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explosionkatsu · 3 months

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Pairing: ProHero!Bakugo x F!Reader

Summary: Y/n, a young woman who was once living in Tokyo, made a tough decision to move away and start afresh after the death of a loved one. The loss left her heartbroken, and she decided to close her heart to romance. However, fate had other plans for her. One day, she saw someone who bore an uncanny resemblance to her deceased loved one. The sight took her aback. What it would be like to meet this person and whether it would bring the memories and emotions she had been trying to leave behind.

Warning: NONE

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Prologue

It's been years ever since the death of her fiancee. Y/n just couldn't go back to dating thinking that it was disrespectful to Kudou.

Although his family encouraged her to find herself a new partner, and that Kudou would understand, Y/n just couldn't. She couldn't love anyone but him. Only him.

She is aware that every single day, she was like a lifeless doll, walking in the street as she made her way to her workplace. That is when her family suggested she should start a new life where she could mend herself away from Tokyo.

She didn't like it. She was against it, not until Kudou's family approved of this.

"Y/n, my daughter.. Start a new life, please. Kudou wouldn't want you to be this way. You're making it hard for him to leave the world. He should be where he was supposed to be. I love you like my daughter. Like my own. But please. This is for your good…” Those are the exact words Y/n could never forget.

They were right though. Her grieving is probably holding Kudou back from leaving this world.

Y/n made a life-changing decision and decided to start anew. She took their advice and got on the train to Musutafu, Japan, where she hoped to find a fresh start. After a few hours on the train, she finally arrived at her destination. Stepping off the train, she hailed a taxi and told the driver the address of her new apartment, which was near the agency where she planned to apply for a job.

Y/n had enough savings in her bank account to cover her expenses for a few months, including rent, food, and utilities. As the taxi drove through the busy streets, Y/n wondered if she had made the right decision. But she quickly shook off her doubts and focused on the positive aspects of her new life.

Finally, they arrived at her new apartment building. Y/n stepped out of the car, thanked the driver, and made her way to the main door. The security guard greeted her with a bow and handed her the key to her new apartment.

"Welcome to Musutafu, Miss Y/n," he said with a smile.

Y/n smiled back and thanked him before heading to the third floor where her apartment was located. As soon as she saw the door with the exact number as the one in the message, she inserted the key and pushed it open.

The apartment was small, but it was just the right size for her. The walls were painted in a soothing pastel green, and the floors were a warm coffee brown. The rooms were bright and airy, and Y/n felt a sense of dread yet calm wash over her.

Hours passed as Y/n unpacked and arranged her belongings with the help of her friendly neighbor. She had bought some furniture, a few appliances like a microwave oven and a rice cooker, and some essentials like a mattress, pillows, and a blanket. She also had a small closet where she could temporarily store her clothes.

As she settled into her new home, Y/n felt a sense of sadness but still hoped for a better future. She knew that this was the beginning of a new chapter in her life and this was for the best.

---

Y/n woke up early at 6 am and stretched her arms, reaching for her phone. As she scrolled through her emails, her eyes widened at the sight of a new message from the agency she had applied to. They had invited her for an interview that very afternoon. Her heart started pounding with excitement at the thought of a potential new job. She sat up instantly and looked for appropriate clothes to wear, eager to start her day on the right note.

After finding the perfect outfit, she went to the bathroom and took a relaxing bath, allowing the warm water to wash away any lingering sleepiness, and hopefully, the sadness. "This is a good start," she thought to herself, feeling slightly satisfied with her progress. Everything seemed to be falling into place for her.

Once she was done, Y/n went out for breakfast, feeling a bit energized and ready to take on the day. She grabbed the thick orange scarf that Kudou had given her before the incident happened, a cherished reminder of the past. She wrapped the scarf around her neck, not too tight, just enough to keep her warm, and put on a black winter jacket to keep the cold at bay. After taking an extra look at herself in the mirror, she exited her apartment, locking the door behind her.

As soon as she turned towards the stairs, she was met by her neighbor, a sweet green-haired lady who was preparing for work. Y/n greeted her with a slight bow to show respect, "O-ohayo."

"Ara. Ms. L/n, ohayo," the neighbor smiled, her eyes lighting up at the sight of her. "Are you headed to work as well?" she asked, her voice filled with curiosity and kindness.

"Oh, um, no," Y/n smiled back. "I'm on my way to get breakfast," she answered, feeling grateful for the company. "I have an interview in the afternoon though."

"Oh! Good luck to you then! I apologize as well, I forgot to introduce myself last night. My name is Inko Midoriya," Inko once again bowed as she introduced herself, feeling embarrassed but not losing her smile.

"It's alright, um, Miss Midoriya," Y/n slightly panicked but giggling, feeling a sense of warmth from her presence.

"Come on, I'll let you know where there's a good bakery nearby," Inko motioned Y/n to walk with her, making Y/n slightly stumble on her step. She felt grateful for the offer and took her up on it.

"D-do you mind?" Y/n asked, feeling comforted by the offer.

"Of course not, dear. Besides, you reminded me of my son," Inko giggled, feeling a sense of nostalgia.

Y/n blushed slightly at the comparison. "Your son?" she asked, curious to know more.

"Haha, yes. He might be a little older than you," Inko smiled and continued walking. "He lives alone now that he has become a pro hero."

"He's a pro hero? That's so cool," Y/n smiled with admiration as she listened.

"Mhm," Inko nodded, feeling proud of her son's accomplishments. "He was able to achieve his dream to be number 1."

Hearing this made Y/n stop in her tracks. "Number 1?" she said, feeling shocked and impressed. "Are you saying that Deku is your..." She was surprised to hear this.

"Deku, the number 1 hero of Japan," Inko giggled at Y/n's reaction, feeling happy to share her son's achievements.

"What?!" Y/n said but soon covered her mouth, embarrassed of her outburst. She started walking again, feeling grateful for the chance encounter. "I can't believe I'm talking to his mom." Now that she said that, she could see the features of Deku, similar to Inko's. How could she have not noticed it before?

"Haha. I can't believe I am his mother, either." Inko said. "We're almost there." She added as the bakery appeared in her view.

"You must be proud of your son," Y/n said admiring the hero.

"I am," Inko said. "But I couldn't help but worry sometimes," Inko added.

Y/n noticed the worry laced in Inko's voice. She couldn't blame her though. Her son's life is always on the line. She felt the same way when Kudou was still alive.

Y/n and Inko walked towards the bakery, with Inko's mind still preoccupied with the conversation they had earlier. She seemed to be lost in her thoughts, but Y/n noticed her distress and tried to lift her spirits. "I understand what you feel, Miss Midoriya," she mumbled. "But let's hope for the best, okay? Let's be positive!"

Inko looked at Y/n, respecting her positivity. She nodded happily in agreement, hoping that her optimism would help her cope with her worries.

As they entered the bakery, Y/n's eyes sparkled with excitement at the sight of the bread and cakes. She made a beeline for the cake slices, eagerly examining the different options available.

Inko watched Y/n with amusement, noticing how her eyes lit up with delight as she gazed at the cakes. She really did remind her of Izuku, "I see you like sweets," Inko said, smiling.

Y/n was so engrossed in her selection that she had almost forgotten that she had company. Feeling embarrassed by her actions, she covered her face with her hand. "I'm s-sorry.." she mumbled, feeling self-conscious.

Inko laughed, finding Y/n's embarrassment adorable. "Haha! It's fine, sweety," she said, teasingly.

Hearing Inko's laughter, Y/n extracted her hand from her face, her smile returning. She felt at ease with Inko.

Y/n paid for the slices, and as they turned to leave, she handed one to Inko. "T-thank you for taking me here, Miss Midoriya!" Y/n said, blushing.

"E-eh?! N-no! It's okay! You don't h-have to!" Inko waved her hand, refusing the cake. She was touched by Y/n's gesture but didn't want to impose. Although, the cake looks good.

"I insist!" Y/n said, pushing the slice into Inko's hand. "This is a thank you slice for accompanying me!"

As Inko was about to return it, a woman's voice interrupted their conversation. "Inko??" she said, calling out to Inko.

Inko turned to see Mitsuki, a close friend of hers, approaching them. "Ah, Mitsuki. Ohayo," Inko greeted, happy to see her friend.

Y/n was now quiet as she stared at the stunning woman walking towards them. Mitsuki was strikingly beautiful, with fiery blonde hair and a confident stride.

"I haven't seen you in a while! How was Izuku?" Mitsuki grinned, seeing her best friend. She then turned her gaze to Y/n, who was staring at her. "And who is this attractive young lady with you?"

Y/n couldn't believe her eyes. This woman in front of her looked exactly like Kudou, the difference was the hair color and gender.

"Oh. This is Y/n Ln. Our new neighbor," Inko introduced Y/n. "Y/n, this is Mitsuki Bakugo, a close friend of mine."

Y/n felt a bit shy and overwhelmed as Mitsuki's piercing velvet eyes met hers. She blinked out her trance and bowed. "N-nice to meet you! My name is Y/n Ln."

"Ara, ara. Such a formal young lady," Mitsuki said, snickering. "You don't have to bow, you know."

A blush crept up Y/n's cheeks as Mitsuki turned to Inko and said, "Haha. So anyway, I didn't expect to see you here."

Inko explained that she had been accompanying Y/n since she had moved to the area just the previous day and was still unfamiliar with the place. She had decided to take her to the bakery, and they were enjoying a slice of cake as they chatted.

Mitsuki then went on to say that the cakes there were delectable, especially the ones filled with fruits. "Katsuki loved them," Mitsuki laughed as she reminisced about him forcing her to buy him one. Inko laughed along, and Y/n watched cluelessly as the two adults conversed, feeling a little out of place in their company.

Mitsuki noticed this and explained "I have a son who was sadly the number 2 hero, Dynamight."

Y/n was once again taken aback, realizing that her new place seemed to be filled with the parents of prominent heroes.

Mitsuki confirmed it, and Y/n found it bizarre that Deku and Dynamight were rivals yet their mothers seemed to be getting along so well. Y/n paused and asked, "Wait, um… Deku and Dynamight are rivals, yet…"

Mitsuki grinned and said, "We get along so well? I know, right? It's just my son who's an idiot. He's been very competitive ever since he was a kid."

Inko then speaks up, "Deku and Dynamight were childhood friends," which piqued Y/n's curiosity even further.

---

Alright, this is an upcoming series as well. I am confused about what to write next since the 'Age Doesn't Matter' is ending. And if you haven't read that, you should.

Maybe I'll make a poll about what series I should do next? Haha! Enjoy!

#bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugou #bakugou x y/n #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou x reader #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugo mha #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou x you #katsuki bakugo x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months

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Daddy Lessons 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Rafe Cameron

Summary: You agree to tutor for the Cameron's, but find your student less than cooperative.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

There aren’t many summer jobs in Hammer Ford, but you promised your parents you would find something. Without any response from the grocery store, cafe, or library, your search is hopeless. That’s until you ran into Rose Cameron.

“Weren’t you valedictorian?” She asked.

The scene plays over in your head as you step off your bike to walk it up the hill. What luck that she found you picking out flowers with your mother. Almost as if she’d been looking for you.

“Uh, yeah, last year,” you smiled.

It’s been a year since high school ended, since then you’d spent two semesters outside the hamlet. In the city, people don’t just come up to you for no reason, and rarely a good one. Nor do they know you by name. Your home town seems more quaint the longer you’re away from campus.

“Great, I need a tutor,” she tutted, “how’s fifty an hour?”

You shake your head as you straddle your bike again. It’s an offer you really can’t pass up, even if the Camerons weren’t the most friendly family in Hammer Ford. It doesn’t matter as long as you can tell your parents you have a job.

You pedal east towards the house on the hill. You’ve never been up there. Not even in high school when everyone was going on about the ragers at the Cameron ranch. It was never really your scene. That and you weren’t invited.

You slow as you approach the low fence, breathless as you stop by the closed gate. Do you let yourself in? There’s a gold bell mounted on the post. You ring it and it sends a thunderous toll through the air.

You wait, looking around, though you don’t know if anyone’s coming. Someone appears across the field. You recognise Ward Cameron as he nears, waving a gloved hand as he does.

“Hi, Mr. Cameron, um…” you hold onto your handlebars and dismount, “Rose, uh, asked me to drop by.”

“Sure thing,” he unhooks the inside of the gate, “I was just brushing Juliet.”

“Oh, okay,” you smile.

“You can work in the dining room if that works, or the back porch? It’s pretty nice out,” he lets you through the gate and secures it before he points you towards the house. “Really glad you could come out. We went to an agency in the city but they wanted us to go to them.”

“Um, yeah, sure, no problem,” you peer over at a foal and its mother in a pen, “nice place.”

“You think so? Does it look different in the day?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I know about the parties,” he chortles, “it’s fine.”

“Well, I never…” you rub the back of your neck, “anyway, I guess we can study where Sarah wants.”

“Sarah?”

“Oh, erm, Wheezie?” You wonder.

“Did Rose not… explain?”

“I… assumed, well, she just said you needed a tutor so I thought…” You blink and chew your lip, “Rafe?”

He laughs again, “the one and only. We’re tryna get him back in good graces. He has a conditional offer in the city but he has to take an entrance exam.”

“Right,” you try not to show your discomfort.

Rafe is a year older than you. Even so, he never failed to knock your books out of your hands or laugh in your direction. When he graduated, the student populace sighed in relief but he only made it through one semester in college before he flunked out.

“He’s not the kind for ranch work,” Ward says as he gestures you up the front steps, “frankly, I don’t know what he’s cut out for but a degree will at least give him some prospects.”

“Mhmm,” you drone nervously. If Rose had said so, you may not have been so eager. You just assumed it would be one of the two Wards still enrolled in school.

“He should be around–” he pulls open the front door and lets you in first.

You step aside to slip your shoes off as he hollers for Rafe. You glance out the screen door and wonder if you can come up with a good excuse. Your mind is racing but you come up with nothing.

“What?” Rafe snarls as he traipses in through a broad archway.

“Tutor’s here,” Ward says.

“Tutor?” Rafe mutters.

“I told you,” he chides, “go get your books.”

“Dad, I told you, I’ll write the damn test–”

“And you’ll pass,” Ward insists, “books. Now.”

Rafe huffs and stomps upstairs. You turn around to watch him go. Ward shakes his head and beckons you onwards. You marvel at the neat interior. It’s all a lot more modern than the rest of Hammer Ford. A rustic contemporary mix of sleek white and faded pine.

“Feel free to help yourself to some water, or there’s a Keurig,” Ward offers, “I’d get you some myself but…” he holds up his gloved hands, “I doubt you like the taste of horse hair.”

You smile and nod as you slip your bag off your shoulder.

“Thanks, uh, I’m good,” you say.

“Don’t let him get to you. I know how he can be. He gives you any trouble, I’ll deal with him.”

“Sure, uh, no, shouldn’t be an issue,” you shrug, though you sound less than convincing.

“I’ll be around,” he says and taps the door frame as he leaves.

You sit as he goes and you open your laptop on the table. Your parents bought the used model for your first year of college. It’s a bit slow but it works. You’ll just need the wifi.

A sudden slam makes you yipe and jolts the table. You look up as Rafe stands across from you, scowling. Behind your laptop, there’s several textbooks and a notebook with curling pages. You try to smile but your lips only tremble.

“Oh, hey,” you eke out, “uh, so… we can start on comprehensive literature–”

“Fuck off, dork,” he drops into the chair.

“Well I… your dad–”

“My dad wants me to sit here and waste his money, sure thing,” he crosses his arms and rolls his eyes, “but i’m not takin’ no lessons from you.”

“Right, well, I…” you don’t know what to say. “Can I have the wifi at least?”

He doesn’t acknowledge your question as he pulls out his phone. You think he’s looking it up but he just sits and scrolls, his floppy hair drooping down his forehead. You fidget and flutter your fingers listlessly over the keyboard.

You should just go but you need the money. You close the laptop and reach for one of the textbooks. You open it and smooth the pages with your hand.

“Right, rules of grammar,” you begin, “nouns, pronouns, verbs–”

“Fucking dweeb,” he drops his phone and stands up, “for someone so smart, you sure are fucking dumb.”

“Identifying sentences…” you focus on the page as he paces.

“You think you’re so fucking clever,” he startles you as he pulls out the chair next to you, sitting in it as his elbow hits the table.

“Read the following and underline–” you angle the book towards him, silence by a jarring squeeze on your throat.

You recoil as his hand closes on the front of your neck and you push yourself back in the chair. You grab his wrist and choke, wiggling in your seat. What is he doing?

“What–”

“Shhhhh,” he puts his finger to his lips then presses it to yours, “you talk too much.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, pulling helplessly on his arm. He smirks as he leans forward, pulling you towards him.

“You think you’re better than me?” He snarls, “let’s see about that.”

#rafe cameron #dark rafe cameron #dark!rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #drabble #au #series #daddy lessons #backwoods au #obx #the outer banks

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warnersister · 4 months

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Dark! Isaiah Jesus x Reader “forever”

Where you try to leave him but Isaiah refuses to fathom the idea that you don’t want to live in his fantasy forever.

Isaiah rounded the corner onto the street where his house was, pace steady as he looked forward to spending the evening with his little fiancée after a tiring day dealing with some business with the other Peaky boys.

He’d expected you to be in bed already, waiting up for him like a good girl to ask about his day and dote on him the way he’d like you too. But when he opened the front door and let out a loud “I’m home sweetheart” he could hear your pottering upstairs becoming more wicked, and sounded almost frantic to him. He inhaled deeply, anger slowly seeping through his veins and he attempted to establish that gentle dominance he tried to have with you instead of getting truly angry.

In his head it wasn’t true; blindly convincing himself over the past few weeks that the news he’d been receiving wasn’t real. They were just making it up. He’d hired a few men to follow you when you’d started dating - needing to know where his missus was at all times when he couldn’t accompany you. And since the beginning of the month they’d trailed you to a bank, a lawyer and a travel agency which you’d left with a one way ticket to France by ferry. But no, you wouldn’t do that to him. You loved him. You’d promised him forever when you accepted that ring. Of course you wouldn’t do that.

But now, stood in the entrance to your house, he flared his nostrils and shook his head, gritting his jaw as he calmly went around and locked all the doors, windows and exits on the ground floor before putting all keys in his coat pocket, hanging it by the door.

He walked upstairs at his usual pace, rolling the sleeves of his bloodied shirt to deal with your nonsense. He’d walked to the shared bedroom, noticing the light pooling into the hallway, slipping in as he watched you click your suitcase shut. He entered the room fulls and quickly shut the door behind him. You jumped at the sound of the door closing, too absorbed in your own mind to notice him there.

He crossed his arms across his chest, watching you straighten yourself up and could almost see the internal convincing it took you to speak to him. “I can’t do this anymore Isaiah.” You started. “Put the suitcase away yn.” “I can’t keep living your lie. I had a successful business, I was happy. And now I’m just as much use as a chocolate fire guard.” Isaiah stayed silent. “I appreciate all that you’ve done for me. But it’s time for me to go.” You say, picking the suitcase up and pulling the engagement ring off of your finger. And Isaiah started laughing. “You’re funny love.” He shook his head, refusing to believe that you would ever consider leaving him. “I’m serious Isaiah.”

His eyes darkened suddenly, a hazy mist filling the dark voids in place of his pupils as he inhaled deeply. “You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing, taking money out of my account. Hiring a lawyer that works for the blinders. Buying ferry tickets to a country which language you can’t speak.” “I’ve been taking lessons.” “Which I pay for.” He moves away from the door and back towards you, you don’t back away. “You’ve bought a suitcase with my money. Wearing clothes that I’ve paid for, running away in shoes I had made, with a confidence I created. I made you Yn. You will not do this to me.” You stayed silent.

“You’re just confused. You’ve never had a man love you and you don’t know how to feel. You’ve never had such a sense of security and you’re not used to it. Cause you think you’re a strong woman when internally you’re trying not to let go of that little girl’s hope.” You looked down at your feet contemplating his words, wondering what you would actually do once you reached France.

He lifted your chin to meet his eyes with his thumb and index finger, analysing your face. “So what you’re going to do my love, is you’re going to unpack that suitcase, put your clothes away. Give me the money and the ticket and you’re going to put that diamond back on your finger and you’re going to be Mrs Jesus like I know you want to be. Then you’re going to get ready for bed, lay in that bed beside me while you apologise for being so silly and then I’ll consider forgiving you and we’ll go back to how thinks were. Yeah?”

You looked at him for a minute before silently moving away to open your suitcase back up and he knew he had you wrapped around his finger.

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harrysonlylover · 9 months

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Checkmate ( Part 1)

Summary: Two rival assassins are sent out to complete a mission during which they bump into each other. Questions will be asked, and history will make an appearance.

So dear reader,grab your mask and summon your sharp wit.

Trope: Assassin! H / LHH

Warnings: mentions of knives, guns, violence, blood, physical fight.

Wc: 10.5k

A/n: why not…? I love Darkrry, so enjoy. @keepdrivingkisses sent me a video of Mr & Mrs Smith and then i got to work hehe!!!

Main Masterlist

Author’s POV

The truth is you’re going to die.

It doesn’t matter if your life flashed before your eyes, if the sky was dark and cloudy, or if it was predictable because you spilled your coffee that morning.

Death could happen in the most bizarre ways, on the train home, while you’re asleep, or even sitting peacefully at home. It is inevitable and once it is decided there is no going back.

Although it arrives suddenly, without warning or a chance to bid your loved ones goodbye, it can also be planned, calculated and you very much would be aware.

In this case, you would be someone known and a threat to someone else with a reputation. Usually, bodyguards will flood your houses, follow your every step, and hire security teams.

Once your head has a price, you will be found.

The how’s and why’s are irrelevant, what is asked for will be done discreetly and without catching attention from the wrong people. This job is not for the FBI or even some counterintelligence agency. In fact, they’re the ones who are not supposed to ask questions.

Assassins have been feared since monarchy days, the number of kings or descendants that died at the hands of an assassin is countless. It remains to this day, the most efficient way to eliminate someone that harms your good.

Thankfully, not everyone can order assassins around or even have their contact, but don’t forget that they are normal people, with normal lives and you could sit down for a coffee with one of them while they clean the blood off their hands at night.

This isn’t about who’s the target, because they will die anyways. This is the story of two assassins, that you better watch your back from, and maybe lock your doors really well.

Never mind, I wasted your time. They will find you.

3rd Person POV:

The rain poured down heavily, hitting the pavement with loud thuds enough to make both the living, and the dead uncomfortable. The weather has been holding some tension for a few days now, so the wrath of Zeus is hardly a surprise.

It will remain this way for a while; the children will run home ready to hide in the safety of their warm nests, drink the hot chocolate their parents prepared, and hug their plushies at night, not forgetting to shudder slightly with every thunder.

The adults will let out a sigh of relief and use it as an excuse to call in sick from their miserable job, perhaps surrender to a movie night with a cheap bottle of wine.

Rain is an accomplice in murder. Once it appears, normal human beings will cocoon themselves in the safety of their homes. As for others, well they do anything but stay at home.

In a hotel room, in the heart of Paris, a girl is pacing around and quietly unpacking her suitcase, which is oddly lightweight. There are only a few people who pack light.

The white duvet is untouched, with no hints of any wrinkle. She had just arrived, and she knows better than to rest or even lay her head. Rest is for the weak.

The first thing she spotted when she unlocked the room is the crimson red object, perhaps not with her eyes but you could call it a sixth sense. She didn’t give it much attention nor grab the tightly sealed card next to it. Instead, she let out her towel from the suitcase and headed toward the bathroom.

The water must always be lukewarm. A hint of warmness to relieve her muscles, and a bit of coldness for the sting and maybe to increase her blood flow.

She doesn’t stare at the mirror for long, they are quite useless. Glass is unnecessary and merely a distraction method. She knows quite well that she is magnificent, and the validation will always be provided by her, not a man nor a patriarchal object.

The nature of her job rendered her to remain fit and lean, working out is the only routine that could never be altered from her schedule. Though, this isn’t the reason she adores her body. It’d be the same for her whether she was curvy or slim. She simply doesn’t give a fuck.

Fortunately, a loser of a man once crossed her path in a bar and was on a date with a plus-size woman. She happened to sit near them and they seemed to be hitting it off until the (might she add gorgeous) woman took a bathroom break, in which he found the opportunity to call his best mate and tell him how ‘ugly she is’ and that he ‘doesn’t date these types.

She was feeling good that night, so she decided to be kind and was satisfied by pouring a very small amount of potassium monoxide into his drink. She didn’t stay enough to know what happened, neither did she care. However, she did make sure to set up a nice date for the girl.

She smirked proudly at the memory as she walked nude toward the bed and began applying her rose lotion. Having to constantly travel and move locations did not stop her from indulging in self-care or pampering herself with luxurious products. After all, the money she gets already bought her a house and a car, so why not splurge?

After a quick stretch, applying hair oil, and styling it she finally shifts her attention to the item hung on a closet that she won’t use, along with the white envelope lying next to it, and the message she received on her burner phone which she heard its chime even whilst being under the water.

The hanger held a long silk dress, burning crimson red and showcasing the collarbone area with an unnoticeable slit near the thigh. It was obvious that it was made of real silk paired with matching crimson satin heels, and both items originating from Prada. Although it is a silk dress, it does not hug her body, nor fits a party. Instead, it is quite baggy and for a formal occasion. Just next to the discarded envelope, a red mask with feathers is placed.

She reached for the envelope and revealed the letter designated for her.

The blood will trail crimson red

Unbeknownst to my guests

In spring, poppies will spread

So come here and catch heads

She couldn’t help but allow the corners of her mouth to twitch. Her boss has always been extra, but she’s tolerated him for years. She burns the letter and then checks the content of the text he left.

1st Arrondissement, Place Vendôme

8:00 PM. Will send the location in an hour.

You know your target.

She sat down and ate her Salmon with Brussels quietly watching the clock tick loudly as it strikes 6:00 PM. The rain is tainting the windows and the echo of the thunder lingers even with the glass being shut.

Her eyes focus on the rain droplets sliding down the window and she wonders if it will persist for two more hours.

If it does, it’d be better to stay home and not wander around in the streets. Poppies are deadly.

Paris, 7:30 PM

After her quick dinner, she had enough time to kill, literally.

She unpacked her special bag and followed through with her routine that must always be done before every job. Her collection of knives was staring at her, their shiny metal mirroring her face.

She was still standing in her corset and panties. She abandoned bralettes ages ago and opted for corsets to form some sort of protection on her chest area, they also don’t bother her like bralettes did.

As for her underwear, it was a gift from one of her old female bosses.

‘Men are predictable and always aim for your panties, so do let them touch’

The fabric was made to specifically hold a heavy object but without grazing her skin. She has to admit how smart of a move it is to create such clothing. Her stiletto knife always accompanied her right in her lace underwear.

But one is never enough for her, a garter belt on her thigh will have to do, she can’t risk placing it on the side where the slit in the dress could reveal it. So she opts for her right thigh and tightly secures two push daggers in it.

She wore her custom dress quite quickly, along with the satin heels but her bag was still staring at her. Maybe a gun wouldn’t hurt? For fun?

Thankfully, she always lubricates and cleans her guns after the mission, so she doesn’t have to waste time before one just to clean it up. She placed a cartridge at the top then pushed it down and back and inserted the top of the magazine into the magazine well at the bottom of the frame with the bullets facing forward, then pushed upward until the magazine is fully seated.

A click sound was heard, and it was more satisfying than the screams of her targets. She put the safety on and then stuffed the gun in her corset, making sure it was in an easy-access position.

Her hair was already styled right after her shower, but she decided to go for a smoky eye look with dark red lipgloss. She didn’t have to look in the mirror to know how pretty she is.

If only looks could kill.

She locked the lower layer of her case that carries her equipment with the code panel that is barely noticeable and covered it with the top layer having luxurious makeup (with maybe some of it being equipment disguised as beauty products). She locked the bag overall and placed it in a cupboard that hotel workers probably don’t even know of, but these are the perks of being trained to observe.

She checked the burner phone for the location and cursed the dress code that is stopping her from going there using a motorcycle. She took the feather mask and placed the burner phone in the pocket of the dress before leaving her room and locking it well.

Place Vendôme , 8:15 PM.

As soon as her heels set foot in the spacious vintage venue, she deleted the location text from her burner phone and wrapped the ribbons of the feather mask around her head. She arrived at exactly 8 PM, her professionalism allows nothing less.

However, her impatience does have something to say about the delay of her mission. According to the file she studied before her arrival in Paris, her target is a businessman called Arthur Lorray. She closed her eyes allowing her visual memory to take over, to recall her target’s info. Her mind focuses sharply on the document she memorized back in Amsterdam.

Arthur Lorray, 58 years old, Male, American, blue eyes, scar on his left cheek, 5’9 feet tall, 90 kgs, can be found around a group of women.

Mission: lure the target to a safe quiet place and eliminate him then use the window to escape.

Murder witnesses if found and leave no trace behind.

Payment: 2 million $

Her boss left her this information in a sealed file while staying at a hotel in Amsterdam, Henry is also a businessman and she never asked why he is demanding the death of these people. She assumes it’s some men’s shit about power and authority.

Now, where does the issue lie?

Her target Arthur is nowhere to be found. The ball hasn’t even started yet, and now that she takes a good look around her it’s quite the event. She feels as if she stepped back in time to an 1800s-themed ball, all the women are dressed in fancy lace and feather gowns, with masks covering their faces. The men are wearing old suits with ruffles and weird-looking boots.

The chandelier is probably worth around 3 million $ alone, it’s decorated with shiny crystals that are reflecting on the marble tiles. The hall is spacious with high ceilings, and some of the walls hold a lantern with fire in it to convince the guests that they actually traveled in time.

The walls are adorned with luxurious gold leaves, and Renaissance paintings in the center of the ceiling with high columns as if built by the Romans. All these details provided the illusion of an imperial event unbeknownst to the guests that are mingling and grabbing one glass of champagne after the other.

In the middle of the hall, a man is sitting on a leather bench slowly killing her ears by playing the piano as his friend plays the violin, if not for the violin player she’s pretty sure the first guy would’ve brought back the great depression era.

It is obvious that the guests are just starting to arrive, trying to find the people they know then giggle and complain about the masks. It is her job after all, and she must wait if it requires, but men tend to sit on her nerves.

She fetched a glass of Dom Pérignon, to appear as if she’s blending but she doesn’t drink on the job, nor does she like it in the first place.

It won’t be hard to detect her target, it is quite easy to spot a herd of businessmen and differentiate them from the normal middle class or at least non businessmen.

They would be gathered around each other like a stock of sheep, making misogynistic jokes with their hands wrapped around their newest arm candy. If Arthur already has a woman with him, it will make it harder for her but never impossible.

She could feel that a man is about to approach her for flirting, so she quickly walks the other way and roams the entire hall both in search of her target and to escape the company of a boring male.

She keeps her eyes on the guests and takes note of her boss that is standing near other businessmen. Now, of course, she will not approach him nor should she. In missions like these, her goal is to eliminate whom he asks for, it is a rarity that he requests protection.

He has bodyguards but she’d protect him if she must, however maintaining a distance and no contact is the preferred method.

The cold glass in her hand is starting to leak melting ice on her palm from how long she’s been holding on to it. She pretends to take a sip from it and discards it on a nearby table.

The hall is now beyond full and echoing with laughter and chatter, if Arthur did arrive it’ll take her more time to find him, and that she doesn’t have. She spots a staircase leading to a 2nd-floor balcony with the hall she’s in being the view.

She discreetly and innocently climbs up the stairs, paying attention to the two knives and one gun placed in sensitive areas. Once she finds a good location, her eyes behind the mask begin roaming the guests.

Albeit the loud chatter and obnoxious laughter, she was still able to pour her focus into the crowd. Her irises spotted a man with a physique the same as indicated in Arthur’s file, he shifted his face at just the right angle for her to catch the scar that the mask is barely able to hide.

Gotcha, she muttered under her breath.

She slowly and carefully went down the stairs and headed gracefully toward the eastern corner of the hall. Though there was some sort of feeling or even instinct that settled in her stomach. Her target was so close, but she felt as if something wasn’t right.

She stopped in her tracks and instead decreased her pace. There was something that she can’t pick up but at the same time, she can’t risk delaying her mission when she’s already got a hold of her person.

Assassins could never trust their instincts, but she never admitted to anyone the number of times her instincts had saved her.

‘Rule number fucking one: never do instinct bullshit. Assassins use their brain and skills unless you don’t plan on living for long.’

In situations like these, she’s reminded of her mentor’s words during her training as an amateur. She stops in her tracks once she catches a whiff of a dangerously familiar scent.

Tom Ford, tobacco vanille.

It could be the scent of any man here but combine it with her hunch and she’ll have a problem on her hands. She takes a deep breath and shifts her eyes to check that her target is still in place, and to see if there are any signs of trouble.

“Hey watch out!” Despite her quick reflexes, she barely turned around before a bulky man bumped into her, making her shift her body and stand in shock as the smell of the perfume intensified.

The man continued to walk without a care in the world, and if she doesn’t make him turn around, she’ll never have her peace of mind.

“Fucking dick! Do you have eyes?!” He stops in his tracks at her tone and quietly turns around tilting his head in annoyance.

His hair was long and shoulder length, his golden mask didn’t help in hiding his forest-green irises. He offered a hint of a smirk, and his eyes immediately drop to her forearm, right below her elbow, and fixate on her poppy tattoo.

Harry fucking Styles.

Her rival assassin, commonly known as Azrael; angel of death.

“I believe you were in my way, flower.” His voice was low but deep, enough to confirm her suspicions and make her body go on alert mode.

A red fucking code.

She begins walking backward, feeling uncomfortable with the situation. He started following her just as she turned around and walked the other way.

It is never a good sign to have another assassin present during a job, whether they’re sent for your target or another. But he isn’t just any assassin, the names Poppy and Azrael go way back.

Poppy started crafting a plan in her head and tried to come up with answers as she diverted him from her and lost him in the crowd. The only obstacle is that she’s one of the very few dressed in red. Mainly, the colors blue, gold, yellow, and dark green are the most prominent. Besides, this isn’t the first time she’s played hide and seek with him which motivates her to hide her tracks.

In situations like these, her boss becomes a priority. For all she knows, Azrael could be sent here to harm him. She fishes out her burner phone and quickly types a text message to Henry’s phone number.

Another is here, call your security team.

She watched as his facial expression changes once he read it, and she doesn’t linger long enough to check on her target. It could all be discussed later on, but the fact that an assassin is in the same room as her is a red fucking code, let alone being the most ruthless assassin with a reputation that precedes him.

Although it is not a smart move, she waited until Henry was escorted out of the building by two teams of security, not batting a lash at the murmurs of the crowd that only persisted for a few minutes before they got back to partying.

Her job here is done.

Arthur Lorray is still breathing, and she can’t help but feel her blood boil.

The thing about Assassins is that they’re solo ravens. They may have partners, but never anything other than an assassin. Knowing her nemesis she’d assume he’s alone. Now that her boss is no longer near him, she has nothing else to do.

But she can feel him, and her body is betraying her. She can sense his perfume, his smirk behind the mask, his curls brushing on his face, and she can certainly feel his presence behind her back.

“Checkmate Poppy.” He whispered in her ear causing a shiver to run down her spine. His hot breath was so close to her neck, prompting goosebumps to spread all over her skin.

She didn’t turn around, nor move an inch. His face was settling near her neck, with his mouth close to her earlobe. She remembered the instructions in her file and how she was supposed to escape through a window which makes her believe that it was an easy route. She eyed the staircase while turning her head backward gently to give him her death stare.

“Oh, how I’ve missed running after you.” He chuckled as he allowed his eyes to roam her angelic face.

Meanwhile, she had her eyes set on the waiter coming towards them with a tray of expensive champagne. She discreetly stepped on his long ridiculous coat making him fall forward and drop the tray on the ground, splashing Harry and some guests in the process.

It was her cue to escape, but he doesn’t want to let her go.

Just as her heels set forward, his hands followed by grabbing her arms and pulling her backward to his chest. “Sorry folks! My wife is a bit clumsy.” He sent them his charming smile making the women swoon and the men mutter under their breaths. With his hand tightly wrapped around her torso, he fished out a heavy stack of bills reaching up to thousands of dollars and gave it to the waiter before patting him on the back.

Poopy was fuming. She could escape if she wants to, and they both know that. Not by some silly distraction method or out of the window. For fucks sake she is one of the most requested assassins. Well, she and Harry are.

She’s not in danger, he wants to play his sick game of a cat chase just like he always did. She could aim at his weakest spots that she memorized, or even use her one of her push daggers to the side of his larynx and sever the carotid artery and jugular vein.

But she has to admit. She missed having someone to push her buttons and challenge her.

The crowd slowly dissipated and forgot all about the commotion the deadly pair caused. One thing about his grip is that it’ll leave marks, he was even covering her entire torso by just wrapping his arm around it. He’s trying not to think about how despite his physique, she can still beat his ass if she wants to.

So why resist Poppy Princess?

None of them had time to make any move. It’s a bit ironic to see the two most dangerous assassins get pushed to the middle of the hall because Mr. I can barely play the piano decided to announce a dance.

She should’ve killed him when she first entered, she thought.

“Oh darling reminds me of our honeymoon.” He mocked with a sick smile planted on his face. His sarcastic comments have begun and she’s not sure for how long she can handle him before shooting him in the leg, or even better his crotch.

It is quite a shock to see him after so long, there was always unfinished business between them. A grudge, a scar, or even something more. How would the guests act if they knew that they are in the presence of good old dangerous foes?

They were forced to put on a mask, different than the one they have on. Fleeing to an isolated place was not a choice, not when almost the entire hall gathered to dance with almost no space to leave. He was definitely not going to allow her to dance with someone else.

“Long time no see Azrael.” She finally spoke as they stood in position for the dance. They both bowed down to each other, not forgetting to raise their eyes and offer a sharp stare.

Their eye contact competition has started.

The annoying musicians began performing Waltz No.2 by Dmitri Shostakovich and it was everyone’s cue to commence waltzing. Poppy and Azrael held hands before standing next to each other as they extended their opposite legs, his left arm behind his back while she spread hers.

They then straightened their postures as she placed her left arm on his right one that is touching her shoulder blade while joining the opposite sides of their hands before beginning to sway to the right.

“I was indeed beginning to wonder where you’ve gone. I thought someone else earned the pleasure of killing you.” He replied to her previous comment as his eyes burned into hers from behind the mask.

“No, I can’t possibly die when I still didn’t kick you in your crotch.” He made her spin around with his hand before getting back to their position.

She can feel his touch burning deep into her skin and settling in, let alone the music that is intensifying, or his eyes that are not parting from her or looking out for bumping into the others.

“Oh please just say you want to take a look.” His voice didn’t have to be so raspy when he was basically in her face and attached to her.

They began swaying to the left, their feet in sync with each other as they danced in circles around the room while the symphony kept playing. It was legendary, only if some knew. A Dance with the two masters of death, as if they’re tiptoeing and having fun with others’ lives. A deadly rhythm indeed.

Their chemistry and deadly stares grins behind the mask, and body language would be enough to pull at the strings of the violin tearing it apart to shreds as they watch everything around them get destroyed except for them.

“How’s that scar I gave you?” She mused aiming to humor his sarcasm.

“Amazing. I look at it every day wondering when I can give you a similar one.” He tried not to chuckle recalling the scar on his rib that he maybe likes a bit too much.

“How about never?” She violated the rules of the waltz by getting dangerously close to his face just for her to whisper in his ear.

They changed their position as she extended her arm to the side of his neck and him to her waist before they danced around in a circle. They switched to the right and joined palms not tearing their eyes from each other.

“Why are you here Harry and how did you know where to find me?” She decided against digging her nails into his skin as they got back to the previous dancing posture.

“I can find you when I want to.” He replied providing her with both a truth and a lie. He really can find her if he wishes to and so can she. He fought the urge to do so many times just to see her pissed off. However, he had no idea that she’ll be here. He just came here for his mission.

He makes her spin one more time before claiming his tight grip on her. He can see the confusion and anger in her eyes, how she was trying to pull information out of him but if anything he knew since the moment he laid his eyes on the deadly flower that trouble is in this very room.

“Oh, so you want to play this game, Harry? Like old times?” She sneered making him let out a chuckle at her fierceness that he always admired.

The music piece was now nearing the end and it’s such a shame they didn’t get to properly indulge in the dance, except that if they did some tables might get wrecked and they’d leave with bruises just like always.

“What was the score? Refresh my memory petal.”

“Who’s counting? We did a number on each other, it’s time for another game.” She didn’t elaborate any further and instead bowed down one last time like all the dancers in the room before leaving the hall and bumping into his shoulder.

He glanced behind him and saw her taking the stairs as she turned around to give him her deadly stare that he knows even if she has a mask on. She was not running away from him nor hiding.

It was an invitation.

With a proud grin on his face, his legs instantly followed her persisting fragrance immune to the women attempting to ask him for a dance or a chat . His eyes were set forward, not blinking nor angling his head an inch.

The second floor was empty and discarded as if it was left especially for the two of them. He strolled nonchalantly eyeing the closed doors for a tiny gap, her perfume became stuck to his clothes and hair as if it were aiming to distract him from her.

“Come out wherever you are Poppy, let’s have some fun.” His voice echoed in the empty corridor as he continued to look for evidence of her presence.

Even the deadliest assassins leave trails, it depends on whether it was intentional or not.

His eyes landed on a red feather delicately resting on the marble tiles near a slightly open door. Was it an invitation or a clumsiness on her part?

His hand itches as it slowly pushes the door eliciting a loud squeak due to the age of the wood. The light is dim inside the room, but it is enough to display the magnificent interior. The walls are similar to the ones downstairs but with more gold, and the room is free of furniture except for the occasional flower vase or antique sword.

He barely takes one more step before his body is pushed against the nearest wall with a knife positioned at his throat. Her perfume is making him dizzy in a new way, and he should know better than to fall into her mouse trap that easily.

But in these moments, he wasn’t Azrael the ruthless assassin. He was just Harry.

“Really Poppy? From behind the door?” He let out a deep chuckle that she felt go through her body as the only thing separating them now is her sharp stiletto knife.

“I want my answers and I’m going to get them.” There was no hint of sarcasm in her tone nor humor.

The sharp edge of the knife is digging into his neck, one tiny shift and she’ll draw blood and he smirks at the thought. Little minx.

Her mask is now gone and he’s not sure if that’s good or bad, but what he can do is stare at her eyes as if she has some sort of magic like a siren. The surprising news is that he’s doing the same. His irises are just so different when the light is dim as if they need to shine more or grow darker.

One of them needs to make a move, and it’s Harry’s turn to move the chess piece.

It happens so quickly that it manages to shock them both. He blocks the knife with his palm allowing it to barely penetrate his skin and draw a small amount of blood then throws it to the ground as it lets out a loud thud.

He turns her body around locking a tight arm around her waist and searches for any other weapons she might carry. He pats her instead of letting his hand wander around her skin until he’s met with something on her thigh.

“You brought knives to a gunfight?” He tsked breaking his tough façade, switching to his cocky personality.

“I like it messy. Now what are you doing here?” She gritted through her teeth as she was visibly angry. Harry was more interested in the way her chest is rising and falling, it was so intriguing to watch especially when he usually does it before stopping the rising. But her. He could get paid to watch it.

“We could stay like this all night. Never minded some fun with knives.” His threat is verbal and reassures her that he will not let down his guard.

The tension here does not lie just between two assassins who are curious as to why they’re found in the same room, but also in their history of banter, chasing, and the sexual tension that lingered as their shadow.

Poppy’s chess piece moves.

She uses her heels to press on his crotch earning a pained wince from his lips, it was almost like a moan going right into her ear. His grip gets loose around her waist as she pushes his body away and heads towards her beloved knife that is discarded in the center of the room.

She can feel him about to approach her as she picks up her knife so she reaches for one of the push daggers from her garter and aims it in his direction without looking. She had to check on her knife after all. Priorities?

When she finally raises her head and takes a look, her eyes fall on his figure pinned to the wall due to her push dagger that penetrated his suit and cut off a piece of fabric and some of his chocolate hair.

He’s smirking as if she didn’t just risk his life, he finds it quite amusing. The hair strands and fabric fall to the ground as he twists the push dagger between his fingers while strolling toward her.

“You like it messy Poppy, don’t you? I’ll give you messy.” His tone was dark and threatening but it’s nothing she can’t handle.

He hides the dagger in his pocket and takes off his ripped jacket discarding it to the ground. They stand facing each other like two chess pieces. The Rook and the Queen.

“I’m not leaving here until I get my answers.” She warned as they both moved around in a circle eyeing the other’s body language.

“And my hair took time to grow flower.” His forest eyes dug deep into her soul.

He attacks first aiming at her collarbone but she ducks down and twists his arm before punching him in the face. It is not enough to cause deformations to his pretty face but his anger is so worth it.

He saw her smile for the first time tonight, and isn’t it wonderful that he gets to wipe it away? He goes after her and uses the dagger he claimed to cut through her dress right where the slit is so that her entire thigh is shown.

He has to admit that the sight of the garter on her thigh and her bare legs could kill him without any weapons but he needs to stay focused.

“Oh you little fucker” She moves a hair strand from her face and goes for her next move before he can blink.

She takes out her gun from her corset, turning off the safety blindly before shooting in his direction but not at him. He has no time to react as the vase that he didn’t notice behind him takes the bullet and blows up into pieces, one of them slashing slightly through his cheek.

Everyone’s too engrossed with the festivities and dancing that they did not hear the gunshot, not that it was loud anyways since it has a silencer.

Harry brings his hand to his cheek and realizes that her aim was more than perfect or else.. she could’ve made him get plastic surgery.

“It’s a shame, that was a nice vase.” He pouted pretending to be sad and hurt.

“And so was my dress idiot.”

“Do you remember that one time in Vienna when you called the FBI on me?” He asked with his hands behind his back, he was aiming to strike and she’s going to let him.

“My favorite memory.” She laughs as if he reminded her of a pleasant vacation.

“Oh Fuck you, Poppy.” He reveals a gun from behind his hand that aims at the ground between her feet.

“The old man at my hotel can aim better.” She riles him on knowing damn well why he aimed there and that he can shoot a gun with a blindfold around his eyes.

“Just tell me why you’re here Harry and we’ll both be on our way.” She would never admit being defeated but their little game has become tiring.

The rook and the queen are in the center again observing the damage they inflicted. They upgrade their game by going in blind and standing in front of each other with guns pointed at the others’ hearts.

The metal of the gun is pressing into his skin despite being clothed, he had discarded his mask earlier on and he shared the same move by digging his gun into her chest.

It wasn’t about breaking the skin barrier or transmitting electric touches. What their eyes are sharing is far more intimate, it comes off as a threat, a prayer, a plea, and an announcement.

Checkmate.

“Yield petal.”

“Never.” There goes that stubbornness, like a moth to his flame.

Then, the rook moves.

Harry smashes his forehead into hers, enough to make her dizzy but never not a concussion. She stumbles backwards pressing her hand to her head as her anger takes over her again. He launches forward and slightly lowers his level to wrap his arms around her torso and throw her over his shoulders.

“I have questions too Poppy.” He breathes out shutting his eyes momentarily, and for the first time ever he disliked his job.

He barely managed to walk a few meters forward before he felt her tight grip on his neck despite her body dangling off his shoulder. She used the grip on his veins to push her weight upwards and make him stop in his tracks.

Harry is quite heavy, with biceps that need a custom suit and legs that can lift a whole body single-handedly. Unfortunately, his stamina and strength are immune to Poppy, she is smaller and possesses less physical strength but what she just did is beyond cleverness.

After balancing herself she flips his body forward with one of her favorites: a punch. She exploits gravity as an ally and pushes his body to the ground as he falls with a thud.

She strolls over to him dramatically, her heels clicking on the marble ground as he balances himself using his elbows. As soon as she’s near his body she raises her leg and presses her heel into his chest to stop him from getting up. He simply lifts his gaze feeling too enchanted by her, not caring about the pain that he feels due to the sharpness of her heel.

She expects him to flip her leg or use one of his moves that’ll give you a good time in the ER, but instead, he locks eyes with her and slowly inches his face forward before leaving a lingering kiss to her ankle accompanied by his devil grin, more like an angel of death.

“The last move is always mine Harry.” She panted in an attempt to stay balanced after barely escaping his grip from dizziness.

The grin widened as it spread across his face but even then, his lips didn’t leave her ankle. The moment he placed his mouth on her skin she felt electricity going through her body starting from her leg up to her brain.

With one fallen chess piece, the queen detaches herself from the rook giving him one last glance before walking away. You must never turn your back on your enemy but in the case of Poppy and Azrael, they know each other too well that trust managed to bloom between them on the walls of rivalry.

And at this moment the trust whispers loudly in the room: game over.

Harry’s eyes are shut and his nostrils are flaring, his mind is too lazy to get up from the ground, but he can. He can go after her and play round after round but he knows better than to have hope because they will not utter a word to the other.

Then it happens.

She stops in her tracks, her breaths shallow and wary as she angles her head slowly to the right casting a look from her peripheral vision. He shares the same look on his face as he reluctantly stands up.

A chime went off in the room, or perhaps two chimes?

There is unspoken knowledge between them as they both take out their burner phone and check the source of the chime. It indeed was two chimes, their interest in the content of the message exposed them.

Now, the one thing that follows in terms of danger after two assassins are in the same room is two assassins receiving a text at the same instant in the same room.

“Forgot to pick up your new flowerpot?”

“Do you have a hairdresser appointment?”

The sarcasm cannot last for long, the signs are all there. Something is off about this entire evening and while this sense of trepidation usually belongs to their targets, they find themselves on its other side.

“Your target is Arthur Lorray isn’t it?” He takes the risk and waits for any indication in her facial expression.

“And yours is Henry Davis.” She replies tilting her head as her mind tries to uncover this twisted puzzle.

If not for a certain thought in his mind, for his blind trust, her odour, or even a small reckless part of him he wouldn’t have acted the way he did. He wouldn’t have approached her and revealed the contents of his message.

Something flashed in her eyes, though he could never read them. But it could only mean two things: death or paradise.

“I got the same message.” Different bosses sending the same message?

Poppy, be present in a room at the end of the corridor on the second floor in 5 minutes.

He got an identical message but addressed to ‘Azrael’.

This is wrong in so many ways, she observed as her boss was accompanied by two security teams with her own eyes and now he’s asking her to meet him in a room in the presence of the target he had asked her to eliminate.

This has never happened before and nor were they trained for it.

It could be a setup for all they know.

“Stay behind me, Poppy. I don’t like this” Harry warned as they exited the room they were in.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” She scoffed even though she knew how valid his warning was.

“Can you not be feisty for once?” He sneered in her face as some of his curls fell on his injured cheek.

“You’re bleeding.” She ripped a tiny piece from her dress that he had already ruined earlier and pressed it to his place of injury.

“Careful or I might think you’re falling in love.”

“Maybe if you let me punch you again.”

Their banter stopped right as they spotted a door at the end of the corridor, they could see how the guests are still very much clueless while On the hills of Manchuria played in the background.

They look like an absolute mess as if they just survived a hurricane. Her dress is barely covering her body as her left leg is completely exposed reaching up to her hip and the loose threads can give you a hint of what happened.

His blazer is nowhere to be seen, his white down button is wrinkled and he has a piece of her dress pressed to his face. If they descend and mingle in the hall, not only will they cause a fuss but also terror.

He doesn’t get to tell her anything before she turns the doorknob and pushes the door. They’re met with a well-decorated room filled with antiques and vintage furniture of gold and white. A chimney is lit for the ambiance and it wasn’t hard to spot the only two figures in the room pouring expensive Bourbon.

“Ah, there you are!” Henry is standing in the middle of the room while Arthur relaxes on the sofa with his arms spread.

The looks on their faces are priceless. There is no one else in the room that might attack them. However, Harry is making sure to check the room for anything that could be out of sorts like a camera or so.

“What the fuck is this mockery?” Harry’s body tenses and his fists are clenching as he stares back at the two men.

“Please Harry take a seat we just want to discuss business, no funny stuff.” Arthur spoke nonchalantly as if he wasn’t supposed to be dead.

“We’re very much comfortable like this.” Poison dripped from her mouth as she tried to figure out what all of this could be.

“Oh Poppy don’t be cross. You’ve known me for years! Don’t you trust me?” Henry says as he hands Arthur his glass of Bourbon.

“Trust is a dangerous thing.” She began walking towards them despite Harry’s disapproval.

Poppy is very witty. She never accepts a client before researching them from the moment they’re born till the present and it isn’t your typical Google search. She stalks them, plants bugs, spies... whatever she finds suitable for her peace of mind.

Henry was like any other businessman and he never caused her any trouble. Except for today.

“Are you aware that we can kill you in two minutes if you don’t explain right this instant?” Harry threatened with his eyes and placed his hands in his pockets.

“Exactly! The use of ‘We’” Arthur chuckled as he put down his glass on the antique table in front of him and stood up.

Harry can feel that Poppy is about to whip out her gun any second now so he gives Arthur his famous glare as one last warning.

“Me and Arthur are not competing against each other. You weren’t supposed to kill us and well our plan went sideways. You really should take a seat.”

Poppy despises all this unnecessary speech; she prefers getting to the point. She felt Harry’s arm below her waist beckoning her to rest on the sofa, which she did reluctantly.

“We wanted to offer you a business deal, yet we both knew that you’d refuse to discuss business at an event like this so we sent you here for a job that went wrong.” Although not everything was clicking, Harry and Poppy relaxed as this cannot be a setup.

“We didn’t expect you to bump into each other, we were intending on getting you here before one of you strikes but we forgot how professional you are.” Henry explained as he enjoyed his drink.

“I was shocked by your loyalty Poppy; your warning caught me off guard. I had to fake fleeing away and I can tell you and Azrael had some fun.” Henry and Arthur held back a chuckle, but were they to blame?

Poppy and Harry were a sight, the damage reaching their clothes and body or even face and hair in Harry’s case. They needed a fresh shower, a first aid kit, and a change of clothes.

“What kind of business did you want to suggest?” Harry’s deep voice echoed in the room and nothing could be heard except for the burning of the wood, the occasional gulps, and the faint music from the ball.

“As I mentioned before me and Arthur are not rivals but we have some tough competition, which you were handling individually at first but then shit went down like security systems crashing down, assassination attempts, you name it.”

They can feel it. They know what the deal is but they’re pushing it to the back of their head.

“ The point is… we want you to work as partners and kill whoever we consider a threat to us.”

And here it goes.

“Fuck no!”

“Absolutely not”

They both shouted at the same instant, their bodies tensed and Harry’s jaw was clenching. This suggestion is their worst nightmare, it is known that Assassins work alone, besides the history these two share does not help.

“Listen! Assassins will soon be after you not just us. We are aware that you work alone but this will catch everyone off guard. You’re the best of the best, imagine the power you’d have if you teamed up.” Arthur stood up and the desperation in his tone cannot be masked.

“Send an army my way, I dare you. None of the shit you said fazes me.” Harry might’ve gotten a boner right there and then at her words.

“You might say that but it’ll get so much harder, if you team up it will be in your favor and ours. Plus you’ll get paid double.” Harry and Poppy gave each other a side look before glancing at Arthur and Henry who desperately want them to become partners.

“Why should I put up with him?” Harry did not say one word, he simply offered his charming grin, with his body leaning forward and hands joined together over his knees. There was almost no gap between him and Poppy, and her scent was making him dizzy again.

“You’ll get paid double, easier missions, less time more efficiency…”

She might not be very keen on the idea but she isn’t entirely opposed. It is evident through her face and he knows that if she truly didn’t want it, she would’ve walked out the moment they proposed the idea.

Arthur and Henry are dying for her approval. Harry isn’t picky with his jobs and he can’t say that he’s not intrigued by the idea of working with her. He can already imagine a few scenarios…

“Fine. I’ll be the lead in this, I want two copies of each file, a team of security and spies along with a ride in every mission for precautions. New identities and passports, you know the drill, Henry.” She stood up as soon as she finished talking not batting an eye to her new partner whose opinion she did not ask for.

Arthur lifted his body up and clasped his hands together as a thank you to Poppy while Henry was already pouring another drink in celebration. For a moment they all noticed how Harry has been mute since he sat on the sofa.

“You’re in Az ,right?” Arthur raised his eyebrow in doubt.

“Whatever the lady says.” He shrugged and got up, swiping a hand through his long hair. His cheek is slightly bleeding and the tension between him and Poppy just got worse.

“No handshake?” Arthur smiled at Poppy and extended his hand to her which she eyed with doubt.

“I don’t shake hands with businessmen. One line out of the way and I’ll have your head hung in your office.” And with that, she walked towards the door.

“Take him with you to break the ice,” Henry suggested making her stand still sending a glare towards them.

“There are hundreds of hotels -“

“But you’re partners now!! Go on order anything too my treat.”

“I have enough money to buy the hotel asshole” She didn’t wait for any further comment before leaving the room and listening to Harry’s footsteps that followed.

Don’t ask her how they arrived at her hotel room, how the eyes of strangers judged them for their looks, or how she’s thinking about stabbing him because he’s already relaxed on her bed.

An exit was waiting for them at the end of the corridor, it was another one of her good luck incidents, or else she would’ve terrorized all the guests. Their ride was a motorcycle. Yes, you read that correctly.

The same vehicle she craved to use to get to the event, was waiting for them outside. It belonged to Harry and naturally, he did not allow her to drive it. He gave her his helmet and jumped on the vehicle without one and instructed her to wrap her arms around his torso which she did right after mocking him and throwing curse words.

Upon their arrival at the hotel reception, he asked the employee for a ‘honeymoon suite’ before Poppy dragged him by his arm to the elevator with an irritated expression.

He did not hesitate to immediately relax on her king-size bed. Harry knows a thing or two about her, and if anything gets her more infuriated than losing a physical fight it would be banter and mockery.

They share a fueled history that goes back to their teenage years, as baby assassins. They grew up in the same institute that recruited orphans and trained them to be professional assassins for the government. Poppy and Harry were one of the very few that managed to escape and work solo.

They were inseparable, a pair of crows who only stuck together. That is until the years of innocence fled and the years of rivalry arrived. There would be only one place for who’s worthy, a place that they fought for yet ended up fleeing from.

Even then, they would always be connected. Bumping into each other whether on a job or in public, hearing the other’s name at an event, or the usual interaction which is fighting every time they come across each other.

She can’t help but think about the past in the light of the twisted turn of events. When was the last time she sat down with him like this so peacefully?

“When you were fourteen and pretended to be asleep at night only to sneak to the rooftop together and stargaze.” Her mind spoke to her.

She let out a huff and looked down at the men’s clothing the hotel sent before grabbing them and throwing them at his face.

“Get up and shower, I want to use the bathroom too.” He stretched his limbs to taunt her and walked really slowly to the bathroom before yelling ‘Don’t miss me’ and locking the door behind him.

The sound of the shower became distant as her mind traveled to memories she buried long ago. She took a deep breath ,retrieved her bag and began cleaning her tools. A groan left her lips when she realized that one of her push daggers is still with Harry who is taking his sweet time in the shower.

The now clean gun fell from her hand as her guard went down and the memories invaded her brain. His scent was suffocating her, not his tom ford perfume despite it being addictive. She can’t even explain it without looking mad but Harry has a scent of his own, his skin releases an odor that only she can catch.

She took off her ruined dress and discarded it in the corner, then stood in her corset and panties in front of the mirror. Mirrors are her enemy yet she needs their help in this moment. She twists her arm as the glass reveals the Poppy tattoo.

He gave her that name. Told her that she can be delicate yet a symbol of death at the same time. In institutes you didn’t earn a name, you earned a number but this name was her little secret with Harry and she couldn’t resist having it inked to her skin years after their fallout.

“Poppy?” The name immediately caught her attention opting her to turn around and forget all her worries at the sight of him.

A white towel was wrapped around his hips, but it was tiny. She can spot the steam from the hot water on his skin that is glistening and has become a tattoo shop. The towel is sitting so low on his hips where a fern tattoo lays. His hair is wet and if she didn’t know him, she’d think he’s a prince.

Don’t stare at his biceps Poppy!

Oh god, his V line. He had a small waist that morphed into a toned V line holding a small part of the fern tattoo and revealing a trail of trimmed hair.

His knuckles were beginning to bruise and the cut on his cheek needs some medical attention but he didn’t seem to care as his eyes tried to decode Poppy’s shaken expression.

“If we’re out of hot water I’m going to stab you.” She walked past him right into the bathroom and even though he had some good comebacks up his sleeves, he was too entranced with her strolling in just a corset and tiny panties. And her skin… so flawless even after an eventful night. He had to close his eyes before images of the bruises he would leave on her body came running to him.

He never imagined that he’d be in a room again with her, acting so civil and being okay with her presence, he also can’t imagine how this would be the reality for a while.

They are partners now. Harry knew that history would repeat itself.

Even though he pushed the previous thoughts about giving her bruises away, his mind trailed again to her body. His ears were too interested in the sound of water and he wondered how her skin would be after a shower.

Was he acting a bit primal? Perhaps, but spare him a minute to comprehend the shift in his life.

He spotted her bag on the bed left unguarded for him to check. Funnily enough, he knows it and is aware of the layers it has because he may or may not have broken into her apartment throughout the years on her birthday and left her a Poppy flower in this bag.

Still, she never changed the code number for the bag which is the number of the room they shared in the institute.

He still has her dagger tucked in the edges of the towel, if he had left it in the bathroom, she would’ve taken it. He can see how she cleaned her gun and he decided to do the same to his. He then placed it on the bedside table and changed into the shorts the hotel provided. Poppy is still taking her sweet time in the shower so why not annoy her a bit?

He unfolded the lower layer of the case, revealing all of her beauty products, and began searching for something he might use. He picked out an expensive hair serum and poured a generous amount of drops on his wet hair before placing it back in her bag.

Poppy came into the room a few minutes later eyeing him up and down with a robe hugging her body. He’s not even sure how that is considered a robe. It’s too fucking short.

The tension is through the goddamn roof.

She pulled out a body lotion from her bag and let out a small sigh once her eyes fell on his face. She turned around towards the bathroom before coming out with a first aid kit.

“Come here, your cheek needs cleaning.” It isn’t a deep wound; the human face has a large number of veins so if her skills weren’t perfect, he’d be in the ER.

“Look at you Poppy getting so delicate.” She responded by pressing a cotton full of hydrogen peroxide to his place of injury and yet he didn’t flinch once.

She raised her leg placing it between his thighs to get in a comfortable position and focus on cleaning him. But her smell is too much for him and her soft skin is right in front of him.

He inched his face just enough to press his mouth to her knees feeling her shudder. Poppy didn’t jerk herself away or move, she continued to clean his wound with her hand delicately holding the side of his neck.

The silence between them was comfortable unlike being around other people. When they didn’t have a knife to each other’s throats, it would be just like this. Except that this is their first time in a decade.

She placed a small bandage on his cheek, smoothing her fingers over it even though she was done there. There’s something in her eyes that tells him she’s feeling nostalgic and his thumb rubbing on her leg isn’t helping.

She allowed herself to stare at his emerald irises with her hand still situated on the side of his neck. He gave her a soft look as if he was saying, ‘It’s me, Poppy’.

Would it be so bad to fold?

“You can order food service if you’re hungry.” She stepped away from him pretending to busy herself with packing her case when she needs the products.

“Don’t avoid me. We’re partners.” She can feel him walking towards her slowly.

Being around him and talking so normally made her heart ache and think back to when they were kids. He was her first love. He broke her heart many times after that but perhaps not enough as the yearning keeps tugging at it.

“I missed this…” Her back was so close to his chest and his breath is sending shivers throughout her body.

She didn’t offer him any response as she turned around to face him, raising her siren eyes to look for a hint of deception. Instead, she found the eyes of a sixteen-year-old Harry who was eager to give her his first kiss.

“You were fighting with me less than an hour ago. Do you expect me to believe this emotional show of yours?”

She might as well twist a knife in his heart.

“It was my job and it never stopped me from missing you.” The words flowed smoothly out of his lips, it’s not that he had them memorized but his heart was faster than his brain.

“And your job ten years ago? What was it!” Her fists were clenched and she wished his eyes didn’t make her so weak. She’s not sure if she could hold the eye contact any longer.

“To protect and care for you.” His strawberry lips offered her a confession that was so effortless to say.

She wasn’t particularly upset or even furious about their relationship. Growing up with him was irreplaceable. Even when they parted ways and slowly became foes, they never inflicted serious damage upon each other. It was a simple game for them, to bicker and fight, maybe leave some scars as a memoir but they never got sentimental again. To hear him telling her about his yearning all these years made her knees and heart weak.

Her lips morphed into a pout, her siren eyes gave him a look of regret and he can feel the tears that are threatening to fall. She was never one to communicate and some things stay the same.

Like his infatuation.

“I’ve been waiting years for this Poppy.” He brought himself closer to her so that his forehead rested against hers with their eyes piercing into each other.

“To be my partner? For me to order you around?” The corners of her mouth twitched in amusement.

There she was. His little devil.

“No. This.” His voice grew deeper as his skin lit up on fire upon coming in contact with hers. He buried his face in her neck taking a long deep breath while his fingers travelled along her waist.

Their bodies forming a sort of intimate contact while breathing in each other’s scent was more dangerous than any natural disaster.

Even their pheromones can no longer be tamed.

Rain is an accomplice in murder, and on this night the target isn’t a human. It’s an emotion.

Hatred.

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lees-chaotic-brain · 2 months

Text

Shouto gets hit by a quirk, causing him to do some unexpected things...

WC: 3.2K

CW: Swearing, miscommunication, AFAB reader (reader has breasts), fluff

Note: Loosely inspired by that one scene in the Secret Garden K-Drama where Ju-Won makes Ra-Im cuddle with him, and Love Potion No. 9 by @daycourtofficiall!! Special shout-out to @andypantsx3 for beta-reading this for me. Tysm!!

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Your Valentine’s Day started like any other. The quiet beeping of your alarm cutting through the cozy silence of your bedroom as you stirred beneath your perfectly warm covers. Blearily, you reached out hitting snooze before slipping back under your blankets. After a few minutes, your alarm went off again, and this time you threw back your sheets.

The wooden panels of your bedroom floor were cold against your feet as you padded to your bathroom to get ready. Half an hour later, you were ready to go, grabbing a jacket to protect yourself from the sharp February chill as you headed out the door.

As always, you walked down the block to your favorite cafe and ordered your usual, chatting with the barista as she made your order. Once your coffee was acquired, you ventured back out into the crisp winter air and began the quarter mile walk to the hero agency you worked at.

Walking along the sidewalk, you sipped your coffee, savoring its warmth while you observed couples all around you exchanging flowers and chocolates. That was right. It was Valentine’s Day. A little snort escaped you as you thought about the hordes of teenage girls that were bound to swarm Shouto today. February 14th, the one of the year people had absolutely no boundaries when it came to the attractive duo-toned hero.

Finally reaching the agency, you hustled inside, a warm gust of air brushing over you as you stepped through the door. Nodding at the security guard lounging at his desk and shooting the secretary a warm smile you got on the elevator. On the way up, you closed your eyes, leaning against the wall as you enjoyed the quiet, interrupted only by the periodic dings informing you that another floor had passed. Pressure beneath your feet told you the elevator was slowing, and it dinged a final time before the doors rolled open.

Stepping out, you wound your way around your coworkers, smiling and returning polite greetings before retreating to the relative peace and quiet of your office and settling in at your desk to go over some PR documents from the day before. A couple hours passed, and the documents were done so you were in the process of putting together an agenda for the day when a harried intern burst into your office startling you.

“Shouto got hit with a quirk!! We don’t know what it is, but he’s insisting he’s fine and refusing to get checked out.”

Sighing, you shut your laptop and quirked an eyebrow at the frazzled teen.

“And what, exactly, do you expect me to do about that?”

Watching him flounder for an answer, you felt a little bad for adding to his torment, so you agreed to go. Shooting your half-finished coffee one more mournful look, you stood and followed him out, closing your office door behind you. Sometimes you wondered if the handsome pro hero’s good looks were just there to balance out his complete lack of both tact and common sense. Either that, or his goal was to make the life of you, his manager, as difficult as possible.

Realizing that the intern was taking you in the direction of the infirmary you had installed in the agency primarily for Deku, you sped ahead, irritation coursing through your veins. Was it really that hard for him to just do what he needed to do and not throw a temper tantrum? Your irritation only increased as his deep monotone floated out through the open door to meet you in the hallway. Even from just the little snippets you did catch, you could tell he was arguing and being his usual incorrigibly obstinate self.

The beat of your chunky heels on the polished linoleum announced your presence as you marched in, the rhythmic thumps heralding the storm of your incoming temper. The sight of Red Riot and Chargebolt speaking in hushed voices welcomed you. Chargebolt shot you a flirtatious wink, and Red Riot greeted you with a sheepish smile before stepping aside and gesturing behind him to where Shouto was clearly arguing with your friend Aimi, who was the agency’s resident quirk specialist, and Ingenium. Nodding at Red Riot with a small smile you strode over to the trio. At least, you tried to.

Shouto noticed you before you could reach them and the next thing you knew your cheek was pressed against a firm pectoral. What? The addictive and unique scent of Shouto filled your nostrils as strong arms wrapped around your waist and back, crushing you against a muscular torso. Again, what?

It took you a few seconds to process that it was Shouto who was gripping you in a tight embrace. Shouto, the current number three hero, your boss, and also your long-time not so little crush. His cologne swirling in your nose muddied your thoughts, mixing them into a cesspool of intrusive thoughts and vague confusion. After an embarrassingly long five seconds you managed to pull yourself together and jerked away.

“Hey! What’s going on? What was that for…”

A pair of intense heterochromic eyes bored into your own, causing you to trail off as the dual toned man leaned down to peer into your face. There was an awkward pause, and the entire room seemed to be holding its breath.

“Your eyes truly are gorgeous. They might be my favorite part of you. I could gladly lose myself staring into them.”

The deep, even timbre of his voice filled the room, his words causing you to choke on your own saliva. You stared at him incredulously, unsure if you were having a hallucination due to a lack of caffeine or if he really said what you thought he did. You floundered, and just as you were finding your words he struck again.

“Although, your breasts are enjoyable to look at as well."

Your lungs officially gave up and attempted to forcibly exit your body through your mouth. Aimi spat out her mouthful of coffee all over her crisp white coat, mouthing ‘girl what’ at you with wide eyes while Ingenium’s scandalized gasp rang through the room. On the other side of the room, Red Riot and Chargebolt leaned against each other cackling.

A small, almost nonexistent frown appeared on Shouto’s face and his eyebrows furrowed slightly, his face perplexed.

“I…did not intend to say either of those things out loud. I-”

The overly obnoxious blare of Chargebolt’s ringtone filled the room, cutting Shouto off. Mouthing that it was Bakugou, the electric blond answered, holding the speaker several inches away from his ear to protect his eardrums. All eyes except for Shouto’s were on him as he spoke to the explosive hero.

“Wassup?...Oh you got her to explain her quirk to you? That's great man…mhm…symptoms? Uh, hey! Shouto! Feel weird at all?" The last part was directed at the man in question as he lowered the phone.

“I’m telling you I feel fine. I’m just a bit light headed and dizzy. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Was that a hint of irritation in Shouto’s voice? Chancing a look over at him, you noticed a slight downward tilt to his lips, which for him was the equivalent of a pout. Kaminari nodded and relayed the information.

“Yeah, he says he’s fine other than that. He has said some weird shit though. Anyways, what did the girl say her quirk was?”

There was a beat of silence as Kaminari listened to whatever Bakugou was saying, his eyes opening comically wide. His reaction and prolonged speechlessness was just beginning to make you feel uneasy when he began snickering.

“There’s no way. That’s fucking gold…yeah…how did it even happen?...You’re joking…that’s the best thing I’ve heard all year…Did she say how long it lasts for?...between one and six hours? That’s not too bad. I feel a little bad for Y/N though…Yeah, anyways see you later…yep will do…bye.”

He ended the call and turned to face all of you, barely suppressing his smirk. Alarm bells were ringing in your head. What did ‘I feel a little bad for Y/N’ mean? Why was the situation so funny? All you knew was that whatever he was about to say was not going to be conducive to the peaceful day you were hoping for.

“It seems our perverted ice prince here got hit by something of a love quirk.”

The room was silent for a moment as everyone tried to process what he was saying.

“A…love quirk? Is that why he’s been acting so weird towards me today?”

While you were glad that nothing serious was wrong with Shouto, a small part of you stung at the idea he only said what he did because of a quirk. But you were just being wishful. There was no way that a man like Todoroki Shouto, Japan’s unofficial hearthrob and number three hero would ever say, or even think something like that about you. You were just his normal -almost boring, really- manager with no special talents or characteristics to speak of. You shook your head, clearing your thoughts.

“Oh, but I wasn’t finished talking.”

Chargebolt gave you a look that told you he could sense your slight disappointment, a gleeful gleam in his eyes.

“What I didn’t get to say before you oh so kindly interrupted me was that it isn’t a normal love quirk. Instead of making someone fall in love, or acting as an aphrodisiac, it merely makes it so the affected can’t control their impulses around the person they have feelings for.”

You processed what he said, unsure if you heard and understood him correctly. If it only affected his impulses in regards to the person they had feelings for then that would mean-

No. You shook your head, resolutely stomping out the butterflies that came to life in your stomach at your train of thought. There was no reason to get your hopes up. You were reading too much into this. Todoroki probably just got confused because of the quirk and mistook you for the person he actually had feelings for. That made a lot more sense. Finally, Iida broke the quiet, his boisterous voice shattering the palpable disbelief.

“Todoroki’s personal feelings are none of our concern. Our main priority should be deciding what to do with him until the quirk wears off. Bakugou said one to six hours, correct?”

He spoke briskly, then turned and gestured at Todoroki, who had laid down on the cot in the center of the room sometime during the phone call. Whether it was because he merely got bored, or because his lightheadedness was finally getting to him, you were unsure. As all of you turned to stare at the man curled up on his side facing away from you, Aimi pushed her thin wire-framed glasses up on her freckled nose and cleared her throat.

“Erm, well for a quirk like this my recommendation would be for him to stay here until it wears off. Due to the lightheadedness and dizziness, I do think it would be best for him to remain laying down or seated so as to avoid falling and potentially injuring himself worse. We’ll also need to periodically check if the effects have faded, so we will need Y/N-.”

She gulped and threw you an apologetic glance. You thought you knew where she was going with this, and you were not exactly a fan of it.

“-Y/N to stop by every couple of hours so we can reevaluate. Is that okay with all of you?”

She mouthed an apology at you, and you sent her a glare that promised revenge. Oh she was so on her own the next time her crush, Deku, came in with some extreme injury and refused to get treated. Smiling, you angled your body, ensuring the rest of the room was unable to see you flipping off your so-called "friend."

“That’s no problem! Now, why don’t we all get back to work and leave Shouto to rest?”

Not waiting for anyone else’s answer you tried to make a beeline for the door so you could go crawl under your desk and attempt to process what the hell just happened. Unfortunately, something hindered your hasty escape. Specifically, a large, unfairly pretty hand hindered your hasty escape. Just as you had taken your first step towards freedom (and your coffee), long fingers reached up and grasped the back of your shirt, giving it a hard yank.

Caught off guard, you stumbled backward, your ass hitting the edge of the simple white cot in the center of the room. The simple white cot that the man currently gripping your shirt inhabited. Taking advantage of your momentary imbalance, Shouto smoothly pulled you over his body and onto the cot next to him, draping an arm and a firmly muscled thigh across your frame to keep you pinned snugly to his side.

The soft strands of his two-toned hair tickled your cheeks and nose as he buried his head in the crook of your neck, nuzzling into you like some sort of attention-starved cat. What the fuck? You blinked at everyone else in the room over Shouto’s head, flabbergasted. Weren’t you just walking away not even two seconds ago? Unfortunately, you were unable to think clearly, the addictive feel of Shouto’s body pressed against yours forcing a hard restart on your brain. It took two (or was it five?) torturously long seconds for your brain to reboot and finish loading.

Once it did, you began squirming because firstly, this was not appropriate at all. You were at work for heaven’s sake. Second of all, you were enjoying cuddling with your boss a little too much. Any longer and you might never be able to go back to living the way you did before discovering Shouto cuddles. You might even become an addict, unable to live without them. However, Shouto did not appreciate your feeble thrashing, or share any of the same concerns because he just pulled you tighter against his frame.

“Stop moving. ‘M trying to nap.”

You could feel the vibrations of his deep voice all across your body and unfortunately it did things to you. All of your muscles turned to jello and you relaxed into his warm embrace, suddenly unable to think straight. Over his broad shoulder you could see Kaminari and Aimi ushering everyone out, giggling and shooting sly glances over their shoulders at you.

Snapping a final picture, the two of them finally got everyone out and closed the door behind them, abandoning you. Just for that, next time you saw Deku you were going to tell him that Aimi had just fought a villain with an unknown quirk and needed help identifying it.

Wait, nothing about your prior thought made sense. The firm press of Shouto’s body against yours paired with the deliciously masculine smell of his cologne reduced you to a mindless idiot. Melting against him your eyes slowly fluttered shut, the beat of his heart a metronome counting out an uniquely Shouto lullaby that lulled you to sleep.

When you opened your eyes next, the room was awash with bright mid-afternoon light. Unsure of where you were, you tried to sit up, only to find you couldn’t, for there was some large object around your waist pinning you to the bed. Disoriented, you rolled over, and found yourself face to face with the one and only Todoroki Shouto, pure contentment emanating from him.

“Wha-?”

You made an embarrassingly vague and confused sound, staring at him agape with drool and sleep lines on your face. Lifting your wrist, you checked the time. It was three thirty?? That meant you had slept for six hours? Oh my god why hadn’t anyone woken you up? You jolted up, then realized something.

Wait, so Shouto had been hit by the quirk around eight o clock, which was seven and a half hours ago. And the longest it was supposed to last was six hours, so that meant the quirk should have worn off an hour and a half ago. Turning to Shouto accusingly, you opened your mouth to speak but he just pouted at you, and gently tugged you back down so you were laying beside him again.

“Hold up.” You said, pushing him away a bit so you could see his face. “The quirk was supposed to wear off over an hour ago.”

“And?” He raised an eyebrow as if you had said something stupidly obvious.

“Well, it obviously didn’t so you should’ve woken me up so we could get you looked at and-”

A large, warm palm covered your mouth.

“Who says it didn’t?”

You opened and closed your mouth at a loss for words. Wait, if it had worn off, then he had no excuses and-

You punched him hard in the chest and sat up.

“Todoroki Shouto! What about the girl you like? This isn’t fair to her. At least before you could excuse your behavior because the quirk disoriented you, but what about now? You-”

This time he wasn’t as gentle as he practically tackled you back onto the thin mattress of the cot and firmly pressed his mouth against yours. All thoughts immediately evacuated your mind, leaving only Shouto. And despite any and all common sense you thought yourself to possess, you found yourself kissing him back, tangling your hands in his hair to pull him closer. When he finally pulled away to catch his breath, he rested his forehead against yours, panting.

“Now do you see?”

His breath fanned across your face, and you had to fight to form any coherent thoughts when his gorgeous eyes were boring into yours so intensely.

“Uh, that you're kissing me even though you have a girl you like? Yeah I-”

He let out a low growl of annoyance and kissed you again, this time with more passion, pouring all of his frustration into the kiss. This time you pulled away.

“What, what are you doing? Like, obviously you’re kissing me but why? You just got confused because of the quirk and mistook me for the girl you have feelings for.”

He looked at you quizzically.

“I didn’t confuse you for anyone.”

What? Oh. Oh. Your eyes widened in realization as you stared at him.

“Oh. Ok. So, uh, you like me, and I um, I like you too, fyi, but uh why? And also, why did the quirk make you want to take a nap with me?”

“I have a confession.” He leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “The quirk wore off while Kaminari was on the phone with Bakugou.”

You gaped at him while you did a quick mental calculation. Hold up. That meant-

“You were back to normal when you manhandled me into taking a nap with you!!

He just gave a completely unabashed look, nodding his head. You-he-! You couldn't believe him.

“So you pretended the quirk was still affecting you, and used it as an excuse to cuddle with me?”

Again, a nod, not even a hint of remorse on his gorgeous face. Wow. He was completely unabashed. Evidently tired of this line of conversation, he leaned in and resumed kissing you. And you let him, because fuck this, you could talk about your mutual feelings and his shameless behavior later.

After he finished kissing you senseless.

#lee's brain writes #todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #fluff #bhna x reader #bhna fanfic #shouto x afab reader #todoroki x female reader

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bubblybloob · 6 months

Text

There they all are in their feathery glory!

Explanations below

I didn’t want to do anything flashy for The Long Quiet, so I just gave him a simple scarf.

The Voice of The Hero I took a lot from my original design, I also kinda fused a cape with his wings? He can still fly? It’s just weird.

The Contrarian I gave a jester look, with a funky collar and some eye makeup

The Broken was one of the most interesting and fun. His wings have been cut off and his nails are broken beyond repair, as a representation of his lack of agency and readiness to hand his life over. He’s dressed in raggedy clothes with chains that he just can’t seem to pull off.

The Smitten wears a flashy, short cape, and flowers tend to bloom from his eyes and ears, he is blind and deaf to all but his love.

The Hunted is almost always puffed up, trying to look bigger and scarier than he is. His nails are long and sharp, and he wears camouflage to hide his bright white features.

The Paranoid needs a sense of security, and a cowl is the closest thing to a hoodie in medieval times. He’s so nervous that I feel he’d unconsciously pluck at his wings, they’re so disheveled that he can’t fly.

The Skeptic has this air of “I know more than you” to him? If that’s makes sense? So I gave him a poet shirt. Not much to it, I just really wanted to put him in a poet shirt. Oh and a ponytail.

The Cheated wears something a noble might, he has that sort of snarky attitude a noble might have. He also talks about cards and games a lot, so I attached a card theme to him. Sometimes they change card symbols, I don’t know if I’ll have it be mood based or not.

The Stubborn is wrapped up in a bunch of bandages, and the eyepatch and cleft ear is from that scene at the end with the Shifting Mound from the adversary’s perspective where your eye has been punched out and your ear looks like it might’ve been ripped.

The Opportunist I gave a thieving look, he has that attitude. As well as another ponytail, can’t have feathers getting in the way of the backstabbing move.

And that’s them! Now if you don’t mind me I’m going to go die now, my drawing arm hurts.

Edit: I forgot the Cold, damn

Someone suggested medieval assassin wear because he always insists on the princess being dead, and she usually is when he shows up. Also the wisps in his eyes? He has heavily impaired vision, because his worldview is so skewed.

#slay the princess #art #stp voices #stp the long quiet #voice of the hero #voice of the contrarian #voice of the broken #voice of the smitten #voice of the hunted #voice of the paranoid #voice of the cold #voice of the skeptic #voice of the cheated #voice of the stubborn #voice of the opportunist #my art #many thanks to those who gave suggestions #if you see this underneath the mountain of other tags

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2-dsimp · 5 months

Text

Monster rule 101: Don’t play with fire around your Mothman!—————-:—:————

Mothman! Dabi x monster hunter! Fem reader

—————-:—:——————:————:————-:——

🔞MDNI🔞

C w: Humiliation, asphrodiasic, slight mind break, degradation, praise, NFSW, monsterfuxking, overstimulation, breeding, impregnation, usage of cunt

—————-:—:——————:————:————-:——

You were on a mission.

A very dangerous mission that was a code gold also known as Legendary. Meaning that the monstrous threat was equivalent to a whole country being wiped off the map. However, due to certain circumstances only one solider could be dispatched to deal with the golden threat.

The reason for that being because of how hyper sensitive the Mothman is to overcrowding within its territory. The team dispatch leader decided to proceed with the utmost caution lest they trigger its frenzy mode. Which would ultimately result in the loss of lives country wide, burning underneath the raging pure blue flames of the otherworldly demon.

<< Have you located the Mothman? Over >>

“Yes I’ve got eyes on the area sir, permission to proceed?”

<< Permission granted. Over >>

You were chosen out of a select few individuals for being the cream of the crop, to carry out this dire mission to save all of mankind. If you could succeed then you’d be set for life! Having the fame and the riches that come along with it, all in exchange for exterminating the deadliest bug humanoid in existence. You’d say that’s a fair trade, since it was high risk high reward type situation.

But as you approached the abandoned cave you could feel a sense of dread wash over your entire being.

You were being watched.

You could feel the sweat accumulate upon your lush chocolatey skin littered in goosebumps. Then you heard a sharp chuff that echoed off the walls, seemingly the Mothman enjoyed watching you squirm from his focused attention.

Venturing even deeper into the unknown you tightly grasped at your equipment, a tool of reassurance you could say. That happened to be a flamethrower. Yes, out of all the weapons you chose a hazardous contraption that resembled a dragons breath.

Why? Mostly because you thought it’d be cool to go out in a blaze of glory should you happen to fail in your conquest to get the target in check. But it was also strategic in a way, since moths were attracted to light. You’ve had to find some kind of way to draw them out.

Too bad you didn’t get the chance to use it before you’re snatched into furry arms that secured you to the monsters chest. Which vibrated from his snarky greeting.

“You took too long enough for my liking doll, now shall we get down to business already? “

You could feel his bulge press up against the your ass, rubbing between your cheeks.

“I’m feeling a bit pent up”

He rasped impatiently into your ear, boy did his voice do wonders as it spiked your arousal. But you had a job to do, unfortunately. Gathering your composure you asserted yourself to the monster.

“You already know why I’m here right? Mr. Mothman.”

You could feel him chuckle darkly against your neck, highly amused by your sense of professionalism. Even while having his dick steadily grind against your back, covering you in clear fluids. Making your thighs shake in excitement.

“Obviously, but just call me Dabi, dollface. You’re gonna wear it out in a few moments might as well get a lil practice in ya?”

You were dumbfounded. Could he be implying what you’re thinking—

“Judging from the look on your pretty face, I’m guessing your little agency didn’t fill ya in on our little inside deal huh?”

He purred

You could feel his loosened grip completely leave your body. Allowing you to be able to face the Mothman hunched over in all of his 7ft glory. He had tuffs of black fur covering his toned ripped chest, arms, and legs. His overall body type was lean and slender. The dark colored wings sprouting at large from behind, before being folded back neatly into place. To avoid you from seeing his jagged scars littered across them.

“All I can say is that you’re in for one hell of a ride once I get my hands on you Baby. So Outta the kindness of my heart I’ll give you a 5 minute head start—”

He paused, as you gave him an warm embrace of your own. Grinding against his bulge that continued to grow even further against you. He looked down at you in disbelief, but it wasn’t before long until he connected the dots.

“ Don’t tell me, You’re one of those monster fanatics aren’t ya?”

To be quite frank yes. You were an absolute fan of monsters, you fantasized about getting close and becoming friends with one. But now you were gonna be the mate of a code legendary?? You couldn’t believe your luck. Plus it was the mission you were given, so as the loyal solider that you are. You gratefully accepted your fate with no questions asked.

The Mothman merely laughed in the irony of it all, a monster hunter wanting to be fucked by a monster it was so priceless. A devious smirk planted on his face As he bended over down to your height charred lips barely touching the shell of your ear only to whisper darkly of a precautionary warning of what you’re getting into.

“ You do realize that I’m in heat right doll?”

He reached his hand down running his tempered claws down the fat of your thick ass giving it a tight squeeze before hooking your leg up to leave some room for him to freely press his huge twitching bulge against your moist mound.

“I’m barely hanging on by a thread, so Don’t hold anything against me if I lose control got it?”

It wasn’t long until you were on the brink of being fucked to death by the Mothman of your dreams. face pushed down into the cocoon like nest he prepared in advance as his extended feeler limbs sprouted out from his sides, to grasp at you from behind hooking onto your waist. Keeping you grounded on his intrusive dick. While his primary arms wrapped around you tightly to play with your breasts that jigged violently from his ruthless thrusts from behind.

“You’re sucha pretty lil thing for me aren’t ya?”

The strong pheromones that wafted off from his wings made you feel so vulnerable and helpless within his smoldering embrace. You couldn’t keep count of how many times you’ve came alone from him just penetrating your cervix. It was as if you were on cloud nine enjoying the way his cum covered cock kept digging even deeper inside your snug snatch trying to ensure that you’d get pregnant with his brood.

“Your slutty pussy just can’t seem to get enough of my dick, don’t worry doll I’ll make you take all of it”

He murmured eyes staring down dangerously at the way your pliant body bended to his ministrations. He payed close attention to the way his dick continued to be devoured by your juicy cunt. That sucked and messaged his thick cock inside the hot mesh of your inner walls determined to be flooded with his baby batter.

“ Mmh D-Dabi please I can’t—!”

You babbled dumbly with drool hanging down from the corners of your fucked out plump lips. As the intensity of his rapid heavy thrusts began to increase its assault against your quivering quim.

You tried to crawl away from yet another approaching high that was dead set on crashing down on your senses. But his firm grip on your neck yanked you back into reality.

“ Aye Dollface don’t ever try to fuckin crawl away from me again, you’re mine you got that?”

Dabi hissed, giving you a sharp tug on your butterfly locs and a harsh bite on your shoulder as a fair warning.

The cave was emitting loud strange sounds from the inside, alerting to anyone from around the area to vacate the premises immediately. In case the Mothman were to come out of his home and start wrecking chaos. But little did they know that Stowed away deep inside the cave for a whole week did you lay beneath the Mothman in all your naked glory.

Freshly fucked all the way to Sunday during his still ongoing heat cycle. Where the only thing covering you was his semen that painted your caramel skin from your breasts down to your overused cunt stuffed to the brim with his cum that trickled out from your puffy pussylips. Only to be pushed back in by his long veiny dick just to ensure that the next of his kin would live on inside your womb.

Hey At least you prevented a worldwide tragedy, right?

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi smut #bhna smut #mha smut #mha x poc!reader #mha x black reader #mha x female reader #dabi imagine #dabi scenarios #mothman #Mothman!dabi #yandere dabi #smut imagine #smut drabble #smut scenarios #thought I already posted this but apparently not? so here’s this repost XD

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welldonekhushi · 29 days

Text

Call of Duty OC: Vasili "Bell" Sokolov 🔔

OLD DESIGN:

NEW DESIGN:

Finally, I came up with my Bell's bio-sheet as well! I abandoned him for nothing, but now I decided to give him some depth and character for good <3

GENERAL:

Name: Vasili

Full name: Vasili Mikhailovich Sokolov/Vincent Stephens

Codename: "Bell", Ворона (The Crow, by the KGB)

Alias(es): Vasya, Vince, Adler's protégé (by Woods), Scary Old Man (by Sims)

Age: [REDACTED]

Gender: Male

Nationality: Russian (as Vasili), American (as Vincent)

Languages spoken: Russian, English, Spanish, Italian, German and fluent in many other languages

Date of Birth: [REDACTED]

Place of Birth: [REDACTED]

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Marital Status: Single

Occupation: KGB (retired), Perseus Operative (formerly), MACV-SOG (currently, but after the true ending he leaves)

Status: Unknown

Universe: Black Ops: Cold War

Faceclaim: Danila Kozlovsky

Song: "Ostrov Nevezeniya" by Andrei Mironov

youtube

Biography: Bell, unaware about his own existence and his past, sought to assist the CIA special agent, Russell Adler on the aim to hunt down Perseus. Every moment that passes, he starts gaining his lost memory back, which makes him question himself about what he truly is. Would Bell choose the right side of history, or choose his own?

AFFILIATIONS:

KGB (Committee for State Security)

General Anton Charkov

Major Dimitri Belikov (double agent)

Major Vadim Rudnik

Lev Kravchenko

Perseus Faction

"Perseus" (leader)

Arash Kadivar

Anton Volkov

Qasim Javadi

The Safehouse

Alex Mason

Frank Woods

Russell Adler

Helen Park

Lawrence Sims

Lazar Azoulay

Aleksandra "Aleks" Clarke R. (@alypink )

SKILLS AND ABILITIES:

Weapon induced: Knife, MI6A1, M60, MP5, Type 63, LW3 — Tundra, AK-47, Throwing Knife

Fighting style: Systema, hand-to-hand combat, a little martial arts

Special skills: Has a good sense of observation and quick to react to the situation, can compose himself in many identities

Talents: Vasily could learn languages easily at a fast rate, even after getting brainwashed, he still retained those qualities within him

Shortcomings: Has frequent headaches, loses focus at times, not very confident when it comes to taking a decision, becomes absolutely dependent on his superiors

PERSONALITY:

Myers-Briggs Type: ISTP (The Virtuoso)

Is aware of his surroundings: Because of his career as a special agent, Bell conceals himself in terms of his personal life in seclusion. Even knowing he's hunted everywhere, he intelligently makes himself invisible from the outside world which makes others difficult for him to locate or recognise.

Works in solitude: Vasili/Bell has always prefered to work alone, but it doesn't mean he doesn't mind going on missions with the team. But, as his habit of being a special agent, that trait normally came from him back in his days when he worked with the KGB.

Observant and intelligent: Vasili was able to survive any sort of situation because of his good observant skills, and his capacity to act quicker. He was able to learn a lot of languages as well, and posed himself in different identities, that made it harder for the intelligence agencies to track him down.

Is reserved and introverted: Bell really doesn't speak to anyone much, unless when it comes to planning or going for missions, he needs to form a sort of communication to keep it lively. He is seen being more comfortable with Mason and Woods, but never felt having a good vibe with Adler. It was odd on his part, but it was going to grow very obvious when the truth would have come closer to any minute.

BACKGROUND STORY

Bell, who first used to live under the identity of Vasili Sokolov, was born in a family who had an army background, where his mother and father, both served during the Second World War, and hearing their stories, it gave Vasili a motivation to support his parents legacy by joining the intelligence — which was the KGB, going under the codename "Crow".

THE KGB ARC [REDACTED]

When Vasili joined the organisation, he showed a remarkable performance as a special agent. Some say he was born to join the intelligence and make the country proud, or he was a gifted child who could learn anything quickly and successfully perform a mission by stealing info or destroying any plans that could harm his country, without any failure. He even pointed out possible mistakes while planning out a mission, and in the end they worked out efficiently.

Sooner or later, Vasili's influence spread all around the world, especially during the Cold War, the enemies of the Soviet Union had a kill/capture on him. "Kill" because Vasili knew too much about them, and "Capture" because, they wanted him to tell everything he has with him, which likely created a risk for the KGB and they couldn't do so. With that, General Anton Charkov gave him the order to "retire" and stay hidden to protect himself along with the organisation. Disappointed, Vasili protested that it was the only thing that "kept him going", but having no choice, the agent decided to leave the KGB, under the General's orders.

PERSEUS ARC [REDACTED]

It was a matter of time, when one was going to collect him instead, realising he was now no longer affiliated with the KGB. Vasili was met with someone who called himself "Perseus", and requested him to join his alliance, since he knew about Vasili from his influence, and promised to give him full security, knowing he was hunted worldwide too. Seeing that as an opportunity, Vasili agreed to join in good terms, directly becoming Perseus's loyal agent.

As he continued his journey in the faction, he had shown his skills again which made Perseus as his most trusted agent, unlike the rest. But, at times Vasili has shown inner conflict towards his ideas. During the moment when he was explained about "Operation Greenlight" with the members, it left a strange feeling within his heart. He tried to protest, but he somehow couldn't refute his superior's words, and decided to acknowledge instead. Vasili had kept showing a remarkable performance, much to Arash Kadivar, one of the faction members, being envious of his relationship with Perseus.

Kadivar lures him to Trabzon Airport, where he takes Vasili, and explains that he didn't want any more "competition", resulting in him shooting the special agent in the car he was present in, leaving him to die and bleed alone. But, sooner or later, an attack situated on the airfield, unbeknownst to the dying Vasili who was growing unconscious every passing minute. Growing lost in his own thoughts, about Perseus that promised him to give him protection from the outer forces, but didn't recognise that his "own" people were against him too, as he questioned his existence at the same time.

SAFEHOUSE ARC

The voices echoed, and the man started to lose his breath.. until he woke up, and found himself in a strange place, where he couldn't remember anything of what happened. This is where, he encounters Russell Adler, a CIA agent who he curiously looks upon, having no idea. Unable to introduce himself, Adler briefed him about his name, being it under the codename "Bell". And this is where, all the very events of the canon game begin from here.

#cod #call of duty #bocw #black ops #call of duty black ops #black ops cold war #cod bell #bell oc #vasili sokolov #call of duty oc #oc #original character #oc biography #original character profile #character profile #my oc #my oc character #vasili bell sokolov

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mj-ackerman · 2 months

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Translation of Tatsuya Endo's Interview with Katsumaru: (You can read the original here X)

Katsumaru: My wife and child are both big fans of "Spy x Family", so they were both excited for me to be able to meet you today. Why did you choose the theme "Spy" in the first place?

Endo: I didn't have any particular desire to draw a spy story or something like that, but I had always liked military kinds of things and was interested in war related things, so when I combined those aspects with the theme of "lies", it naturally ended up as a spy story. However, I haven't seen many spy movies, and for movies like "007", I've only seen one or two of them.

Katsumaru: What? Really? The information about spies that appears in the story, even for someone like me who's been an avid follower of the genre, gives an impression that it's very well thought out. How on earth did you acquire such knowledge?

Endo: Most of it is from books. And then some of it is from documentary films and the likes. There was an old movie called "Shiri" (This is a 1999 Korean film), it's about the battle between North Korean Special Operation Forces and South Korean Intelligence Agency. I liked that very much.

Katsumaru: The setting, in which the husband, Loid, is a spy and the wife, Yor, is an assassin, reminded me of the movie "Mr & Mrs Smith"

Endo: When the series was just starting, I see that title being mentioned a lot in the comments, but to be honest I've never seen it before....(Laughs). I didn't have much time to prepare for the serialization, and since it's a comedy, I thought I didn't have to be that particular about the settings as I drew it. I incorporated the knowledge I had gained from books, but since it's still a manga, I kept the "No way, that's impossible" aspects to it.

Katsumaru: I think it has a really good balance between realistic depiction and entertainment. Spies are part of everyday life, and some of them even established a "fake family" as in "SPY X FAMILY". In reality, there are cases where married couples had been living together without realizing that their husbands are spies.

Endo: That balance is what I pay the most attention to. I guess you can say it's a process of determining the "minimum level of reality" in each scene.

Katsumaru: How concerned are you about the difference between "reality and manga", Endo-sensei?

Endo: This one is difficult. It's a case by case basis, but in manga, there are many parts where I can just go "let's fake the reality at this part for the time being". When you're working alone, you don't have time to do research about this or that fact. However, in anime, you have to create much more detailed settings, so there isn't much room to put on tricks. When the anime team would ask me "What would happen in this part?" I would often reply with "I'm sorry but I haven't thought about it yet...." (Laughs).

Katsumaru: Have you not strictly defined the scene or time period the story is set in yet?

Endo: I had the image of the period setting somewhere between the 1960s and 1970s. I'm trying to explore what I can do with the technologies in this era thinking "This technology might be possible". I also have softened the reality of things, such as the political form. The cold war between the East and West is also part of the motif, but if you just tell the readers that "it's a conflict of ideologies" , it won't make sense to them. So, I put it into a form that is easy to understand as a manga, there are also some parts that I, myself don't know about after all. Similarly, in the real world, for example, spies probably have very few horizontal connections, right? Like for security reasons. However, as a manga, in order to develop the story, it was necessary for me to depict conversations between spies. All the more that this is a comedy story, so it wouldn't work without conversation. It's difficult to find the right flavor between the two.

Katsumaru: It's pretty unique that you came up with the name "Dalc" which is similar to the name of the currency "Mark" (It's Deutsche Mark which is no longer in use since 2002) used in Germany.

Endo: It's actually a combination of "Mark" and "Dollar". I often use names of places and buildings that actually exist in real life. However, I have a pretty bad memory, so I often ask myself later "Where did I get the name of this place again?" (Laughs)

Katsumaru: Is there any expert historical research or supervision of intelligence agencies involved in this?

Endo: I basically think about all the detailed settings all by myself.

Katsumaru: Since the real-life aspects are well-constructed, I thought an expert in international politics was involved in supervising this.

Endo: There are also some readers who read too deep into the historical situation, but I didn't actually put much thought into the details in writing the story. This is just a fictional country called "Westalis and Ostania" after all.

Katsumaru: In "Spy x Family", there are some Russian-speaking names such as "Anya" and "Yuri" that appears, but spies in that country uses more analog method. For example, "flash contact", in which documents are handed over to another person as they pass each other, or a "drop dead", in which documents are hidden in an agreed-upon location and later picked up by a colleague. There is also a method for communication. Although this method is considered extremely inefficient, it is sometimes considered to be highly secure because it prevents interception of communications.

Endo: So there's still that kind of analogs even now huh? Now that technology has developed and everything is digitalized, I certainly think it's much safer now. In other countries, there are organization such as M16 (United Kingdom Secret Intelligence Service) and CIA (US Central Intelligence Agency), Japan also has organizations with such characteristics.

Katsumaru: The "Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department Public Security Bureau (Public Safety)", where I worked, is the counterintelligence arm of Japan. In "VIVANT" (It's a 2023 Japanese Drama), which I supervised, Hiroshi Abe and Ryo Ryusei are playing roles with these type of characters. We have obtained as collaborators people who have a lot of information and people who are in position to meet various people such as reporter.

The only problem was that we didn't have enough people. The CIA has a large number of subordinates under it's station chief, and a large budget. When I was temporary transfered to a Japanese embassy overseas, I was alone, my budget was limited, and I was also reponsible for issuing passports, so there is no doubt that working at an intelligence agency overseas with better environment had allowed me to concentrate more on my mission.

Endo: Do you hire locals overseas?

Katsumaru: There are times when we ask locals to work with us by paying them a reward. Or, we can ask them to connect us with people who has information. The Public Safety is very good at finding and training people who can bring good quality information and can do good work.

#spy x family #sxf spoilers #sxf #spy x family interview #tatsuya endo #endo tatsuya #please do not repost

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3-dsimp · 2 years

Text

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

Monster rule 101: Don’t play with fire around your Mothman!

Mothman! Dabi x monster hunter! Fem reader

Cw: Black coded, Humiliation, asphrodiasic, slight mind break, degradation, praise, NFSW, monsterfuxking, overstimulation, breeding, impregnation, usage of cunt

🔞 MDNI/ NO AGELESS BLOGS🔞

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

Tag list: @walkerofclouds @lyra-lore27 @geniusso @genshin-impacts-me

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

You were on a mission.

<< Have you located the Mothman? Over >>

“Yes I’ve got eyes on the area sir, permission to proceed?”

<< Permission granted. Over >>

But as you approached the abandoned cave you could feel a sense of dread wash over your entire being.

You were being watched.

You could feel the sweat accumulate upon your lush brown skin littered in goosebumps. Then you heard a sharp chuff that echoed off the walls, seemingly the Mothman enjoyed watching you squirm from his focused attention.

Too bad you didn’t get the chance to use it before you’re snatched into furry arms that secured you to the monsters chest. Which vibrated from his snarky greeting.

“You took too long enough for my liking doll, now shall we get down to business already? “

You could feel his bulge press up against the your ass, rubbing between your cheeks.

“I’m feeling a bit pent up”

He rasped impatiently into your ear, boy did his voice do wonders as it spiked your arousal. But you had a job to do, unfortunately. Gathering your composure you asserted yourself to the monster.

“You already know why I’m here right? Mr. Mothman.”

“Obviously, but just call me Dabi, dollface. You’re gonna wear it out in a few moments might as well get a lil practice in ya?”

You were dumbfounded. Could he be implying what you’re thinking—

“Judging from the look on your pretty face, I’m guessing your little agency didn’t fill ya in on our little inside deal huh?”

He purred

“All I can say is that you’re in for one hell of a ride once I get my hands on you Baby. So Outta the kindness of my heart I’ll give you a 5 minute head start—”

“ Don’t tell me, You’re one of those monster fanatics aren’t ya?”

“ You do realize that I’m in heat right doll?”

“I’m barely hanging on by a thread, so Don’t hold anything against me if I lose control got it?”

“You’re sucha pretty lil thing for me aren’t ya?”

“Your slutty pussy just can’t seem to get enough of my dick, don’t worry doll I’ll make you take all of it”

“ Mmh D-Dabi please I can’t—!”

You babbled dumbly with drool hanging down from the corners of your fucked out plump lips. As the intensity of his rapid heavy thrusts began to increase its assault against your quivering quim.

You tried to crawl away from yet another approaching high that was dead set on crashing down on your senses. But his firm grip on your neck yanked you back into reality.

“ Aye Dollface don’t ever try to fuckin crawl away from me again, you’re mine you got that?”

Dabi hissed, giving you a sharp tug on your butterfly locs and a harsh bite on your shoulder as a fair warning.

Hey At least you prevented a worldwide tragedy, right?

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chaotic-orphan · 6 months

Text

Intoxicating Fear (VII)

The Great Escape

Part one here

Continued from this part here

*~*~*~*~*

Kit tied Ambrose up with duct tape. It wasn’t the best thing to restrain Ambrose with, if he really wanted to secure Ambrose the only thing to do would be to tie up his mind. Or use power dampeners.

And as it happened Kit wasn’t able to do either of those.

So he tied Ambrose’s hands behind his back, and duct taped his mouth but Kit was pretty sure Ambrose could use his powers with eye contact alone so he wrapped a long sleeve t-shirt over Ambrose’s eyes and went to his phone.

If Superhero got here by the time Ambrose woke up, he could sort it. He’d have power dampeners and Kit would finally be free of him. Once and for all.

Kit saw his red eyes flash up at him from his phones black screen, and felt nausea climb up his throat at the sight.

It will go away with time, Kit reassured himself, just like the blue does.

Time was of the essence now; he could worry about his fucking eyes later.

Kit unlocked his phone and went to his contact list again. He glanced at Superhero’s name and clicked it. Sure, enough Ambrose’s phone started ringing, bad moon rising echoing around the house again and Kit hung up.

That’s okay.

Ambrose doesn’t know Superhero’s civilian identity, so he was fine.

Kit scrolled down to Superhero’s real name and clicked the green call button.

Bad Moon Rising.

Kit froze in his home. There’s… there’s no way Ambrose knows— there’s no way he forced Kit to tell him was there?

No. Kit was just being paranoid. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.

He knows he wouldn’t. He could never betray Superhero like that…

Kit went down to Other Hero’s name and pressed call and Bad moon rising started playing again.

Fucking FUCK!

It’s fine. It’s fine. Everything’s okay. Come on. The Agency’s number is online he could get that, and call and he would be fine.

Kit opened his browser and tapped the search bar. The screen dimmed and a parental control password came up.

A six-digit code.

Kit glared over at the unconscious Ambrose and wanted so badly to kick him in the face. He couldn’t just leave Ambrose here, could he? What if he woke up and got out and used some innocent civilian as his own puppet?

It wasn’t very heroic of him, but Kit honestly didn’t care.

He just wanted to get to Superhero.

Superhero would know what to do. He always knows what to do.

Decision made, Kit grabbed his jacket and keys and left his useless phone and walked out the door.

Or he would have.

If the second he walked out the door he didn’t get an eardrum shattering headache that made white flash behind his eyes and brought him to his knees. Kit cried out, backing up and once he was back in the house the pain stopped and Kit could breathe again.

He let out short, useless pants trying to ground himself and make sense of what just happened, even though he already knew.

Kit got to his feet again, and this time he ran out the door.

It was like a fire alarm going off in his brain, paralysing him. His breath stolen from his lungs and he couldn’t breathe, choking on air like a fish out of water.

Kit scrambled desperately back towards the house, his vision turning black at the corners of his eyes like a vignette as he dragged himself over the threshold of his apartment and collapsed, wheezing. Greedily gasping in gaping breathes and choking on them, his lungs screaming at him for depriving him of oxygen.

Kit started crying.

He sobbed, which didn’t really help the breathing matters, out of pure frustration. Ambrose had let him free. Given him hope that he could somehow win and the whole time, the whole time he knew it didn’t matter if Kit overpowered him, because Ambrose had already ensured that Kit could do nothing even if he was unconscious and incapacitated.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, crying, glaring at Ambrose, but eventually he got hungry, and made his way to the kitchen where Ambrose’s breakfast was waiting for him. Still a bit warm, Kit took some bacon and pudding and sat down with his back to his front door staring at Ambrose because he couldn’t do anything else.

Kit began eating.

*~*~*~*~*

Ambrose stirred within the hour. Groaning and shifting, trying to get comfortable. Then he mumbled something incoherent behind the tape on his mouth. Kit just watched him come to terms with his situation and wondered what kind of sick satisfaction Ambrose got from watching Kit struggle and try to get his bearings.

Ambrose inclined his head, staring directly at Kit even through his makeshift blindfold.

Is all this really necessary? Ambrose asked, voice in Kit’s head.

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

Kit.

“You’re a fucking bastard, Ambrose. How does it feel to be the one on the back foot?”

I don’t know, Kit. Tell me. How does it feel? Being free. Being so close to escape and yet so far?

Kit clenched his hands into fists and grit his teeth, leaning forward from his place on the ground and wrapping his hands around his knees.

“I guess we’re both stuck like this until you undo whatever you did to me.”

Ambrose relaxed in his stance.

I can sit like this all day.

Kit said nothing.

Or I could always make you untie me, Kit. You don’t want me to force you to free me, do you? Do you really want everyone you love to die by your hands?

“I think you’re threatening me because that’s all you can do. I got something right, didn’t I?” Kit said. “Covered your eyes, do you need your eyes to compel me to do something? Or your voice? Or your hands?”

I think you’ll go mad before you wait me out, Kit. I’m willing to wait, silent and restrained. Want to see how long you can go without speaking to someone? I don’t mind.

Against his better judgement, Kit stood and walked over to Ambrose and yanked the blindfold off. Ambrose stared up at him grinning, dark eyes smug. Kit didn’t waste time going gentle with Ambrose’s gag. He ripped it off and smiled as Ambrose winced, his lips even more red than usual.

“Thank you,” said Ambrose with a smile. “You can untie me now.”

“Untie yourself, you dick.”

“I made you breakfast Kit, come on now. Don’t you want to leave the house?”

Kit’s hands crackled blue sparks up his left arm to his shoulder, glaring down at Ambrose who grinned up at him. “Ooh. Careful, Sparkles. You might hurt yourself there. Your eyes are almost the same colour as your blood.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Kit yelled, feeling the currents run through his hair. Red sparks flew from his usual blue angry and pulsing and dangerous, the red wrapping tight around his fist like a force of its own just begging to let Kit use it to hurt Ambrose.

Just to wipe that stupid smirk off Ambrose’s face, it would be worth it…

“Scary. Go on, kill me,” Ambrose said, leaning forward, closer to the sparks than safety would grant. “Go on. You could do it. You could kill me, if you wanted to.”

Kit froze at that. Kit didn’t kill.

He didn’t kill.

He wasn’t a murderer he was a hero.

“I won’t sink to your level,” Kit said, his voice echoing static with the sound of the sparks flying. The electricity ran from his body in an instant, drained and dissipating. Kit stalked to the kitchen and grabbed a knife from the knife block before storming back and kicking Ambrose onto his stomach.

“Harder,” Ambrose said with a strained breath.

Kit dropped down to his knee, dropping his other knee onto Ambrose’s spine and smiled at the grunt of pain Ambrose let out. Then he cut the duct tape around his wrists and got off Ambrose, keeping the knife in his hand as he went and leaned against the door.

“Now get this fucking thing out of my head.”

Ambrose got his hands under him and got to his feet. “I never ate breakfast,” Ambrose said instead, taking the last of the duct tape off his wrists and heading to the kitchen. Casual as if being tied up is an everyday occurrence. “Do you want an egg?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Ambrose shrugged, grabbing the oil and pouring it into the frying pan. “That’s not an answer, but I’ll make two anyways.”

“Get this thing out of my head!”

Ambrose turned slowly. Dark black eyes settling heavy on Kit, cold and threatening.

“In the course of my nap, have you forgotten what I can do to you?” Ambrose asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. A piercing screech rang out in Kit’s mind, and he screamed, hands flying to cup his ears and stop the unmerciful ringing, pounding tight in his brain as if every blood vessel was being stretched and contorted and pulled and twisted, trying to get away from the sound.

The screech got louder the closer Ambrose got to Kit, and louder and louder until it was unbearable— white flashed behind his eyes and Kit was on his knees, screaming for relief, bent double and crying at the floor. It didn’t stop when Ambrose’s boots came within Kit’s sight line. A cold, lithe hand reached down and grabbed Kit’s chin tilting it up. The moment Ambrose’s cold hand made contact; the screeching stopped.

Kit was panting, brain and eyes still fuzzy from the aftereffects of the mental assault. Ambrose tilted Kit’s head all the way back, until he was sitting upright on his knees. Panting and shaking, exhausted. Brain caught between a frenzy of anxiety and a tired induced sloth, like trying to wade through a swamp.

“I could keep you on your knees like this forever, Kit. Like a pretty little statue, something to stare at, something that doesn’t speak or think. Just a dazed little angel, would you like that?”

Kit swallowed the lump in his throat and sniffed, his nose running from crying and screaming. In answer he reached a hand up, pulling at Ambrose’s hold but Ambrose grabbed his wrist before it made contact and bent it back on itself.

Kit hissed out a breath through his teeth, glaring through pained eyes at Ambrose who just smiled down at him.

“Let go of me!” Kit grumbled pulling his head back. Ambrose twisted his wrist more in reply and Kit cried out, trying to yank his hand free, jerking back. Ambrose’s grip didn’t relent, in fact, he tightened his grip on Kit’s face, pinching his cheeks together with one hand.

“Kit,” Ambrose sighed, stepping forward, forcing Kit’s body to bend back uncomfortably. Kit’s head moved with Ambrose’s hand and Ambrose put more force on bending Kit’s wrist back. “If I let go you have to promise to be good.”

Kit pinched his lips together, but Ambrose didn’t let him. He squeezed Kit’s cheeks until his mouth formed a crude ‘o’ shape.

“Uhck-you agh!” Kit cried as Ambrose twisted his wrist further, tightening his grip until it turned bruising. Kit struggled and tried to back up, but his head hit the wall and he was trapped between Ambrose’s body and the wall.

“Oh-kay,” Kit managed, furious, embarrassment flooding his cheeks.

Ambrose smiled, said, “good,” and true to his word Ambrose released him.

Kit’s head bobbed forward immediately, wrapping a hand around his wrist and rubbing it soothingly. Ambrose just went back to the kitchen, whistling, not even entertaining Kit’s glare following him. Kit got to his feet, the world tilting slightly as he stood but he ignored it going to the bathroom and slamming the door.

Angry red eyes found Kit’s in the bathroom mirror. Kit’s hand went out quick, too quick to think and the next thing he knew his fist had shattered the reflective glass. Broken shards fell onto the sink and the tile with a glimmering tinkle, so Kit punched the mirror again, and again.

He would have done it again, if he could, if it wasn’t for the cold rinse of Ambrose’s power flooding through his arm stopping his fist from punching the mirror until he broke his hand. Instead, Kit turned and opened the bathroom door against his will, stepping out into the living room to see Ambrose setting up Kit’s first aid on the table.

Kit’s feet dragged him to the table and forced him to sit and hold out his hand for Ambrose to inspect.

“I hate you,” Kit declared, a furious childish part of him wanted Ambrose to know that.

“I know Kit,” said Ambrose, taking his wrist delicately, the same wrist he had tried to fold in on itself not two minutes ago. “Seven years bad luck to break a mirror.”

“Fuck you,” Kit replied emotion colouring his voice. Ambrose’s touch was tender on his hand as he inspected it for damage. Shards of glass were sticking out of his hand that was steadily streaming blood onto the table.

“I’m going to have to take the glass out to bandage your hand,” said Ambrose, dark eyes dragging up to Kit’s face. Ambrose’s expression twisted into one of pity, as if he could actually feel human emotion and it somehow made Kit feel worse. Kit’s heart hammered against his throat as Ambrose reached over and wiped fresh tears from Kit’s cheeks. “It’s okay, Kit. I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt.”

Kit didn’t even realise he was crying until then. Frustrated, helpless tears were streaming sad and steady down his cheeks. “Please just let me go,” Kit whispered, half leaning it Ambrose’s hand. He couldn’t do this anymore. Ambrose sighed, rubbing his thumb soothingly over Kit’s cheeks.

“If you want, I can make you go to sleep while I do this?”

Kit sniffed, blubbering like an idiot. He didn’t want to be forced to sleep again, he hated that groggy feeling of waking up after it, completely unaware and vulnerable.

“No,” said Kit eventually. “No, I’ll stay awake.”

“Okay,” Ambrose cooed, drawing his hands back and going to the first aid kit to pull out tweezers and the disinfectant. “I’ll make sure you don’t feel a thing.”

True to his word, Kit didn’t feel anything as Ambrose worked. Not the disinfectant that would have stung. Not the glass being plucked out of his hand and onto the table. Not the bandage as it was tightened around his hand.

Ambrose moved with graceful fluidity, like this wasn’t his first time. Kit just watched him work in silence. If he imagined hard enough, he could be Superhero or Medic stitching him up after a fight with another villain. A friend looking after him telling Kit that he’s an idiot, and why did he punch a mirror. The thought made Kit’s heartache more than his hand would have.

“Okay,” said Ambrose with a smile, a genuine small happy smile. “You’re all done. How’s that feel?”

On Ambrose’s question, feeling flooded Kit’s body and he clenched his hand and opened it again. It was tight enough to hold and loose enough to have full range of motion.

“It feels good, thank you Ambrose.”

The words escaped Kit’s mouth before he registered what he said. Wide eyes went to Ambrose’s dark ones, but it wasn’t the smug pride he saw there. Ambrose smiled sympathetically at Kit and nodded.

“You’re welcome, Kit. How about you go get some sleep? I’ll clean all this up and we can go back to hating each other after.”

Kit nodded numbly. He was exhausted and deflated at his almost escape, he should have known Ambrose would have thought of everything Kit would do. The only way to defeat Ambrose properly would be to kill him and Kit knows he would never do that.

He couldn’t take someone’s life.

So, he stood and walked to his bedroom, shutting the door and collapsing onto his bed. Kit curled up under the covers and cried until he fell asleep.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

The Orphanage (plz lemme know if you want to be added or removed <;3) — @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whatwhumpcomments @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @princess-bubble-blossom @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @mj-or-say10

*~*~*~*~*

Hello, it’s orphan this is a sneaky PS that I am in the process of moving my work here to a new, primary account @patchworkorphan because I stupidly made this blog a secondary one

I am uploading my backlog of posts to that new blog, updated and edited shocking!

Okay thank you for reading, have a good day, watch the late late toy show! It’s officially Christmas!! okay bye!

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aajjks · 10 months

Text

Dark Knight feeling, Die or Kill (m)

A collaboration based on fictional iconic superhero characters, with the bts members; with a twist of obsession and desire, you won’t be able to escape, no matter how much you try, who’s going to save you from them? hint: no one.

written by: @justanotherstarlightmonger

member: seokjin

character: silver surfer

synopsis: Kim Seokjin, the silver surfer, finds his heart of titanium swaying for the first time in millennia, for Reed Richard's prodigy apprentice, who unfortunately calls the planet his master wants to devour, home. Caught between a life long oath to an intergalactic planet devouring fog and the all encompassing obsession the surfer developed with OC, Seokjin will fight tooth and nail to have it all.

release date: [TBD]

written by: @bighitfics

member: yoongi/suga

character: captain america

synopsis. “You’ve been asleep captain yoongi, for almost 22 years” yet I wasn’t surprised by the revelation not one bit just disappointed and perhaps a tad bit disheartened.

The only thing that came into my mind at the moment was her.

My Y/n.

The one thing in my life that kept me going.

The one stability that I had.

The girl who believed in me when the world stranded me.

The girl I’d fight hell just to hold in my arms.

I close my eyes and all I could hear was her sweet voice sobbing and begging me to return back.

Then the crash happened and the rest is history.

The defeat and acceptance of never seeing her again for the sake of others still fresh in my memory.

Where’s she now? Still living in illsan? Does she know that I’m here….that I’ve been found? Would she be waiting like she promised?

“You’re gonna be okay?” the guy asked while I looked around the city that had so sense of familiarity still trying to find some sort of relevance to ease my mind but it was utterly useless because everything was foreign as though I’ve been transported to a different planet.

“Yeah I just…I had a date.” I answer him.

release date: [TBD]

written by: @bahbah-bee

member: hoseok/jhope

character: Batman/Bruce Wayne.

synopsis. Billionaires don’t develop attachments. Superheroes don’t make deals with villains. This was something ingrained in Mr. Hoseok through experience. Gotham didn’t need to know the truth about Batman, and in return all the dealings of the underworld were taken care of. It didn’t matter if people got hurt, as long as justice was served. At least, that was until he met you.

release date: [TBD]

written by: @ratherbefangirling

member: namjoon/RM.

character: black widow

synopsis. Namjoon was stolen from his birth parents by the agency. Since then he's learned many different things, lived many different lives, felt many different things. Black Monster. The best of the best. That's what everyone knows him as. Is it too much to ask that someone knows his name. Is it too much for the extraordinary to ask for the ordinary. It might be, but black monster always gets his way no matter what.

release date: [TBD]

written by: @pynkgothicka

member: jimin

character: scarlet witch

synopsis. Jimin has kept up your fantasy-esque life up for all you can remember. So why is that idyllic life showing cracks all of a sudden?

release date: [TBD]

written by: @bebejungkook

member: taehyung/V

character: Angel (x-men)

synopsis. To everyone in the city, Kim Taehyung is a mutant and the heir to the Kim fortune, helping keep the city safe and secure. But to you, he is your guardian Angel, saving you from harm and gifting you with wisdom. You go to him for guidance and comfort, how could he say no to his sweet and innocent little dove? His heart beats for you only and he would do anything to protect and keep you safe, after all he is your guardian angel.

release date: [TBD]

wrïtten by: @aajjks

mëmbër: jungkook

chàracter: Spïder-Mân

synöpsïs. He wöuldn’t lêt you cräwl äwäy from him, you bëlongêd to him.

fïc téäsër: xx

rëlëäsë dätë: [TBD]

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hederasgarden · 2 years

Text

Safe With Me

Summary: Six is a hard man to read up until the moment he isn’t.

Paring: Sierra Six (Court Gentry) x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.7K

Rating: Mature, 18+ only. AU, violence, blood, angst, whumpage, death and some sexual content.

A/N: If this gets a good response I will write a sequel that takes place during the movie. Please note the reader has been Claire’s caretaker since her first surgery and is in her early 30s. The story is based on this ask. Thank you N and a @a-reader-and-a-writer for beta'ing and @skvatnavle for the title.

When Six comes into your lives, you’re not sure what to make of him. He’s clearly CIA-adjacent like Fitz – or some other alphabet agency– though he has none of the easy warmth of Claire's uncle. Just his quick sense of humor, but even that comes out sparingly, often startling a laugh from you. Claire takes to him quickly, poking and prodding at his cool exterior until you begin to see little cracks in it. Small glimpses of the man beneath the protector.

Once you notice the little tells, it becomes easier to catch them. Like the soft way he looks at Claire when she’s singing along to a record or the way his lips twitch up into a brief smile every time you remember his favorite pastry from the bakery. It’s apparent in the way his hand always rests at the small of your back when you’re out in public together, guiding you along as Claire tugs excitedly at your arm. You see it in the way he keeps himself as a buffer between the two of you and other people.

It’s how you know his nightly check-in at bedtime isn't just about following security protocol. Seeing you both safely tucked into bed for the night seems to ease some of the tension he carries. Most times the two of you don’t speak, he just pokes his head in and nods, giving you that awkward little grimace he probably thinks is a smile. Claire is another story, you can normally hear her excited little voice asking Six a hundred different questions that he patiently answers.

Tonight you’re in bed early, a warm cup of tea and a book in your hand. You thumb through the pages while you wait for him to come say good night, unable to rest until this part of your routine is complete. The clock on your bedside ticks steadily forward until it’s 9:05. Six is always prompt and when he doesn't show you grow concerned, venturing out to find him. You don’t make it far before a gloved hand covers your mouth and an arm snakes around your stomach. You’re pulled back against a solid wall of muscle.

“Tell us where the girl is,” comes the gravelly demand.

In your panicked state you thrash around, jerking your head back. Pain explodes along your skull and the man groans, releasing you. When you look back, you see blood pouring from his broken nose. You scramble away from him and scream for Six but the man catches you quickly. He forces you on your back and your head snaps to the side with the force of the first blow. You lay there stunned, with the taste of pennies in your mouth. You've never been hit before or purposely hurt like this and the ugly surprise of it is almost worse than the pain.

Tears well up and you breathe in wetly, blood escaping from your split lip down your chin. The man stares at you and even though the mask hides most of his face the anger in his gaze is unmistakable. Before you can recover he hauls you to your feet and throws you roughly against the wall, demanding you take him to Claire.

"No," you croak. He strikes you a second time and you flinch. God you hope Claire made it to the panic room. The thought of this man touching her makes your stomach roll. You close your eyes when he asks you again, waiting for another blow to come but nothing happens. When you hear the audible click of a gun’s safety your eyes shoot open. The man in front of you freezes.

He’s quick to recover, turning around and bringing you in front of him as a shield. You blink rapidly to clear your tears, relief surging through your body at the sight of Six. He looks a little worse for wear, a wound on his arm bleeding sluggishly and a gash on his side. To your surprise, he doesn’t address the man but looks right at you.

“You alright?” He asks.

You're not, but you nod anyway.

“Where’s the girl? Take me to her or I’ll kill this one,” the man demands, pressing a knife to your throat.

You whimper and Six’s lips thin, a muscle in his jaw jumping. Still, he doesn’t look at the man, speaking to you again. “Did he do that to you?” Six asks, motioning to your face.

“Yes.”

“Take me to the girl,” the man growls.

You jerk in his arms when you feel the blade split the skin of your throat. Six takes a step forward but stills, watching you for a long moment before he shifts his attention to the man behind you.

“I want you to know. I was going to leave one of you alive. The CIA loves to interrogate you assholes… but you touched her. That was a mistake,” he says, his voice cold and even. When he speaks again he’s still watching the man though you know he’s addressing you. “Close your eyes.”

You squeeze them shut, holding your breath. There’s no hiding what Six means to do and even though you know it’s coming you still flinch at the sound of the gun and the hollow thump of the man’s body hitting the floor behind you. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you feel Six’s touch on the side of your neck.

At his coaxing, your eyes flutter open, and you stare at his bloodied face. You can’t stop your hands from shaking and when your lips part no sound comes out. Some part of you knows you’re in shock, but you can’t make your body cooperate. It’s a struggle to breathe.

“It’s alright, take a breath,” Six instructs, cradling the uninjured side of your face in his hand. You inhale through your nose as he continues to watch you, nodding encouragingly until you're breathing normally.

"Six," you whisper, grasping his shirt.

“How are you doing, hen?” He questions, the use of his terrible nickname for you startling a laugh from you. Mother hen. For the way you tended to follow Claire around the house, fussing over her even when she tried to wave you off. “Should we go check on our little chick?” He asks.

“Where is she? Did they-” you start.

Six is quick to reassure you. “She went straight to the safe room just like I taught her. She’s okay,” he promises.

He offers you his hand and you take it, letting him fold you into his side. The smell of blood and cordite burns your nose but underneath is the familiar scent of Six’s cologne. It helps calm you, grounding you to him until you turn the corner.

“Don’t look,” he instructs, a hand on the back of your head urging you to press your face into his chest.

You only catch the briefest look at the carnage in the living room, thankful for the way Six shields you from it. He guides you along the hallway and you don’t open your eyes until he tells you to. The thick door to the safe room slides open and you smile in relief at the sight of Claire, lamp raised and a fierce expression on her face.

As soon as she sees you, she drops it and rushes into your arms. She touches your face so gently and cries, turning even more upset when she sees the state of Six. It takes both of you nearly an hour to get her calm enough to sleep. Even then you can tell it’s a fitful slumber, her little face scrunched up in concern. You stay with her, stroking her back while Six leaves to deal with whoever he called to clean up the mess in the living room.

You’re thankful nothing happened to her but it scares you how close those men got. If they’d gotten their hands on her… You shake your head, not wanting to think about that.

“Hen.”

You turn around at the sound of Six’s soft voice, finding him leaning against the doorframe. Even though he’s cleaned the blood from his face you can still see the gray shirt clinging to his side.

“We should get you cleaned up,” you say concerned.

“That’s my line,” he tells you, brow raised. “Come on, she’ll be safe. I got three guys in the house and another four outside. No one is getting in.”

You follow him into the hall, letting him lead you to the spare bathroom. He shuts the door behind him and you turn towards the sink, flinching at the state of your face. You raise a trembling hand to your lip. Six stops you with a gentle grip on your wrist.

“Did he get you anywhere else?” He asks, looking you over critically.

“Just the face.”

“So nowhere important, huh?” He questions, making you laugh and then wince when the action tugs on your split lip. “Hop up,” he directs, tapping the counter.

When you struggle to do as he asks, a disconnect between your mind and body still, Six helps you. He grasps your hips and hefts you up with a surprising amount of gentleness. You look up, your face close to his. He squeezes your hips and steps away, bending down to take out supplies from a little bin under the sink you never realized was there.

You clear your throat and curl your fingers into the fabric of your PJs. Now that things have calmed, pain filters in through your scattered nerves.

“You a doctor now?” You ask.

“No but I play one on TV,” he replies without missing a beat, rising back to his full height.

He stands between your legs and pulls on a pair of gloves. His touch is gentle as he slowly cleans your face and treats the wound on your neck. Your eyes fall closed at the feel of his fingers tracing the cut on your throat, spreading a cool, numbing cream over the angry line. He does the same to your lip and it helps take the sting out of it. After he removes the gloves, he runs his fingers over the rest of your face, applying gentle pressure at different points. You know he’s looking for fractures or breaks. Outside of the underside of your jaw being tender to the touch, you’re mostly okay.

“It’s not a lollipop,” he warns, dropping two little pills into your hand, “but they’ll help with the pain.”

“What about you?” You question.

He shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You’re still bleeding.”

“It’s not my blood,” he tells you.

“Oh.” You fall quiet and look up at him.

He turns away from you, listening to something outside the door and you look at his face in profile. You can see the faint beginnings of bruises on his cheek and jaw and there’s a patch of dried blood at his temple. Your eyes wander down his chest, cataloging what looks like a knife wound on his right pec and another down his left side. Hesitantly, you reach out and touch him.

Six grunts, eyes closing briefly. “Well, maybe a little bit is mine,” he admits.

“Let me help you.”

“Not to sound dramatic but it’s not the first time I’ve stitched myself up,” he tells you.

“Please, I…” You trail off, close to tears again.

“What’s wrong?” He asks quietly.

You don’t know how to explain that even though he may trust the men outside, you only trust him. You don’t want to be alone. He makes you feel safe, his presence the only thing keeping you from unraveling. It was easy to hold it together for Claire but now that it’s just the two of you there’s nothing to distract from how close those men got to her or what they did to you.

Six says nothing but he doesn’t have to, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around your shoulders carefully. You sob when he hugs you close, twisting the fabric of his shirt in your finger as your body shakes. He rests his chin on your head and drags his hand up and down your back soothingly. The tears don’t last long, not with him holding and comforting you.

A small part of you thinks Six needs it too. You hear him breathe out and some of the tension leaves his body. He cares a lot for you and Claire. It’s why the two of you make an effort in your own ways to make him feel a part of your little family and cared for. To know he’s worthy of that affection. Eventually, Six pulls away, smoothing a large hand over the back of your head and down to your shoulder, squeezing it.

“Alright, your turn to play doctor,” he says, reaching back to tug his shirt off.

You can’t help the small sound that escapes your mouth at the sight of his scarred body. He doesn’t react to your response, staring steadily at a point beyond your head. His right arm is the worst, deep scars mangling his tan skin but it seems like everywhere you look there’s more damage to find. Underneath your concern is another feeling, one you try to ignore because now is not the time for your body to recognize just how good he looks without a shirt.

“None of these look too deep,” you say, taking the pair of gloves he hands you and getting to work cleaning and bandaging his wounds.

You carefully avoid the gun on his hip, looking up every so often to see his face. His expression is blank, and he doesn’t react to your touch even though you know it must be painful. You want to ask him what really happened tonight, but you know he’d only give you a glib answer. After you’re finished Six inspects your work. He gives you a thumbs up and smiles.

“Not half bad, doc.”

You grin back and stare up at him, breath catching when his eyes dip to your lips momentarily. The expression on his face is uncharacteristically soft and vulnerable. You feel an answer tug in your own heart and slowly reach to touch the side of his face. Even though he’s still a mystery to you in a lot of ways you know him well enough to understand he would never make the first move. Too driven by some internal moral compass.

“Six,” you whisper, tilting your head up to invite him in.

There’s only a flicker of hesitation before he’s kissing you, a hand on your hip drawing you close to his body. He groans and you respond with a little gasp of your own when he pushes you back, your head bumping against the cold mirror. Your lips part for his tongue, a brief flare of pain from the cut there but it fades quickly when his hands cup your face. His scent and taste surround you and your body responds.

You grab his shoulder, wanting him closer and he grunts, pulling away. Pain clouds his eyes and your brows raise in concern.

“Six…”

He shakes his head and steps back, rolling his shoulder with a grimace. The air between you shifts, whatever softness he allowed to the surface dissolving as he steps away.

“You should go check on Claire,” he says.

“Alright,” you agree, letting him help you down from the counter. His hand lingers only for a moment.

He follows you down the hall to Claire’s room, hovering in the doorway as you climb carefully into bed with her. She stirs, blinking sleepily and reaching for you. When she says your name softly you assure her everything is ok, curling your body around her smaller one. She grasps your hand tightly against her chest and sighs, falling still. Six turns to leave and you call out to him quietly.

"Stay. Claire will feel better if you're close by," you lie. "She'll want to see you when she wakes up."

He nods and takes up a vigil in the brightly colored chair in the corner of her room. You lay your head on the pillow, the back of Claire’s head obscuring his figure from you. You don’t need to see him to feel safe. You know Six will always protect you and Claire.

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