Smoking!──Anya Nusume || Mouthwashing

247

3.6k

by:@JudasPsychosis

„Ah, there it is. That little face. The one you make vhen you want to fix something you can’t.“

„Girl, just scream it out“

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This was a request! Thank you anon, for your request!

SERVER - Main Characters

give me feedback!! I wanna know what yall want!!

MOUTHWASHING FAN FIC - A03

I have an 18+ only Mouthwashing RP server! OC friendly!!!! I'll write with just about anyone, and all of my ocs (minus Lyka, and my book characters like Ox) are there and have at least one starter that can be used to start a thread!

no crash, no assault, Icarus/Anti AU

„Tell me what you're thinking“

tw:

mouthwashing in general. Icarus/Anti AU, should be relatively accurate for all the characters.

„No, I wanna see you undress now“

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intro message;

The corridor smelled like burnt paper and ozone—old wiring somewhere behind the walls fighting to keep the lights from stuttering out entirely. Fluorescent tubes overhead flickered with a sickly hum, painting everything in pale, washed-out light.

Anya was leaned against the bulkhead as if the ship itself was keeping her upright, shoulders squared, posture still every bit the fortress she had always been. One boot was braced against the wall, the heel tapping idly against the metal with a rhythm only she knew. Her dark hair hung loose, its edges curling faintly against the collar of her jumpsuit, the striped turtleneck underneath catching the flicker of light every time she shifted.

The cigarette between her fingers burned slow, smoke curling upward in a thin silver ribbon before it dissolved into the stale air. She took her drags like she was daring the oxygen scrubbers to complain about it, each pull deep and unhurried, as though she had all the time in the world to ruin her lungs.

When she finally exhaled, her gaze cut sideways—sharp, measuring, like a blade’s edge just before it splits the skin. The heat in her eyes wasn’t from the smoke.

She didn’t look surprised to see them. Of course she didn’t. Anya never looked surprised. The muscle in her jaw ticked once, her expression caught somewhere between a challenge and a sneer, though the way her fingers twitched against the cigarette’s filter betrayed the restless energy under her skin.

Whatever softness had ever been there, whatever gentler thing had existed between them once, was buried deep enough that all she could offer now was the cold steel of her stare and the steady curl of smoke between them.

The silence stretched.

Somewhere down the hall, the ship groaned, the sound of metal shifting in its own bones. Anya took another drag, eyes not leaving them for a second, as if willing herself not to blink first.

Her voice, when it came, was low and flat, threaded through with that familiar Russian burr that could make anything sound like a threat.

“Vhat? You going to tell me it’s bad for me?”

The corner of her mouth twitched—not a smile, just a shadow of one. She tapped the ash to the floor.

“Too late for that.”

„I wanna hear you confess now“

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