fascination with the members of the team, you couldn’t help but feel a bit irritated that the ordeal was bound to put a pause on the progress you two had made.

That is, until you went to leave your apartment in the morning and found an unassuming envelope shoved under the door. You opened it with shaking fingers to a note written on thick cardstock, scrawled in black, seeping ink as if written by an old-fashioned quill.

I’ve been paying attention to your team for some time - quite the impact you’ve made on the world of crime. The heroes of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit! I’m sure the world wishes they had you during Bundy or BTK, hm?

Anyways, I had to see for myself. I must admit, finding you was much easier than I would have anticipated given your ‘status.’ I thought I’d drop you this note to say hi and propose a deal. A Game, of sorts.

The Game goes like this: I leave you notes, and you try to catch me! Easy, yes? This is day 1. How many days until you find me?

Xoxo Talk soon,

You put the note in your bag and, after double checking your door was locked (not that the flimsy deadbolt the landlord had installed would have done much to keep an intruder out anyways), you rushed to the office. You dropped your note on the table in the conference room where the team had gathered and pointed at it tremulously.

“I got one too. I touched it, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking -”

“Don’t worry about it,” Rossi interrupted. “We dusted the others; there was nothing. I doubt yours was any different.”

Hotch plucked your letter up and scanned it quickly before tossing it back on the table. “It’s exactly the same as the others. Nothing identifiable.”

“Why didn’t we get them?” asked Prentiss.

“Access,” said Garcia, notably less cheery than usual. The team turned to her for clarification.

“You three are hard to get to,” she explained. “Hotch and Prentiss live in secure apartment buildings. Rossi has a gated property with security that can rival the President’s. Those of us who don’t live the high life are just... out in the open.”

“So that’s encouraging, right? That the unsub either couldn’t or wouldn’t go through the extra trouble of getting to all of us?” JJ asked, hopeful.

Morgan shook his head. “I dunno if you can interpret any part of what this creep is doing to intimidate us as ‘encouraging.’”

“Does it read as intimidation, though?” mused Reid.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” Morgan responded. “What’s your take on the language?”

Reid took a millisecond to reread the letter and pursed his lips. “Though the language isn’t directly threatening, the concept of a game implies either winning or losing. He - it’s almost certainly a he - doesn’t mention the consequences for either situation, which could imply that there are none, but that seems unlikely. There’s also the matter of separating himself from others in line three - ‘I’m sure the world wishes they had you during Bundy or BTK,’ not we. He’s trying to distinguish himself to us in some way, which means he wants to be noticed, and I don’t think there’s anything in this language that excludes the possibility of him doing something drastic in order to be.”

“So not encouraging,” said Prentiss dryly. “The question is, why us? Is this personal; did we put someone close to him away?”

“It could be, but the language in the opening seems sarcastic almost, like he’s mocking us,” noted Rossi.

Morgan nodded in agreement. “It’s a challenge. He’s trying to tell us we’re not all we’re cracked up to be.”

The analysis worried you, because you felt you were the only member of the team for whom that statement might have been true.

“So, what then?” you asked. “Review security footage and see if we can find anything?”

“Already did!” chirped Garcia. “Hotch had me up all night reviewing the tapes.”

For the first time, you noticed the dark circles under her standard coat of heavy makeup. You looked at Hotch, expecting to find some shame in his expression, but found none.

“If there was anyone weird creeping around your dwellings last night, I didn’t see ‘em. I even looked through the street cameras in the area. Granted, none of you have a security camera pointed directly at your door, which might not be a bad idea after this -”

“Hold on,” Morgan interrupted, “you didn’t check her apartment though, right?” referring to you. “Cuz she just found it this morning?”

Garcia perked up, but you shot her down with a shake of your head. “Sorry guys, my place isn’t nearly nice enough to have security cameras.”

The team looked unperturbed by that, except for Hotch, who met your eyes with a look you couldn’t quite place.

“What do we do, then? Wait for another letter?” JJ asked.

“That’s all we can do until we have more evidence,” said Hotch, visibly frustrated. He hated waiting, you knew that. You all hated it. It felt like watching a car without its parking brake on slowly start to roll down a hill.

“If that’s all, sir…”

Hotch nodded at Garcia. “You’re all dismissed. Business as usual for now. If he craves acknowledgement, best not to give it to him unless we have to.”

The team filtered out, and you made to follow them, but before making it through the doorway, Hotch called you back. He shifted feet, cleared his throat, and looked at you.

“About the comment you made earlier,” he started.

What comment? You wracked your brain trying to remember if you’d said something rude, or something that hinted at what happened between you two, but came up short.

He noticed the puzzled look on your face and clarified. “When you said your apartment complex wasn’t nice enough to have security cameras. I wanted to say that -” he ran his hand across his jaw, clearly uncomfortable, “- I know the internship salary isn’t impressive, and if you feel you’re unable to afford safe accommodation, I’d be more than happy to talk to Strauss about -”

“Oh, God, no.” You felt as if your face was on fire. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way, my apartment is fine - I mean of course there’s things that could be improved - but in no way do I feel unsafe.”

“Well, good. Okay then.”

Before you could make your exit and spare you both from the residual awkwardness of the interaction, he spoke again. “There’s one more thing. Given that whoever wrote this note has displayed his willingness to come to our doorsteps, JJ is staying with Emily for the time being, Reid with Rossi, and Garcia with Morgan.”

You smirked at the last pairing. Leave it to those two to capitalize on a stalker to bunk up together.

“I was going to have the Bureau get you a hotel in the meantime, since he did come to your apartment, but Garcia suggested that since we live so close, you could just… stay with me.”

Holy shit.

There was a pained look on his face as he finished the sentence as if he recognized what an utterly bad idea it was, but hadn’t had the good sense to reject it himself. He looked at you, expecting an answer despite the lack of a question mark at the end of that statement, and you struggled mightily to compose yourself to deliver an acceptance that didn’t appear uncomfortably enthusiastic.

You must have taken too long, because he immediately started to retract his offer. “I already told her it was completely inappropriate; the rest of the team is used to staying together for cases but given you just started, and after the last few days I completely understand -”

“No!” You cut him off. “Sorry, no, that’s not what I was going to say at all. I’d love to. I mean, I think it’s a good idea. I’d feel a lot safer…”

‘With you around?’ Is that too much?

Fuck it.

“... with you around,” you finished, and you swear you saw him push back a smile.

“Alright, then. I’ll let Garcia know.”

You made a mental note to send that woman a thank-you card.

***

As the workday wound down, you were surprised to Hotch turn out his office light and walk out at the same time as you did.

“Early night?” you teased as you walked to your cars in the parking garage, despite it being 7 pm.

He chuckled. “It would have been rude of me to keep you hanging around until I decided to leave.”

Right. You were leaving together. Because you were going back to his apartment. Together. The undeniable domesticity of the moment put a skip in your step, and you couldn’t help but wish this was happening under different circumstances.

“So I’ll just stop by my apartment and grab my things?”

“What? No,” Hotch responded, frowning. “I’m coming with you. The whole point of all of this is to avoid being alone.”

And that’s how you ended up speeding down the highway like a madwoman, leaving Hotch in your dust, taking the stairs two at a time, and frantically scrambling to get your apartment in order. It wasn’t terrible; not as if you had rotting food sitting out or something (probably because you didn’t actually cook enough for that), but the recent caseload and spending so much time with Hotch in the mornings had certainly pushed general organization to the wayside. You shoved the growing pile of dirty laundry into your closet, straightened up the coffee table, and were in the middle of packing your suitcase when you heard a knock at the door.

Giving the apartment a quick once-over to make sure you hadn’t missed something utterly humiliating, you opened the door to an unimpressed Hotch.

“I could have pulled you over for speeding, you know,” he said as he strode into your living room.

“Yeah, sorry,” you said sheepishly, “I wanted to make sure this place wasn’t a mess the first time you saw it.”

He cocked an eyebrow and you realized how that came out - the first time, as if there were going to be many more - and you coughed and looked away.

“Anyways. I’m almost done packing, just gotta grab a couple more things.”

He nodded and you hurried to it, wanting to get him out of your apartment as quickly as possible. Normally you’d have jumped at the chance to be alone in a quiet place with him, but the way his eyes were scanning the room made you nervous that he was learning more about you in a very short amount of time than you felt entirely comfortable with.

***

You walked into Hotch’s apartment for the second time ever to find it just as clinically neat as before, except for a set of sheets and blankets laid out on the couch. Grinning, you gestured to them.

“Thought you said you were sure I would say no?”

It was his turn to be shamefaced. “Just in case. Besides,” he shot back, grabbing your bags from where you’d deposited them by the couch, “You’re taking the bed.”

“Like hell I am!” you scoffed, forgoing propriety. “I’m not making my boss sleep on the couch in his own apartment.”

“Considering I, as you mentioned, am your boss,” he responded, “I will be making that decision.”

You plopped down on the couch. “Unless I just refuse to move.”

He stood a few paces away and glared, but gave up and dropped your bags all the same.

You could have sworn you heard him mutter “brat” under his breath, but that didn’t sound like something Aaron Hotchner would say, did it?

Taglist (I got a bunch of new ones so message me if I forgot to add you!): @stop-drop-and-drumroll @criminalmindzjunkie @xoprincessmel @cevanswhre @addie5264 @klinenovakwinchester @honeyshores @violentvulgarvolatile @masumiyetimziyanoldu @violetclifford @pipersaccomplice @itsmytimetoodream @groovygoob @captainhyenafan @thebadassbitchqueen

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