#And the two of them scoping out the mess

[coconut530]

BITTERSWEET REUNIONS

[tojisteddy]

John Price with reader! who isn’t good at asking for what they want so he shows them how to by edging the shit out of them.

cw: 18+ mdni, smut, edging, full nelson (but it’s only fingering), daddy kink (icky), dad bf! Price.

Price is always reminding you, how even if you are his “big strong girl” to always let him know if you need help.

He’s a call or text away, even at the dead of night.

Well it’s hard for you to ask for help. You’ve been like this since you were young, you’re used to doing things on your own, whatever you wanted you’d get it your own way. You moved yourself out of your parents place and into an apartment yourself (with paid movers but alone nonetheless), got a new job yourself, when your car wasn’t working, you took 3 buses to make it on time, drive yourself on a two hour drive just to see the sunset, and solo trips—

in other words, hyper independent.

John didn’t catch it when he first started dating you, but it’s the way you simply did things and didn’t ask. Didn’t ask him to help you bring in groceries or when you needed help getting your old mattress out your flat, you’d magically did it yourself. Or when you were so drained from work, you told John you were fine and then spent a week holed in your apartment until you pulled yourself together, alone. When John questioned you about it you simply gave him a shrug. The straw that broke the camels back was when you got stuck in the rain for 3 hours and you forgot to call him that dire time of need.

You could’ve easily asked for help. You chose not to.

So here you were, sat in John’s lap, a hiccuping and withering mess, legs spread open and your feet on his knees, your back meeting his chest, while John plays with your soaking pussy.

But he’s not letting you cum.

No, no, noooo, this wouldn’t be a punishment if you came so soon, would it?

“ ‘M sorry Price, hnngh- mmm- hicc- ‘m sorry, was wrong.” You babble, stupidly grinding your hips against his fingers that have been putting you through hell for the last two hours.

He pulls his fingers out, making an exhausted whine fall from your lips, “I knooow lovie,” he coos, letting his drenched fingers brush through your wet folds, then to your pearl. “But you have to use your words for me, yeah? Tell me when you need Daddy’s help.”

A broken sob comes out of your mouth, legs shaking as the older man gives your throbbing clit a little flick, before circling it slowly with his thumb. you shake your head, head falling back against him. “ ‘S too much! I don’t- I can’t-“ you interrupt yourself with your own moans.

John holds you tight in his hairy muscular arms, pulling your legs over his forearms, he adds more pressure down to your clit until he knows your about to fall apart, eyes fluttering shut and making that beautiful face, deep in pleasure. The older man, holds you close when you whine about him stopping, fondling the pink of your cunt, his lips kissing your shoulder, “I told you baby, you have to use your words. What do you need help with? Hm?”

His tongue swipes from your neck to your ear, sucking and nibbling at your earlobe. He tsks at your quietness towards the question, giving your pussy a little slap that makes you keen, eyes opening to look back at the blue set looking down at you. “I asked you a question [+].”

In a low eyed haze, you purse your lips, chest falling up and down rapidly, youre humping the air like a desperate slut for any contact you can get but to no avail. Your face gets damp with tears, you slur, “Help- anngh- please help me Daddy. W-wanna cum, hicc hmm- please help me cum.”

“Gooood girl dove, doin so good for your Dad.” He slips two fingers in your aching hole, curling and thrusting them ever so perfectly in your sopping pink walls. You grip at his arms, as your walls quickly tighten and spasm around his thick digits.

“See? Wasn’t that hard to ask for help, was it?”

a/n: this is my audition tape to anon who sent me a request for dad bf John. I’m scoping the scenery out. Trying to prove how this is fun and camp !

most recent masterlist

[lovscb97]

bang chan recs (18+)

key: !!! = personal favourite, s = smut, f = fluff, a = angst

add. notes: hai :3 i know i said i would make a skz recs list but the minute i scrolled thru my likes n started saving from chan onwards, i realised i had Too many recommended fics for him (this list is like 40 fics/drabbles long....) so i decided to just make member separate posts instead!!! i tried not to have repeats of authors to give u guys a broader scope to choose from n also sorry in advance that i yapped so much abt them it's just like . these r my all time fav authors so it's expected. anyways i hope u guys love these works as much as i do bcs they r from some of my absolute fav creators n plz give them lots of love n always make sure to appreciate these ppl <3

. . .

hopelessly devoted to you — @changbunnies (!!!, s, a?)

this was literally a 11/10 fic like i am not even joking rn. i luv greaser chan n even tho he messed up, the way he makes it up to mc is so so soooo sweet. the fact that he's so gone n pussydrunk while eating her out, the sweetness in how he holds her n fucks her is all too mindnumbing n i hope u continue writing bcs u r amazing at it!! i will always come back 2 this when i need a pick me up fr

2. bad idea — @hyunsvngs (!!!, s)

JUNOOOOO my lovely baby.... i adore u n all ur work always but this fic. This Fic. it changed the trajectory of my life. like not even kidding but i was a different person when i started reading this n when i finished it i was Changed. life is worth living now, the grass is greener n the birds always sing 2 me which i firmly believe is bcs of u n this beautiful yummy fic. i fucking LOVE stepdad chan sm like there's smth so gross n nasty abt fucking ur mom's bf n even tho mc is a menace, i still loved it. never stop doing what u do!!!

3. 1095 days — @luvyeni (s)

EX INMATE CHAN RAHHHHH!! i have akshewally been following ur work for so long n i LOVE!! the way u write :3 thank u for always churning out ur work so fast n being so good at what u do. im obv a sucker for daddy kink considering i eat it up every time n it's so fucking good i love how chan cares for mc n the way he gives it to her once he's back. mark my words i will EAT this man up n this fic whenever i stumble across it

4. milk and honey — @straykeedz (s, f, a?)

user straykeedz u have to stop... ur work too addicting n perfect.. ur depiction of chan too real n crazy (/pos)... they're gonna get u... but seriously i love bffs2lovers so bad n the way u always characterise chan n make him call mc so many cute pet names melts my heart :( i've also been following U for a long time n even tho everything u write is so so soooo good, this has to be one of my faves alongside ur inexperienced chan fic. i hope u don't pressure urself too much to update n jus do what u have to do :D

5. my wife — @chrizzztopherbang (s, f)

ngl i Think this is my first fic from u cus i followed u bcs of it n that's a given honestly cus newly turned husband chan?? eating his wife out metres away from his friends n family on the other side of the door n fucking her within an inch of her life right after they're pronounced husband n wife?? i love it i loved their bickering over who's a pervert n i just love the idea of mc finally calling the love of her life hers forever. i hope they r always happy alongside u

6. sweet nothing — @frenchkisstheabyss (!!!, s, f, a)

this fic actually changed me as a person too not even kidding. i EAT UP exes to lovers n the portrayal of it was so good here bcs there's so much unspoken tension between the two n then chan begging mc to not leave again n her promising she won't bcs all she wants to do is be his at last?? AWOOGAAAAA i need him so bad it's jinja michin (i am so cringe sorry..) ANYWAYS!! i hope u know tattoo artist + ex bangchan is a crazy combo n that the makeup sex was HOT HOT HOT!!! plz keep writing i adore u <3

7. pick you up — @moonchild9350 (!!!, s)

see idk if this is tmi but sex where ure being picked up n fucked is downright nasty in the best possible way n i fear i need to get railed like that by chan so u writing abt is literally u making my fantasies come true. this fic was a delicious mix of cute w chan telling mc he only works out so he can pick her up (based off of his bbl texts obv) n hot w him Actually fucking her within an inch of her life. i love all ur work tee bee eich so keep doing what ur doing!!!

8. spring has sprung — @cbini (!!!, f, s)

miss ems where do i even begin with u.. (u probably Do Not Know me but i know u smirk emoji. soz that was weird erm but ya i am the binnie anon who said u deserve changbin LOLZ) this fic was the perfect mix of cuteness w raw passionate fucking i love the idea of chan getting hard bcs ur dressed so preciously in a pretty dress i think it's rooted somewhere in his slight corruption kink which comes out def when u r all dolled up for him. anyways u never miss n i hope u know that <3

9. walking in on rooomate!chan / pt. 2 — @kacciidubs (!!!, s, f)

going 2 be very honest here i do not even remember what happened in part 1 bcs part 2 of this roommate chan fic actually blew my mind away like Seriously user kacciidubs u r insane!!! all ur work never misses n i am always so eager whenever u post bcs i've been following u n loving everything u put out for so long. ofc ur chan work is my favourite as u can tell but this fic... this fic was crazy the switch between daddy n sir oh my god what if i cream my pants rn. plz never stop writing <3

10. last nerve / pt. 2 — @cb97percent (!!!, s)

user cb97percent let me just preface this by saying whatever u write is INSANE. like i already knew u were a great writer but this fic? changed me as a person not even joking rn. the way mc n chan banter n how chan's an asshole who is pissed off how he can't get it up anymore unless he fucks mc is so funny n how the raw passion between them results in the best sex Ever. n ofc the ending w minho took me out n Yea i just . i have no words plz never stop writing to u as well

11. hush — @petrichor-han (s)

sucker for exhibitionism n sucker for chan so what better way to comemorate this occasion than by reading abt it? this entire scenario was so hot like honestly i can totally imagine chan's bitchass doing this bcs he's so cheeky in nature he would lose himself from the thrill of almost getting caught. u r amazing as always thank u for churning out so much content for kinktober may god or whoever u believe in bless u with eternal inspiration

12. daddy!chan helping you shave — @hyunjins-orange-slice-too (!!!, s, f)

i sent u an ask already talking abt how much i love u n everything u write but THIS. this made me weak in the knees bcs i have imagined this very scenario so many times if im being brutally honest. there's smth so sweet n domestic abt the act of helping ur partner shave n with daddy chan in the mix? kill me now plz. the way he asks if he can play w mc once he's done n how he sternly instructs her to be safe like omgkjdfjhjdfgjhhjg need him in ways that give the pits of hell a run for its money w how hot n nasty im abt to be fr

13. one last time — @baby-yongbok (!!!, s, a?)

like i said, i am a sucker for the exes to lovers pipeline alongside husband chan so while this isn't Either of those things entirely it still scratches the itch in my brain very very well. the way mc n chan exchange snarky remarks n how chan only says he's satisfied once they're done fucking OHHHH MYYYYY GODDDD... need this man carnally like i would dump him just so he can fuck me the way he fucked mc in this fr (that is a lie we r locked in 4 life). u r brilliant as always i always look forward to ur work so next time u r questioning if this is worth it just know lovscb97 on tumblr has ur back fr

14. chan ask drabble #1 — @skzms (s)

maymay.. my eternal luvr... the genius behind smrsmf minsung... ofc u were bound to eat this up n end up on this list. idgaf if it's just an ask answer or drabble bcs the way u write is so . so Elegant. i love how u always use ur words to describe the emotion lingering between ppl in love n the way u do it here w chan n mc, the way he reassures her afterwards n how he promises her he'll give her everything later while fucking his fingers into her ohhhh mannnn.. i can just imagine him in his suit thank u for bringing the vision to life fr

15. you're right, baby — @chlorinecake (s, f)

soft dom chan who is ur fiancé fucking u n claiming u bcs he's a lil pouty that u forgot ur ring?? n then going so far to say he'll cum in u to make sure everyone knows who u belong to?? RAHHHHHH HE NEEDS ME!!! this was written so deliciously i loved the way mc n chan cared for each other n also the ending was so cute LOLZ hope they r happy in every universe n that their wedding goes great fr u r an awesome writer user chlorinecake

16. silence — @valkyriexo (s, a)

make up sex make up sex make up sex!!! i love it so good even tho it hurts so bad when mc realises chan forgot to show up :( but the fact that he makes it up to her by begging her to not leave him n making her cum as many times on his tongue as possible for her to forgive him?? INSANITY!! the longing in their eyes n words n actions from how much they've missed e/o when he finally touches mc n oh man.. u ate this up

17. corruption — @goquokka00 (s)

STEPBRO CHAN RAHHHHH i am a sucker for him (in more ways than one iygwim eheheh.. soz) i loved the sinister blackmail u added into the story n how he fucked mc bcs of her bad grades by making up some shit excuse abt learning how to please someone like y/n u can't be this dense girl!!! (i'd do it too if he asked me #Tbh) ANYWAYS. idk how this didn't have more notes bcs it was hot asfk i hope u keep writing more stuff to come :3

18. chef's kiss — @hyuniepies (s, f)

the tenderness of mc n chan's love mixed w the nasty dirty talk ohhhh hyuniepies u r a GENIUS!! this is exactly how i imagine domestic life w chan would be like; him coming back home to u cooking a dinner n then fucking u absolutely silly on the countertop bcs he just can't wait after getting a look at ur figure n bcs he's missed u so much. i too would be obsessed w bangchan if (read: when) he becomes my husband teehee

19. chan ask drabble #2 — @miupow (!!!, s)

USER MIUPOW UR FUCKING BRAIN!! HOW DO U CARRY SUCH A HUGE BRAIN IN UR HEAD!!! DOES UR BACK NOT HURT FROM HOLDING UP THE DELICIOUS IDEAS OF BCHAN SIZE KINK!!! like i told u yst i love ur writing n i love U so bad. u always eat w every request or idea u come up with n i absolutely adore that for u i hope u truly never stop writing bcs u have a serious gift n i hope ppl keep telling u that constantly bcs i sure as hell will <3

20. pretty mouth of yours — @jeongin-lvr (s, f)

need to give chan head like . Yesterday. but OHHHH MEINNNN GOTTTT fiancé channie w mc sucking him off so pretty u know exactly what im a sucker for u dont u user jeongin-lvr? ur writing is tooooooo good i swear i have read so much of ur work n granted this is one of my fave chan works from u icl i love the jeongin ones even more but i'll add those to my innie recs list later :3 ANYWAYS!! plz never stop writing u r awesomesauce (cringe.) n i love u hope u r having a great day today

21. daddy issues — @hwan-g (!!!, s, a)

HELLO THIS FUCKING FICCCCC... it is so good so delicious so fucking beautifully written that it brought tears to my eyes no joke. i still remember the first time i stumbled across it n like wow.. i think i dmed u on my side reading account too to express how much i liked it bcs i rly Did like it truly was a piece of art n sometimes i can't believe ppl like u just write stuff like this for free?? u should be getting paid good money bcs all ur work ALWAYS eats <3

22. closing the distance / pt. 2 — @thefantasyden (s, f)

ik long distance relationships r tough n it's awful when u can't spend time w each other physically or touch either but hear me out . it would Not suck w chan bcs he'd do everything for u the way he does everything for mc in this fic. from how he shows up n is too nervy to kiss her to them finally touching each other for the first time n then she moves back to him?? ohhhh man i love love n i love U for making this ur work always eats n trust that i'll always come back to this fic when i need to rmb how much i love chan

23. riding chan's thigh/knees — @faeryacha (!!!, s, f)

i love daddy chan so bad im sorry im not even gonna hide it anymore n i love the way he was written here too, from the way he asks if mc wants to play to the way he has her fuck herself on him to get herself off like i'm not even into little space like that but the minute he refers to himself as daddy n speaks to me all soft n protective im on my knees on the floor ready to suck him off like my life depends on it. u ate so bad w this plz continue doing more amazing work in the future!!!

24. steamy desires — @notsoangels (s)

shower sex w chan mngnghfhghgh.. need him so bad id let him fuck me anywhere as he pleases but in the shower?? w the hot water cascading over us w just us in our little world like omgomgomg NEED. i love the simplicity in ur writing too n how it paints a picture in my mind bcs i can vividly imagine all of this happening like him making u squirt on his cock n then rinsing u off so u can spend time wrapped up with each other on the bed like plz. One chance plz.

25. the fuckboy next door — @seospicybin (!!!, s, a)

miss seospicybin.. how do u always do it? how do u always come out w the most mindbreaking jawdropping amazing insane array of fics without even breaking a sweat like hello? this series is so fucking good from the smut to the angst that hurts so good. i love the development of the plot n that chan tries So hard to be true to mc so he can be w her n the way she tells him to do it for himself like :( they deserve each other sm i am very much looking forward to part 4!!!

26. pussydrunk chan — @aeliuss (s, f)

mngngngngjghgh i love pussydrunk chan so bad n i love the idea of him being so infatuated w mc that he just Had to drag her away n eat her out. i also love that he's there to support her in the end n how turned on he gets from her just being herself like that is a real man!!! n the way it's so reflective of how chan is irl too? i feel like this is how exactly how he'd behave— needy but so so soo in love with u too

27. kitty — @bandgie (!!!, s, f)

no joke this fic made my pussy throb. i need him 2 do this to him so bad bcs i need Him so bad. the way u wrote the subspace drop n how immersed mc was in her role n the way chan guides her thru everything n then the aftermath of it like hngnngnfgddjghjgh... i always have loved ur writing but this particular piece rly got to me along w ur kinktober series i hope u continue to do writing bcs u seriously so so SO good at it fr!!

28. angel eyes — @temptaetions (!!!, s, a)

this fic. this fucking FIC. bro this is actual evidence of the fact that literary geniuses exist bcs the way u wrote so beautifully not just the actual smut but the whole storyline?? u r a godsend fr like u should be getting paid to put out work of this degree. not only r u a PHENOMENAL writer but i hope u never stop writing bcs this was actually so so lovely n amazing to read i wish i could revisit the first time i read this T_T

29. just (fucking) friends? — @snowyquokka (s)

HELLOOOO i love possessive fwb chan almost as much as i love ur writing!! the way he's so annoyed at how she said they're just friends so he takes out his anger on her but then at the same time asks her what her color is to make sure she's still okay WOWZAAAA.. need him Bad. n in the end when they both agree they don't wanna be just friends like chan.. i don't want 2 be just friends either.. come 2 me plz... anyways very yummy work fr

30. american whiskey — @straywrds (!!!, s, a)

this fic... how do i even begin w this fic... the way u write is actually so . so otherwordly yk? u rly pour all ur passion into ur writing n the way u describe everything like every emotion every detail every feeling it's so raw n real that it touches my heart. i can Feel what each of the characters go thru n the SMUT... the smut is so so delicious ofc. i've read ur other work n u r such a good writer plz keep going with what u do i will always support u fr

31. free use w/ soft dom chris — @hwanghyunjinenthusiast (s, f)

the dirty talk in this.. hngnngkgjjdgjjh. i need free use w daddy!chan just as bad as i need to reread this fic ten times until it's ingrained in my brain n any telepath w the ability to read minds out there is disgusted by how many times i think abt it (idk what this analogy was i am sorry). the way he eats mc out n the way he fucks her omgfkjdgjhjhgjh NEED HIM RAHHHHH u did so well w this

32. play tight / pt. 4  — @roseykat (s, a)

squirting w chan squirting w chan SQUIRTING!! W CHAN!!! the way he makes mc do it once n then immediately goes "yea i need to feel that on my dick" n fucks her within an inch of her life like ohmygodjkdjhsfghj i did eat up the angst too but the way u wrote them fuckinig was so nasty n delicious I ENJOYED IT SM!! this entire series is such a good read even tho it's not chan centered idk if there r more parts to it but if there r plz link me to them!!

33. dream you — @charmercharm3r (s, f)

ok i know we r discussing smut n all n trust that i will get to that but THIS!! this was so cute n precious ohemgee the way he loves mc n takes care of her n banters w her at the start so lovingly is so so precious to me i want him so bad :( the smut was also very delicious w chan switching to hard dom mode n making mc suck him off before ravishing her like oh my god PLZZZZ FUCK ME PLZPLZPLZ u did so well on this plz continue writing more for me at the least <3

34. brat-taming w/ chan — @blurboki (s)

this damn drabble was so.. hngngjfjghjhdgjh. i want 2 be a brat to chan so bad n act out just so he'll snap n put me into my place which is exactly what u wrote n i LOVED IT!!! it's so short n simple (not a bad thing at all btw) yet it's so powerful too? i love the characterisation of chan cus i firmly believe this is how he'd act in bed w a fussy bratty s/o like wow. Just wow. i love u and ur delicious mind i hope u r having a great day just for this :3

35. tell me all about it.. — @chnsbm (s, f)

hngnfjhdfsjghgjh the idea of chan making u forget all about ur stress n playing with u to help u sleep is so gfjfjjjffjhgjhjh HOT!!! the way he lovingly reassures mc like u don't need to worry abt it now just let me take care of u n how he's such a fuckin TEASE!! w the way he's touching her is so so hot u ate w this idea n i will forever die on the hill that this is really smth chan would do— tease u n make u talk while he's doing ungodly things to u just to see u stutter over ur words

36. be that guy — @daizymax (!!!, s, a)

i have said it once i have said it twice n i will say it one more time bcs i don't care how many times i need to reiterate it needs to be said: EXES TO LOVERS W CHAN IS TOP TIER!!! the smut in this was so delicious but the LONGING chan had for mc.. the way he felt the twinge in his chest for letting her go oh man.. i'd take him back if he so even looked at me but maybe im just crazy. BUT ANYWAYS!! this is possibly one of the hottest chan smuts there ever is so thank U for this delicious gift fr

37. more than just friends — @kwanisms (!!!, s, f)

werewolf chan my luvr... my big strong baby who will knock me up w his knot n fuck me until the sun rises RAHHHHHHHH!!! this was so so SOOOOO good n yummy like from the way he pinned mc to the wall to the way he ordered her around n how his self restraint snapped the moment she called him daddy like why's that so Me behaviour HELPPPP anyways user kwanisms u fucking ATE w this i hope ur pillow is cold every night u go to sleep <3

38. connected — @j-0ne25 (s, f, a)

let me just start this by saying I FUCKING LOVE U USER J-0NE25!!! ur interactive stories esp megaverse r so fucking good how r u so bigbrained my dumbass could never like actually JSDHJFJHGJH. anyways i rmb reading this very vividly n oh boy.. "baby patience, or do you need me to teach you a lesson?" Brother my panties r drenched n off dont even start w me rn. anyways this was so so delicious plz never stop writing i beg u

39. chan ask drabble #3 — @hyungszn (!!!, s, f)

saved the best for last but CLOVER.. (u dk me but i am ur biggest fan hai :3) "your mouth is saying no but your body is telling me a different story, mrs. bang." GRRRHJDJSDFJHKJSFKJSFKJGJ... I NEED HIM SOO FUCKING BAD!!! the way they banter even while having nasty sex n just love each other so bad n hello my breeding kink went feral w this. when mc asked him to not eat his cum out of her pussy n he was like "and why is that?" cus he wanted to hear her say it GRAHHHHH I WILL EAT HIM!!! on a side note, u r so so soooo amazing i have been reading ur work for so long i think since american pie n i can safely say u r one of the best skzblr writers i have ever seen along w so many other ppl like plz keep up the good work bcs i will ALWAYS support u for it !!!

. . .

add notes: thank u very much to all these amazing writers fr. if ur work wasn't featured here now do not fret!! i probably (most definitely knowing my dumbass) just missed it cus i didn't scroll Very far down in my likes (there's like 2k+....) so trust that u will most likely end up on the next recs list!! i love u all very much regardless if u r here or not n as always a very big thank u once more for all ur amazing hard work, u r all doing so well n i hope u guys know that <3

[memoiresofaneternaldreamer]

Till Death Do Us Part | Pt. 2

Pairing: Assassin! Choi Seungcheol x Assassin! F. Reader

Themes: Smut | Angst | (Fake) Marriage | Based on the movie 'Mr. & Mrs. Smith' | Undercover Assassins | Hidden Identities | T.W.: mentions of blood, violence, guns

Wordcount: 13.8K

Playlist: 'Control' - CHVRN | 'Keep on Breathing' - The Glitch Mob, Tula | 'Fantasies' - Llynks | 'Madness' - Ruelle | 'Gomd' - Sickick

Smut Warnings: Explicit sexual acts - Oral (M. Receiving) - Slight Edging (M. Receiving) - Dominant! Reader - Dominant! Seungcheol - Rough play: titty slapping, spanking, hair pulling, biting, etc. - PIV - Unprotected intercourse

This story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors do not interact.

Previous Chapter: Till Death Do Us Part

Mingyu’s safe house—once just a sprawl of mismatched furniture and half-used equipment—is now a makeshift war room. Tables have been dragged together, boxes repurposed into makeshift desks, wires and monitors hooked into power grids and backup batteries. Satellite phones and burner lines hum quietly from one corner. The walls are lined with maps, a printed blueprint of Argos HQ taped alongside Lim’s Seoul office, red strings and pins ready to mark last known locations.

And at the heart of it all: an arsenal.

You and Seungcheol move slowly around the centrepiece—an open metal table now covered in weapons. Rifles. Semi-autos. Silencers. Flashbangs. Knives of every shape and finish. Armoured vests, gloves, scopes, smoke bombs. Clips and magazines neatly sorted by size. The smell of metal and oil clings to everything.

He holds up a new M1911 with a low whistle.

“Wonwoo really stocked you up,” you murmur, brushing your fingers across the matte finish of a karambit.

“Yeah,” Seungcheol says, inspecting the sightline. “He’s had a shopping problem ever since Rio. Said it’s cheaper than therapy.”

You smirk faintly and continue checking the gear. Methodical. Quiet. Efficient. Neither of you speaks much, but you don’t need to. There’s a rhythm to it—familiar. Rehearsed. Like slipping back into who you were long before this whole mess started.

Meanwhile, across the room, Reina is hunched over her own setup. She arrived just before sunrise, lugging in two black military-grade cases full of tech. Laptops, signal jammers, USB injectors, three satellite uplinks, and something you’re pretty sure was once a military drone antenna.

She hadn’t knocked—just used the side code to get in. You didn't bother asking her how she knew it.

Mingyu’s been following her around ever since.

“You know,” he says, peering over her shoulder as she boots up her third laptop. “I already had a full system here. Secure grid, scrambled line, full backup redundancy. You didn’t need to drag your entire tech department here.”

Reina doesn’t even look at him. “Yours were outdated.”

His mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again. “Outdated?!” he scoffs. “Excuse you, this setup got us through the Jakarta op.”

“Exactly.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes, but a grin pulls at the edge of his mouth. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” she replies sweetly, “you still dream of me.”

He clears his throat at Reina’s comment and turns back to his cables, ears slightly turning pink.

You and Seungcheol exchange a glance. You don’t comment.

Instead, you turn toward the weaponry again.

“This is yours,” Seungcheol mutters, holding out a matte black Glock with a suppressor. “The grip should fit your hand.”

You take it and weigh it in your palm. “Perfect.”

He checks the mag, then hands you two more. “Loaded with subsonics. Just in case.”

You nod and pocket them. “You keeping the SIG?”

“Wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

Everything else—body armour, tactical pouches, spare knives—you both split evenly. There’s no talk of splitting up now. Only of surviving. Only of fighting.

A beep cuts through the room. Then another.

Reina taps a few keys on her main laptop. “We’re live.”

The screens fill—one by one—with pixelated faces.

The girls appear on the left monitor: Samira, Bora, Jiwoo. All in different rooms, different countries, some underground. Some clearly on the move. But they’re alive.

The boys fill the right screen: Woozi, Joshua, and Wonwoo.

Hyerim is the last to appear. She’s pale and looks like she hasn’t slept in two days. Woozi, on the screen beside her, still seems reluctant—but he’s here.

Everyone watches you.

You and Seungcheol stand in front of the cameras, side by side. Calm. Focused. The tension in the room is nearly unbearable.

Then Samira lets out a breath. “Holy shit. You’re alive.”

“I didn’t think I’d actually see your face again,” Jiwoo says, trying to smile, though her voice shakes.

“Same here,” Joshua says from the other side. “We’ve been locked down. No signals. No reassurances. Just... radio silence.”

You nod once. “We didn’t know who made it either. Not until now.”

Seungcheol steps forward. “We’re glad you’re here. All of you.”

He pauses, then continues. “Here’s what we know. Argos and Lim & Associates—”

“—have been playing us all along,” you finish. “Feeding each other contracts, setting us up to compete for bigger bounties. Splitting profits while turning us into pawns.”

A wave of muttering breaks out across the feeds.

“They tried to kill us to tie up loose ends,” Seungcheol says. “They failed.”

“But not for lack of trying,” you add grimly. “They’ll keep coming. And you know what that means.”

“It means we’re next,” Bora says softly.

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Then Samira speaks. “So what do we do? We scatter? Lay low? Build new identities?”

“Start hitting back?” Woozi suggests. “They want a war; we give them one.”

“We go public,” Jiwoo says. “Leak what we know to the international market. Force their hand. They won’t survive the exposure.”

Everyone talks over each other—ideas flying in every direction, voices rising with panic or adrenaline. Reina tries to corral them. Mingyu scowls and leans toward his mic.

You hold up your hand. “Enough.” Everyone quiets.

You take a step closer to the screen, eyes scanning each and every face—some scared, some angry, some simply tired.

“I know everyone has ideas,” you say. “But we need a plan. We can’t move blindly. Because each and every one of you is now at risk. And I’m telling you right now—I’m not sacrificing a single one of you to end this. Not now. Not ever.”

Silence.

Then Bora speaks, hesitant. “Then... maybe we break up. Cut contact completely. And you two? Go separate. Give yourselves better odds.”

Seungcheol answers before you can. “Mingyu already said the same thing.” He glances at you, then looks directly at the screen. “But it’s not happening.”

You step in, firm. “We’re not running.”

A long silence.

Then Hyerim’s voice cuts through it like a match-striking flame.

“Then let’s figure out a way to end this.”

The war room comes alive.

Monitors hum. Fingers fly across keyboards. Maps are spread across the walls with satellite feeds casting flickering lights over weapons and half-drunk coffee mugs. Mingyu and Reina hover on opposite ends of the room, syncing laptops, pinning strings between photos, placing red dots on global maps, and drawing lines connecting targets, histories, and lies.

It’s like HQ—only grittier.

Samira calls out coordinates from her safehouse in Morocco, eyes glued to her private satellite feed. “Director Oh just pinged in Bucharest. He’s changed IDs three times since the system crash but the credit trail doesn’t lie.”

Joshua’s already working on the second. “Mr. Kwon used one of his shell companies to rent a private jet from Rome three hours ago. Flight plan had a false lead to London but I think he diverted.” His screen blinks. “He’s in Dubai.”

“That’s two,” Seungcheol mutters beside you. He’s standing with his arms folded over his chest, tension in every line of his body. “What about Lim? Or my boss?”

You shake your head, eyes moving across the chaotic network of images and data Reina has laid out. “Too clean. Nothing in her old aliases. Nothing recent.”

“Same for Director Kang,” Woozi chimes in reluctantly. “If he’s off-grid, he’s really off-grid. No comms. No cards. He vanished.”

“They’re ghosts,” Hyerim says, frowning into her screen. “Exactly like they trained us to be.”

Seungcheol exhales through his nose. “Then we think like ghosts.”

You push away from the table and begin pacing.

“Madame Lim always had a thing for private residencies in Luxembourg. Kwon once mentioned her ties to an old estate there. Untraceable ownership but still under her maiden alias. She called it her ‘shadow base’.”

“Wait—” Jiwoo perks up from behind her camera. “You mean the one with the mirrored façade?”

You nod slowly. “That’s the one.”

“Kang has that obsession with old nuclear command bunkers,” Seungcheol murmurs beside you. “Always said he’d retire into one. He’s got property in the rural mountains between China and Laos.”

Wonwoo immediately types. “I’ve got a heat signal matching that description. Subterranean. Shielded comms. I’d bet on it.”

“Add it to the board,” you say.

One by one, the map fills in.

Red string now links Director Oh to Bucharest. Kwon to a luxury Dubai apartment. Madame Lim to Luxembourg. Director Kang to a mountain facility on the China-Laos border. Four red Xs appear in real time.

It’s already dark outside. You can see your reflection in the glass. Exhaustion pulls at your features, but no one slows down.

Then Woozi finally says what everyone’s thinking.

“So now what? We found them. What do we do next?”

Seungcheol’s voice is calm. Final.

“We kill them. All of them.”

You look at him, but don’t stop him. You feel the same.

But Hyerim shakes her head. “Killing them is one thing,” she says. “But it doesn’t erase the bounties. What are you gonna do, kill every mercenary that comes after you, too?”

A tense silence. You feel the weight of it settle in your chest.

Then Joshua jumps in. “Can’t we just remove the bounties once they’re dead? Wipe the system?”

Reina cuts him off. “Not that simple. They were posted through a specialised encrypted program. Those bounties require live biometric confirmation from the original posters to cancel.”

“So you’re saying we need to access that program,” Wonwoo says, leaning forward.

Reina nods once. “Not just access. We need them alive, long enough to scan in and delete the data.”

Mingyu groans, tossing a stress ball up and catching it again. “Damn. Who the hell built something like that?”

Silence.

Then Reina mutters quietly, “I did.” All heads turn.

You sigh, rubbing your eyes. “Of course you did.”

Seungcheol laughs under his breath. Just once.

You straighten, moving closer to the table. “Reina—can you track the origin posts? Figure out who initiated the bounties?”

She nods, fingers flying across her keyboard. “Give me a second...”

Everyone waits, watching the screen update line by line.

“Got it.” Her voice sharpens. “Your bounty, Gwisin—was posted by Madame Lim. S.Coups’? Director Kang.”

Seungcheol lets out a breath through his teeth. “Then we kill Oh and Kwon first. Quietly. Cut their links. Secure the network. Then we go for the real kill.”

“We have to be fast,” you add. “Coordinated. No screw-ups. The moment one of them gets wind, they’ll vanish for good or trigger dead-man protocols.”

The team nods.

Then Jiwoo’s voice cuts through the line—softer, but clear.

“Yeah... but even if you manage to find them, somehow disable the bounties and kill them...You two can’t take on every gun in the field already on the way to you. Not alone.”

You glance at Seungcheol, jaw tight. He’s thinking it too.

The silence stretches.

Then Samira speaks.

“What if we give the mercs something else to chase?”

Everyone turns to her.

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Samira leans in closer to her camera. “I’ve been tracking Jackal on the side. He’s still alive. Ricardo has him in one of his desert compounds. Hidden, but not unreachable.”

You freeze. Your mind starts spinning.

“Wait,” you say. “Reina, Mingyu—can you check if the original Jackal bounty is still live? The twelve million one?”

They’re already typing.

Mingyu shakes his head. “It’s dormant. Was put on hold after you both missed the retrieval.”

Seungcheol speaks then. “Can you reactivate it?”

Reina nods. “That bounty wasn’t encrypted. Global market. I can make it live again.”

Your voice is calm. Calculated. “Then do it. That should drag most mercenaries away from us. Especially if we leak intel about his location.”

Everyone falls silent again.

Then Seungcheol looks up. His voice is low.

“Let’s go to work.”

Bucharest is colder than expected.

You ride in on a black motorcycle, wind snapping at your borrowed jacket, face tucked beneath the visor of a matte helmet. The sun is just beginning to dip past the skyline, turning the haze of the city into a sheet of golden shadow. You keep to the alleys. Avoid open roads. Your fake ID has already been scanned twice, and thanks to Mingyu’s surprisingly competent alias work, no alarms were triggered.

You’ll file that under surprising things you’re not commenting on.

Much like the fact that Reina never left his safe house.

She’s now patching in from his personal terminal.

Jiwoo, however, is in Athens, and operating her own satellite rig.

“Gwisin, target is stationary,” Reina’s voice says in your comms, sharp as ever. “Upper floor of the building at coordinates 46.7691, 23.5899. Minimal guards. Two confirmed exits.”

“Copy that,” you whisper, crouched behind the gun.

You’ve scoped this place earlier—ten hours ago, to be exact. Found your perch on the fifth floor, shattered window perfectly angled toward the balcony where Oh takes his evening smoke. You’ve lined your sniper rifle up and calibrated for wind, trajectory, and velocity.

Now all you need is the target.

“Any movement yet?” you murmur.

Jiwoo responds. “Nothing yet. He’s still inside.”

You wait.

Time passes slowly in moments like these. The only rhythm is your breath, the slow clench and flex of your fingers around the rifle, and the occasional murmured updates from the girls. You watch out for Oh through your scope—his reflection in the window. Reading. Moving papers.

Then—footsteps.

You freeze.

Your breath stills, and your hands lift off the rifle slowly.

The building is supposed to be empty. You were thorough.

You immediately abandon your post, sliding silently back into the darkness behind you. You blend into it, breath stilling, spine flush to the wall.

Jiwoo’s voice crackles in your ear.

“He’s heading to the door. Looks like he’s prepping to move. You’ll have a clear—”

“I’ve got company,” you whisper, tight and low. “Hold your positions. Do not lose track of Oh.”

There’s a pause.

Then Reina says, “Copy. We’re holding.”

You draw your karambit.

Light floods faintly from beneath the hallway door.

Three shadows. Boots. You clock their cadence, their height, their coordination.

The Vasile triplets.

Mercenaries-for-hire. Romanian. Silent hitters. Raised together. Kill together. And now, they think they’re here to kill you.

The first one enters, rifle low. His head turns. That’s all the opening you need. You move like the wind, slicing your karambit clean across his throat. He drops without a sound.

The second shouts, raising his gun, but you’re already behind the nearest wall. You draw the silenced pistol at your hip and shoot once—chest shot. He stumbles, gasps, drops.

The third one charges you—clever, hand-to-hand. You duck his swing and slam your elbow into his ribcage. He knees you in the thigh. Pain pulses through your leg, but you keep your balance. You twist around him and slam your boot into his kneecap. He falls. You follow him to the floor and drive your blade through his neck, slicing upwards.

Silence falls again.

Blood pools quietly between broken cracks of flooring.

Then—

“Gwisin,” Jiwoo’s voice crackles, “Oh’s outside. He’s walking.”

You groan under your breath. “Of course he is.”

You sprint for the window. Your rifle is abandoned. So are the bodies.

You swing your leg out onto the fire escape and slide down the cold metal, the sound of your boots thudding against the wall as you descend. At the base, you toss the ladder down and emerge into an alley, breathing hard.

Your hand slips into your side pocket. A small black GPS device flashes with Oh’s blinking signal.

You speak into the comms. “Jiwoo, Reina—I need a city redirect. Get him into the northeast corner. I’ll meet him there.”

Reina clicks into action. “Hacking local lights now. You’ve got two minutes before I trigger.”

“Give me three,” you respond.

You’re walking fast now, weaving through market streets and narrow alleys, always a shadow. You guide Reina through every junction.

Traffic halts suddenly at your command. Oh is forced off his original path.

He walks. Alone. No security. You smile.

“He’s close,” you murmur. “Jiwoo, clear?”

“Clear,” she answers. “No cameras. No civilians. You’re good.”

You double back through a quieter route, entering the side street from the far end. Oh is still walking, checking his phone; his pace is fast, but he looks distracted.

You drop your eyes, tuck your blade into your sleeve, and walk straight toward him. Thirty steps. Twenty. Ten.

He passes you.

You spin, arm over his shoulder, blade slicing deep and fast across his throat in one clean arc.

His blood sprays silently across the brick walls. He collapses without a sound.

You wipe the blade on your pants, spin it once on your finger, and slip it into your jacket.

“It’s done,” you whisper into your comm.

“Confirmed,” Jiwoo replies after a beat, voice hushed.

Reina exhales. “One down, three to go.”

You walk away without looking back.

The first head has rolled.

Dubai is a city that refuses to sleep.

Glass towers claw at the sky, each one gleaming with its own brand of opulence. Gold trims, velvet ropes, and secrets buried under mirrored floors. For a man who wants to disappear, it’s a living nightmare.

Which is, of course, why Mr. Kwon chose it.

Seungcheol adjusts the cuff of his suit as he walks through the private entrance of Elara, one of Dubai’s most exclusive high-end clubs, his steps confident and deliberate. A different kind of camouflage. He’s not invisible here—not in this white-pressed designer shirt and sleek black jacket. He doesn’t blend in. He owns the room.

“Mingyu?” he murmurs, the comm in his ear catching his voice beneath the music.

“You’re clear. VIP is in the left wing. Same booth as his last visit. And yeah, Kwon’s already six drinks in,” Mingyu answers from the other end, back at their makeshift satellite station in his safe house.

“Woozi?”

“Confirming no other threats have pinged in your area. You’re solo,” comes the clipped reply. Good.

Seungcheol adjusts his stance slightly as he moves toward the main floor. The lights pulse golden. Music throbs under his shoes like a second heartbeat. The crowd is decadent—diamonds and champagne, cleavage and cologne. And in the centre of it all sits Mr. Kwon.

VIP booth. Surrounded by women.

Seungcheol signals a passing waiter and flashes a smile. “Your finest bottle of Boërl & Kroff. Send it to the gentleman in the booth. No note.”

The waiter nods, takes the cash, and slips away. Seconds later, Kwon is laughing and downing champagne straight from the bottle, frothy and bubbling down his chin. The women cheer; one of them straddles his thigh. Seungcheol watches it all unfold from across the room, a quiet predator sipping a scotch he’ll never finish.

You cross his mind unbidden. The rifle in your hands. The quiet precision of your kills. He wonders—Have you done it yet? Are you safe?

He shakes the thought away.

Focus.

Time ticks forward slowly. Kwon grows drunker, heavier-lidded. Then, finally, he rises—stumbling slightly, laughing, waving the women off.

Bathroom break.

Seungcheol downs his drink and follows.

The hallway is dimly lit. Long. Opulent in design but silent. The door to the bathroom swings open, and Seungcheol slips in a few moments later.

Inside, Kwon is already at the sink. Washing his hands like he’s preparing for a goddamn sermon. He’s humming.

When he looks up, he catches Seungcheol’s reflection in the mirror.

The moment of recognition is quick. Seungcheol is quicker.

His arm wraps around Kwon’s neck, cutting off the air, holding tight. Kwon thrashes once, twice, tries to claw at him, tries to scream—but it’s too late. His body slumps, and Seungcheol lowers him to the tile.

“Goodnight,” he mutters coldly.

The second the body hits the floor, Seungcheol straightens his suit, slicks his hair back with one sweep, and checks his reflection in the mirror. His muscles strain again. It’s almost poetic now.

He turns toward the exit. Left leads back to the party. Right leads out.

He turns right.

He only makes it ten feet before a gold chain lashes around his ankle like a striking snake. He hits the floor hard, forearms slamming into tile, the wind knocked from his chest.

The chain yanks.

He rolls—just in time.

A figure charges at him with the elegance of a dancer and the savagery of a cobra. Full force, she lands on top of him.

They wrestle—hands, knees, elbows. She’s fast. Precise. Smiling.

“Hello, darling,” she purrs, her accent unmistakable. “Still breaking hearts?”

“Varsha,” he growls. “Didn’t expect you to come crawling back.”

She slams her fist into his ribs.

He kicks upward, rolling her off. They separate, both springing to their feet at once—Seungcheol doing a clean kick-up, landing squarely in a fighter’s stance.

She twirls the chain in one hand. Her snake bracelet, coiled and ready.

“Heard you were married now,” she says, circling. “Shame.”

“Shame you don’t know when to quit,” he mutters.

They lunge at the same time.

She swings the chain—he ducks, grabs the end mid-air, and yanks.

She flies forward, caught off guard, and he spins her into the wall. Her head cracks against a mirror.

She recovers. Slashes at his face. He blocks with his forearm, the chain cutting into his skin. He counters.

A blade slides from the inside of his sleeve—his last resort.

He plunges it deep into her gut before she can wrench away. Her breath hitches. Blood trickles out of her mouth.

He leans in, twisting the knife once before pulling it out and stabbing it in again.

“Should’ve stayed a one-night stand.” She collapses.

The comms buzz in his ear, and Seungcheol finally registers the noise.

“Hyung—what the hell was that noise?” Woozi demands.

Seungcheol breathes hard, blood dripping from his hand. He wipes the blade on his pants.

“Target’s down,” he says. “And so is the unexpected company.”

“Tell me that wasn’t Varsha?” Mingyu asks, incredulous.

“Yeah.”

“Holy shit.”

Seungcheol crouches beside the body for one second, then stands.

His suit is wrinkled, blood-streaked. His forearm stings. But the mission’s done.

The second head has rolled.

“Director Kwon is confirmed dead,” Reina says, her voice in your earpiece over the static of the line.

You’re crouched on the edge of a building rooftop in Bucharest, the skyline painted grey behind you, your breath cooling in the early evening air.

“Seungcheol did it in a club bathroom—clean choke. No witnesses, no trail,” she continues.

You exhale, tension loosening from your shoulders, the adrenaline of your own mission slowly bleeding out of your system.

“Good,” you reply, voice soft.

“I’ve just updated your travel packet. New alias, new flight plan. Small private jet’s waiting for you twenty clicks out of town. That should land you in Luang Namtha before midnight. From there, quad into the jungle—Seungcheol’s safehouse is mapped.”

“That where we regroup?”

“Yeah. Wonwoo’s sending another weapons crate to the site tomorrow. You’ll need it before you move on Kang.”

“Copy that,” you murmur. “I’ll move soon.”

You’re about to kill the comm when you hear it.

A low voice in the background—Mingyu’s, unmistakably.

“I can’t believe Varsha, of all people, showed up.”

You freeze, head tilting slightly.

“Kind of crazy that she’s still breathing after all these years. Woozi, remember her? That whole mess in Tangier? And now she tried to choke Seungcheol in a Dubai nightclub? Crazy bitch.”

A pause.

Then Mingyu again, voice casual, joking—too joking.

“Guess some flings really don’t take rejection well. But at least Cheol’s still got it, huh?”

Your blood runs cold. Then hot.

Varsha.

You’ve heard the name before. Not often, not clearly—It’s been passed around the underground like an urban legend: exotic, lethal, likes to strangle her targets with some kind of metal chain disguised as jewellery. A merc. A black widow.

And apparently, your husband’s slept with her.

Your jaw clenches.

You hang up the call with Reina before she can hear your tone shift.

It takes hours to get through immigration, over the Laos border, and deeper into the jungle. Your boots are caked in water and mud by the time you reach the last marker—an overgrown path with an old iron sign buried beneath moss and vines. The GPS flashes green in your hand.

Safehouse reached.

Your heartbeat picks up as you walk forward past the thick of the trees. You push through the foliage, parting vines and leaves until you finally see it—an old concrete structure, half-buried in the landscape but clearly maintained.

And standing in front of it, looking far too calm and far too attractive in a grey tactical shirt and jungle-worn cargo pants—Seungcheol.

His eyes light up the second he sees you.

He takes a step forward, and you feel your chest tighten, all that tension from the last few days crumbling in an instant.

God, he’s alive.

He walks right up to you, takes your face in his hands, and kisses you—hard.

It’s frantic, hungry, grateful. All heat and breath and want. You melt into it for a second, eyes fluttering shut, fingers curling into his shirt.

And then—

The name echoes again.

Varsha.

You snap out of it, pushing him back with one hand to his chest.

And then you slap him. Hard.

“Ow—!” he groans, jerking his head. “What the hell was that for?”

You don’t even let him recover.

You shove him again, your words tumbling out like bullets. “Who is Varsha, huh? And how long have you been sleeping with her?”

He blinks. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Choi—” You hit his chest. “Who is she? When did you sleep with her? Was it before the wedding or after? The last time you were in Dubai? How long has this been going on?!”

“Okay, wow—” he starts, reaching for you.

You slap his hands away.

“You smug, lying, arrogant—God, you’re unbelievable. You brag to your friends like some frat boy, and then just... what? Hide it from me? Your wife?”

“Babe—”

“No!” You push him again. “Don’t you ‘babe’ me. And don’t touch me. Not after this. I’ll find that bitch and kill her myself. Right after I kill you.”

He tries again, grabbing for your arms.

You swat at him like a feral cat.

“Jesus, okay, stop—” he groans, catching your wrists and holding them in place. “Stop—just—stop hitting me for one second—”

“Why? You can’t take it? Was she better? Did she use the—”

He lets out a laugh then, loud and full-bodied.

And then he pulls you flush against him, hands still locked around your waist, gripping you tight enough you can’t wriggle free.

“You don't have to kill her,” he says, voice rough with amusement. “I already did.”

You freeze.

“...what?”

His mouth quirks. “She came at me in the club. Chained my ankle. Thought she could collect my bounty. I stabbed her. Right through the gut. She’s dead.”

You stare at him, blinking.

He raises an eyebrow. “What? You didn’t think I was out there making out with her, did you?”

You open your mouth. Close it. Look away, completely mortified.

He smirks.

“Oh my God,” you mutter, avoiding his gaze. “I’m such an idiot.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just tilts your chin up with one hand, waiting until your eyes meet his again.

And instead of teasing you further, he leans down—close enough that his breath ghosts against your lips.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” he murmurs.

You scoff. “I’m not jealous.”

“You literally said you’d kill her.”

“That’s not the same thing—”

He laughs again.

You roll your eyes but don’t move away. Not even when he leans in, brushing his lips over yours with a feather-light touch. Not even when he whispers against your mouth.

“Trust me, baby, you’re the only one I want.”

You sigh, letting your forehead press to his.

“Good,” you whisper back.

And then he kisses you again.

The second Seungcheol’s mouth slants over yours again, something raw and almost reckless rises between you. Whatever apology you didn’t say for your blow-up burns off your tongue as your teeth sink into his lower lip instead. His hissed inhale at the sting makes something low in your stomach coil and thrum.

He pulls you closer like he’s starved. But you’re the one who can’t get enough.

The world narrows to your tongues fighting for dominance, teeth clashing and mouths bruising. You don’t even register the door closing behind you, or your boots tracking mud into the safe house. Seungcheol blindly stumbles back into the small main room, dragging you with him, hands gripping your hips like he needs the grounding.

You hit a wall. A stack of crates topples. Neither of you flinch.

He chuckles against your mouth when it crashes to the floor.

“Careful,” he murmurs, breathless. “You’re gonna wreck the place.”

You bite his bottom lip again. “I don’t care.”

Another kiss. Another half-step, and suddenly, he falls into a chair, dragging you with him.

You straddle his lap without hesitation, your thighs bracketing his hips, and your clothed core presses against the thick, growing bulge in his pants. His hands slide up your sides beneath your shirt, rough and warm, and you grind down on him with purpose. He groans into your mouth at the friction—one hand tightening on your waist while the other fists the hem of your shirt and yanks it up and over your head.

You break the kiss just long enough to let it go, arms flying overhead, before your lips crash back to his. Your hands are already at his belt, clumsily undoing the clasp, fingers fumbling with impatience as his hands work to undo your bra.

His mouth trails from your lips down your neck. “Jesus. You’re—”

“Shut up.”

He laughs. “Yes, ma’am.”

You finally get his belt open, unzipping his pants while he kisses along the curve of your jaw and down your collarbone as he pushes your bra straps down. His hips buck slightly when your hand slides inside the waistband of his boxers, brushing against his hard length. You lean back, just enough to push his chest down into the chair.

“Don’t move,” you mutter, fingers splayed on his sternum. “And don’t touch.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow at your warning but obliges. You slide off his lap, dropping to your knees between his legs. His eyes darken instantly.

“Baby, what—”

“Shut. Up.”

You slap his hands away when he tries to touch you, and he groans, watching as you reach for his waistband and tug everything down and off—pants, underwear, all at once. His cock springs free, flushed and thick and already hard, bobbing slightly against his abdomen.

You don’t tease. Not yet.

You lean in and envelop him in your mouth.

His strangled groan echoes around the room as your mouth closes over the head of his cock, wet and hot and needy. You drag your tongue slowly along the underside of his shaft, taking your time, then hollow your cheeks and suck him deeper, feeling the stretch in your jaw and the way his body tenses instantly.

“Fuck—” he chokes out, hands fisting the edge of the chair. “Holy shit.”

You bob your head, tongue swirling, alternating suction with slow drags, and soon he’s groaning again, hips jerking subtly up into your mouth before he forces himself to still.

You take your time—too much time.

Your hand joins your ministrations, wrapping around the base of his cock, pumping slowly while your mouth works the head. You stroke in rhythm with your lips, twisting, flicking your tongue, pulling back to suck hard at the tip before going deep again.

“God, you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, one hand falling into your hair despite your warning.

You let him tug, guide, just enough to make your scalp sting.

He starts panting, the tension in his thighs ratcheting up.

“Baby—shit—I’m close—”

You immediately pull off. He gasps at the sudden loss of contact, body twitching at the near-orgasm, hands still in your hair.

You look at him as you start stroking him again—slow, deliberate, not letting him tip over.

His head thunks back against the chair. “You’re fucking evil.”

You smirk. “And yet, you married me.”

He groans, head turning to the side like he’s trying to focus on anything else. But it doesn’t help. Your hand never stops. But it’s not enough. Not fast enough, not tight enough. Minutes tick by. You go down again.

He jerks up so fast you nearly choke. Your lips wrap around his tip again, and you find a new rhythm—suck, stroke, lick, repeat.

He’s shaking when he groans, “Gonna come—fuck—”

You stop. Again.

“Fucking hell!” he barks, hands flying to the armrests.

You glance up with innocent eyes. “Something wrong, baby?”

“Don’t make me—” He grits his teeth, cheeks flushed and body glistening with sweat. “Do not make me beg.”

You smirk, pumping him once—twice—slowly. He groans, head falling forward. “You’re gonna pay for this—”

“Shut up and take it.”

The third time you take him in your mouth, you don’t wait for the warning.

You edge him again, stopping just as his thighs start to tremble and the base of his spine tenses in that telltale way. You pull off. Again.

A string of saliva connects your mouth to the tip of his cock.

He’s not groaning anymore. He’s whining. Your big, bad assassin husband is actually whining.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, eyes blown wide with desperation. “Please.”

You tilt your head. “Please what?” He glares. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” You stroke him just once, and he groans. “Be in control?”

His jaw flexes. He looks at you like he wants to throttle you—or fuck you so hard the walls come down.

You lean in close again, lips brushing the tip.

“You’re punishing me, aren’t you?” he rasps. “For Dubai. For Varsha.”

You lick your lips. “Maybe.”

“You’re a fucking menace.”

“But you love it.”

He laughs through a moan. You smile, letting your tongue flick out—just enough to taste him again. And then, you sit back on your heels. Completely still. You don’t touch him. Don’t kiss him. Don’t move.

He stares at you, furious and hard and on the brink of madness.

You rise slowly to your feet, running your thumb across your bottom lip and gathering the saliva and precum gathered at the corner of your mouth.

You lick it clean, smiling.

You don’t expect him to move that fast.

One second you’re still standing in front of him, pleased with yourself, watching Seungcheol’s cock throb with need between his thighs… and the next, he’s out of the chair.

Before you can so much as flinch or retaliate, you’re airborne.

“Hey—” you yelp as he picks you up, manhandling you like you weigh nothing at all, and throws you across the room. Your back hits the mattress with a heavy oomph, limbs bouncing slightly on the bed as the air is knocked from your lungs.

You manage to suck in a breath before his body crashes down on top of yours, caging you in.

“You think you’re funny?” he growls lowly, his nose brushing yours as he pins your wrists above your head. You grin. “Maybe.”

He kisses you like he wants to eat you alive.

The heat from earlier flares again, but it’s darker now, fiercer. His mouth travels fast—biting down on your jaw, your throat, the sensitive spot beneath your ear. You moan, arching beneath him, and he laughs against your skin.

You feel his hand on your chest before you register the slap—his palm hitting your breast hard enough to sting, then immediately squeezing it after.

“Fuck—” you whimper, legs twitching around his hips.

His mouth closes around your nipple in response—hot, wet, rough—and he sucks hard, alternating with his teeth. You cry out, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“Still feeling bratty?” he mutters against your breast.

He doesn’t give you the time to retort—instead, he grabs your hair, yanking your head back to bare your throat, and bites down on your neck instead. The sharp jolt sends sparks straight between your legs.

Your pants are ripped off you in the next heartbeat—tugged down so roughly they take your panties with them, leaving you sprawled naked and gasping on the bed.

He kisses his way down, leaving a trail of saliva and fire along your ribs, your stomach, and your hipbone.

When his mouth hovers over your soaked heat, your legs tremble. His breath ghosts over your core, and you meet his eyes, dark and ravenous, from between your thighs.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he says lowly, voice laced with mocking amusement. “Fingers? Mouth? Or cock?”

You blink, brain fogged with heat.

“What…?”

Seungcheol grins. “Tch. Thought so. Haven’t even touched you yet, and you’re already fucked out. You get to choose, baby. But choose wisely.” He leans closer, nose brushing your clit. “You’ll only get one.”

That finally snaps you out of it.

“Cock,” you whisper, voice hoarse and expectant.

He smirks. “Good choice.”

And then your world flips on its axis. Literally.

He grabs your thighs and flips you with a single motion. You shriek in surprise as you land on your stomach. He yanks you onto all fours.

“Cheol—!” you start, but he’s pushing your face into the mattress, his palm heavy against the back of your head.

“Shut up,” he mutters commandingly. “You asked for this.”

You feel his cock behind you—hard, hot, lined up with your weeping entrance—and then he’s inside you in one brutal, punishing thrust.

You cry out into the bedding, your fingers clawing at the sheets as he splits you open.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans behind you, his hands bruising your hips.

He doesn’t give you time to adjust.

He starts pounding into you from behind, hips slamming against your ass with heavy, rhythmic force. The sound is obscene—skin on skin, your wetness, your gasps and his growls filling the tiny space.

You’re moaning, whining, helpless against the onslaught of his body.

Every thrust knocks the breath from your lungs. He spanks your ass hard once—then again—and again, until you let out a sob, only to moan even when his palm lands on you again.

Your core clenches wildly around him.

“Fuck— you’re gripping me like a vice,” he mutters, voice low and ragged. “You like this? Huh, baby? Like being used?”

You can only cry out ‘Yes’ in response.

When your legs begin to shake, he grabs your hair and yanks you upright—your back slamming against his chest, his cock still buried deep inside you.

“Open your mouth,” he orders, keeping his grip tight in your hair as his free hand slides in front of your face.

You do without hesitation. Two fingers slide past your lips—rubbing over your tongue, pressing down against it.

“Suck.”

You moan as you obey, your tongue swirling over his fingers, your mouth hot and desperate, sucking on his digits like you did his cock. When he’s satisfied, he pulls them free and slides them down—between your thighs, right to your clit.

You cry out when his slick fingers start rubbing fast, ruthless circles over your pulsing nub.

“Cheol— oh god—fuck—”

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs against your ear. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”

Your fingers dig into his arm as your orgasm suddenly crashes through you. It’s violent. Wild. And takes you by force. Your body locks, clenches, and trembles as the pressure explodes and pleasure rips through your nerves.

Seungcheol doesn’t stop.

He keeps thrusting, keeps circling your clit, keeps fucking you through it—overstimulation already setting in as you scream into the mattress.

He lets you fall forward again, and you collapse bonelessly, face down into the bed. He doesn’t stop. His hands grab your hips, holding you steady as he chases his own release.

He spanks your ass again, the sounds loud and lewd.

“Shit—fuck—fuck,” he growls, hips stuttering.

And then he spills inside you with a loud, broken groan.

Three more thrusts. Shallow. Slow. Making sure every drop stays buried deep. He finally pulls out, breath catching in his throat.

You’re wrecked. Soaked. Glistening. Barely able to move.

He flops down beside you, dragging your twitching body into his arms. You’re gasping, limbs limp, brain swimming—but a giggle bubbles out anyway.

“That was…” you pant, dazed. “Yeah. I should definitely rile you up more often.”

He groans playfully, burying his face into your neck. “Let’s not.”

The jungle is still sleeping when reality decides to wake you up.

The sharp buzz of his satellite phone on the nightstand and the soft, steady beeping from your GPS tracker lighting up beside the bed wake you both from your slumber. The haze of last night’s sweat-slicked limbs and tangled sheets is still warm on your skin, but the moment is gone as fast as it came. Instinct takes over.

Seungcheol grabs the sat phone and answers without hesitation. “Yeah?”

“It’s me,” Wonwoo says, gruff and casual as ever. “Shipment’s dropped. It’s in the clearing three clicks northeast of you. Sent the coordinates to your wife’s tracker.”

“She got it,” Seungcheol replies, throwing a quick glance at you as you nod.

“Good. Stay sharp out there,” Wonwoo mutters. “And… don’t die.”

Seungcheol breathes out. “Right back at you, Woo.”

Wonwoo disconnects, and just like that, the warmth of the bed, the afterglow—it all fades. You look at each other for a heartbeat, and then the switch flips.

Game time.

You both get dressed in practised silence. Vests. Gloves. Boots. Every movement is efficient. Clean. Sharp. Two ghosts suiting up for a kill.

Outside, the air is thick with jungle humidity. You follow Seungcheol as he rounds the side of the safe house, stepping over vines and damp earth until he crouches down and yanks off a heavy tarp.

Underneath it—well hidden—is a weathered military-grade jeep.

“Of course, you had this here,” you mutter, lips twitching slightly.

He grins as he gets in. “Had to leave myself a ride.”

You climb into the passenger seat, pulling your GPS forward. “Take the path north, then veer right at the ridge. The drop is just past the waterline clearing.”

The jeep lurches forward, engine snarling low and quiet, and you both fall into the tense stillness of the mission. Every branch that scrapes the side of the jeep, every call of birds overhead, every bump in the road—it all heightens your senses.

It doesn’t take long before you reach the clearing.

Seungcheol kills the engine, and the world goes eerily quiet except for the rustle of wind through leaves. You step out, weapons drawn, scanning your surroundings. Then you see it.

A dark metal crate sits just ahead, nestled in the grass like a gift from the gods.

Seungcheol breaks it open with a crowbar, and your eyes widen.

Wonwoo went off.

Inside the crate lies a small armoury. Sleek, matte-black rifles. Knives with ceramic edges. Ammo in every calibre. Smoke bombs. Blackout tech. Scoped pistols. Infrared sensors. Heat detectors. New comms gear. Suppressors.

“Damn,” you mutter, running your hand across a silencer. “This is better than Christmas.”

You both start suiting up—checking each item before adding it to your loadout. Sights calibrated. Knives balanced. Comms synced.

You’re just about to zip up your tactical vest when something catches your eye at the bottom of the crate.

A flash drive.

You pick it up. Silver casing with black marker on the side: XOXO, Reina.

Your eyebrows lift. “The hell is this?”

Seungcheol is already watching you, so he throws you his sat phone, and you dial Reina. She answers after three rings, sounding distinctly out of breath.

“Yeah—hello?”

You narrow your eyes. “...You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she replies too fast. “Totally fine. Just finished working out. What’s up?”

You stare into the jungle. “Got your gift.”

Silence.

Then Reina exhales. “Oh. Right. The drive.” Her voice shifts, businesslike. “That’s a virus I wrote to scramble Kang and Lim’s encrypted program. Once you’re in, it’ll override the signal.”

You glance at Seungcheol. “Define ‘in’.”

“As I mentioned, it uses biometric access,” Reina explains. “Voice, retinal, and fingerprint. The print scan is advanced—it monitors heart rate and body temp. If either spike, a fail-safe activates. It’s basically a dead man’s switch.”

Seungcheol groans behind you. “So… a walk in the park.”

Reina snorts. “You’ll have to get Kang to unlock the system without triggering any alarms. Once you’re in, insert the flash drive. It’ll spoof the signal to Lim—make it seem like the bounty’s still live on her end, but dead to the global market. She’ll never know.”

You blink. “That’s… impressive.”

“I know,” Reina says smugly.

You start to thank her, then pause—smirking slightly.

“You know,” you say smugly, “Next time, maybe think twice when you decide to “work out” again. And do it preferably after we’ve walked towards possible death.”

More silence.

Then a very quiet, “God, you’re creepy. Can’t hide shit from you.”

You laugh. “You’re not that subtle, Reina.”

“Whatever,” she mutters, but you can hear the faint smile in her voice. “Good luck. Don’t die.”

“Back at you.” You hang up.

When you turn around, Seungcheol’s watching you with a faint smirk.

“What?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Nothing. Just something about a pot and kettle.”

“I didn’t hear you complain last night.”

He chuckles at your statement, but it fades as the moment quiets.

Your eyes meet, and the atmosphere shifts. Reality settles like a weight on your shoulders.

It’s go time.

The sun rides high above the canopy by the time the wheels of the jeep crunch to a stop beneath the thick shadows of the jungle. You and Seungcheol sit in stillness for a moment, the low hum of the engine dying out as he kills the ignition. Birds call in the distance, muffled by the density of the leaves, and the air is heavy with anticipation.

“We’re close,” you murmur, checking your GPS. “About one klick northeast.”

He nods once, scanning the tree line. “We’ll go on foot from here. We park any closer; we risk setting off possible perimeter sensors.”

Without another word, you both exit the vehicle and disappear into the green.

The jungle is unforgiving—thick vines, hanging moss, and humidity clinging to your skin like a second suit. You pull a machete from your belt, and Seungcheol does the same, both of you slashing carefully through the underbrush, keeping your steps measured and soundless. There’s no conversation, just the rhythm of your shared breaths and blades, and the silent language spoken between trained killers.

After a short climb, you reach a ridge. It crests gently above a natural dip in the earth, and below it, spread across a cleared stretch of jungle floor, lies Kang’s compound.

Modern. Sleek. Built like a fortress with luxury trimmings—glass walls, solar panels, and a central structure acting as an office or control centre. It stands out in the wild like a dagger.

You drop to your stomach near the edge of the ridge, dragging your binoculars from your pack. Beside you, Seungcheol pulls out his own gear—infrared heat sensors, a laser rangefinder. You share what you see in low, practised whispers.

“Two snipers. North and southeast towers,” you murmur. “Both posted high, rifles trained toward the outer edge.”

“Got eyes on two more guards. Heavily armed, center-left of the courtyard near the entrance,” he adds. “Looks like they’re protecting the main path in.”

You tap the side of your lens, switching to thermal.

“Seven more, patrolling inside the compound. Standard rotation—seems like they’re on a ten-minute loop. Armed, but not alert.”

“Visual on Kang?”

You scan the second floor of the compound and freeze when you find the shadowed silhouette of a tall man, pacing across what appears to be an office.

“There,” you whisper, nudging Seungcheol. “Tall, wide shoulders. Movement pattern matches. Looks like he’s talking to someone—”

Seungcheol adjusts his lens. “Confirmed. That’s him.”

You nod and reach into your pack again, pulling out the scrambler. You power it on and set the frequency, watching as the blinking green light turns steady blue.

“Alarms scrambled. Cameras looped. We’ll have a twenty-minute window before their system reboots, and he realizes something’s off.”

“Plenty of time,” Seungcheol replies, cocking your rifle and attaching the silencer and balancing it on a tripod.

You both lie flat on the ridge, shoulder to shoulder. You take the snipers. He watches for movement.

“North tower first,” you whisper.

You adjust the sight, take a breath, and squeeze the trigger. The silencer reduces the crack to a faint hiss, and the sniper in the north tower drops like a ragdoll. One down.

You shift slightly. “Southeast tower.”

Another shot. Another body slumps, this time into the rail, his body tumbling quietly over the edge into the brush.

“Clear,” you mutter. “I’ll move. You take east. I’ll go west.”

Seungcheol nods, already sliding down the hill.

You stay behind a moment longer, disassembling your rifle and pocketing the scrambler. Then you’re on your feet, slipping through the trees silently.

You move fast and low.

By the time you reach the outer edge of the compound, Seungcheol has already taken out the two guards near the courtyard. You spot their bodies tucked neatly behind a stone wall, blood blooming silently across their shirts. You nod to yourself and slip around the west side, coming up behind the greenhouse wing. A guard steps out to smoke. You waste no time.

Karambit to his throat. A gurgled gasp. You pull him into the shadows, wipe the blade, and move on.

Another guard rounds the corner, humming to himself. You take him down in two swift moves—elbow to the windpipe, blade to the kidney. He falls in a twitch.

Inside, the compound is eerily silent. The scrambler continues to work wonders—no alarms, no flickers of suspicion from the guards, still unaware they’re being hunted.

You and Seungcheol clear the floors like ghosts. He moves swiftly on the east side, the occasional thud of a body hitting the tile filtering through your comms. You press into the south corridor, slicing through two more men and dragging them into an empty bathroom.

With every guard down, every hallway cleared, the silence grows heavier. Anticipation coils tighter in your gut.

Finally, you reach the top floor.

And just like that—you’re standing at Kang’s office door.

Seungcheol rounds the corner from the other direction, his face slick with sweat, blood spatters on his cheek, but his eyes sharp. He meets your gaze, and you both press flat against either side of the door. You nod once to each other.

Seungcheol opens the door with a silent push, and you toss a smoke bomb inside.

The hiss of the release is immediate, followed by a fast bloom of dense, grey smoke that overtakes the pristine mahogany of his luxury office. The desk disappears, the floor vanishes beneath haze, and you hear the sound of a chair scraping back sharply.

“What the—?!” Kang’s voice barks in confusion.

You slip inside, silent and focused. You can hear Kang’s movements: stumbling, coughing, his shoes thudding heavily against the floor as he tries to orient himself. There’s a crash—he’s knocked something off his desk—and then a shuffle of panic.

Then silence.

Until the feeling of a cold, steely barrel of a gun chamber touches his forehead.

“Don’t move,” Seungcheol says, voice calm, firm, and ice-sharp.

He freezes.

“Seungcheol?” Kang rasps through the smoke.

Your figure melts from the shadows behind him like a ghost. Your karambit is back in your hand, its curved blade cold and gleaming. You press it to the side of Kang’s throat.

He stiffens instantly.

Your voice is quiet and cold, the edge of your breath brushing his ear. “Hello, Kang. Miss us?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathes out a rough laugh, half-amused, half-appalled. “You two have really lost your minds.”

He tries to move, but you press the blade a hair deeper. A single drop of blood runs down his neck.

He barks another laugh. “The two biggest targets on the global kill list walk right into my compound. I should be flattered. Or furious.”

Seungcheol says nothing, only pressing the gun harder to his forehead.

“I underestimated you, Seungcheol. I knew you were soft, but this? Playing Bonnie and Clyde with your little wife? How’s it feel, huh? Always in her shadow?”

Seungcheol’s eyes narrow. He’s still as stone, but the way his jaw clenches tells you exactly how hard he’s biting back the need to pull the trigger.

Seungcheol finally speaks, voice low, cold. “It feels like I married the only person worth trusting in this goddamn world. And the fact you’re scared of her proves it.”

You smirk.

Leaning closer, you whisper, “Let’s see if we can keep you calm enough to survive the next few minutes, shall we?”

Kang glares. “What do you want?”

“Access,” you say simply. “To your program.”

He scoffs. “You think I’m going to just hand it over?”

You press the karambit harder into the tender skin beneath his jaw, a steady stream of blood oozing from the tip piercing his skin. “No. You’re going to walk us through it. And if you fuck around—if you even flinch the wrong way—you’ll die before the failsafe ever gets a chance to go off.”

Kang huffs through his nose, but walks to the desk with your blade still at his throat. Seungcheol stays close by, his gun never wavering. Kang’s fingers tremble slightly as he wakes up the terminal. The light from the monitor casts strange shadows across his face as he clears his throat and accesses the program.

“Director Kang Hojin,” he states, firm and loud. “Override sequence Omega Black, authorisation Sigma-One-Seven-Delta.”

The system chimes.

Voice scan accepted.

He places his hand on the scanner. Another chime.

Fingerprint accepted.

Then comes the retinal scan. He leans forward towards the webcam. The screen buzzes.

Access denied. Retinal match not found.

Your heart stutters. Seungcheol’s grip on his gun tightens.

Kang lifts his head with a smug look. “Oops.”

You grab his shoulder and force him back down. “Do it again. Don’t blink.”

Kang exhales sharply through his nose and leans forward again. This time, he holds perfectly still.

Retinal scan accepted.

Access granted.

Relief floods you, but you shove it down. No room for error now.

“Bounty logs,” Seungcheol says.

Kang navigates the system with practised fingers, moving through encrypted folders. “Here. This is what you want.”

You reach into your belt and pull out the flash drive. Kang’s eyes flicker to it.

“Plug it in,” Seungcheol says. You do.

The second the drive locks in, the screen flashes. Code scrolls, long strings of green bleeding across black. The virus is doing its job.

“You idiots have no idea what you’ve just done,” Kang growls. “You think Lim won’t find this? You think she didn’t plan for this?”

You say nothing. Seungcheol watches the screen. Progress: 82%.

“Even if you kill me, she’ll never stop. You’re nothing to her. Ants. She’ll make sure the entire world hunts you for sport.”

The progress bar reaches 100%.

Final confirmation: Bounty Deactivated — Market Update Complete.

“You talk too much,” Seungcheol mutters. Then he pulls the trigger.

The bullet hits Kang clean between the eyes. His head snaps back before slumping forward onto the keyboard, blood blooming fast beneath him. The room goes quiet.

You exhale. Slide the flash drive from the port and tuck it back into your belt.

“Let’s go,” Seungcheol says.

You’re two steps toward the door when the monitor flickers red.

On the screen, a new prompt flashes: ALARM ACTIVATED — FAILSAFE INITIATED — DETONATION SEQUENCE: 2:00

“Oh shit,” you whisper.

“Run,” Seungcheol breathes, already grabbing your wrist. “GO!”

Your boots slam against the floor as you both bolt from Kang’s office, weaving past his slumped, lifeless body behind his desk. The halls flash red—emergency lights triggered by the failsafe.

“Where did that come from?!” Seungcheol shouts.

“My scrambler!” you gasp, realisation slamming into you like a truck. “It triggered the reboot. The system finally recognised us.”

01:45.

You skid through the corridor, heart in your throat, legs pumping hard. Down the stairs—two at a time—your boots barely hitting the steps before you’re flying again. You hear Seungcheol right behind you, breath ragged, muttering a string of curses between each inhale.

You nearly slip on the last stair, but Seungcheol grabs your arm and steadies you without stopping. The two of you slam through a side exit and into the open air of the jungle’s edge.

01:02

“Too far,” you choke out. “We parked too far—”

“We’re not making the jeep,” he says, teeth clenched. “Find cover.”

You don’t argue. You veer left, leaping over a fallen tree trunk, ducking under a vine. Your legs burn. The world is loud with your breaths, your pulse in your ears, the scream of your muscles.

00:54

Behind you, the compound hums unnaturally, the kind of silence that feels like something holding its breath. You glance back—just a flash—and see smoke already leaking from the vents on the roof. The timer is real. The end is coming.

“There!” Seungcheol shouts behind you, pointing.

A rock formation, jagged and moss-covered, partially buried under tangled roots. A crevice big enough—maybe.

He speeds up. You do, too.

00:32

You’re panting. Staggering. Tripping over your own feet—but you don’t stop. You can’t.

Then—just as your feet hit the edge of the formation—arms wrap around your waist.

Seungcheol lifts you, spins, and throws the both of you behind the largest boulder.

You crash into the dirt hard, grass in your mouth, Seungcheol’s weight covering you entirely. His arms pin you down, his body a shield.

He curls around you, breath hot against your ear.

“Hold on,” he whispers.

You shut your eyes. You feel his heartbeat.

00:01.

The sky lights orange. Fire screams through the trees. The compound behind you explodes in a catastrophic blast that tears the jungle apart. Glass, steel, smoke and flame shoot into the air like a volcanic eruption.

Debris pelts the ridge. Metal thuds against the boulder you hide behind. The earth shakes.

You cry out once, but it’s swallowed by the roar.

Seungcheol doesn’t move. His arms cage you tighter, shielding every inch of you. His weight grounds you, anchors you to the earth as the fury rages overhead.

Then—

Silence.

Smoke. Crackling. The compound groans as its structure collapses.

Your ears ring. Your skin is coated in ash and dust. You blink slowly, chest heaving.

Seungcheol lifts his head first.

His hair is singed at the edges. There’s a bleeding cut on his arm from fallen debris. But he’s alive.

You roll beneath him slightly, dazed, pupils blown wide as your gaze meets his.

Neither of you speak.

You just reach up with shaking fingers and brush a smear of soot from his cheek.

Then you mouth it:

Thank you.

He lets out a dry chuckle, then shifts beside you, flopping onto his back in the grass with a groan.

The two of you stare up at the sky above. Bits of scorched leaves flutter down like feathers.

The train hums steadily beneath your feet, metal wheels grinding softly against iron tracks as the landscape rolls by in a blur of dusk and shadow. It’s your second train in two days, and the rhythm has become something almost meditative—lulling, even soothing—if not for the weight pressing down on your chest.

Munich was a blur. Quick layover. New platform. A different conductor, different glances, different whispers of German you barely registered through the haze of concentration and caffeine. Now it’s Luxembourg ahead, the final stretch before you disappear into the woods, heading toward a place the rest of the world doesn’t even know exists.

You sit cross-legged on the small fold-out sleeper bunk in your private cabin, flicking through weapons one by one. Cleaning cloths. Fresh rounds. Blade oil. The hum of the train is your only soundtrack.

Across from you, Seungcheol mirrors your movements, his back against the wall, knees up, long fingers reassembling the slide of his pistol with practised ease. It’s not about necessity at this point. Everything’s already ready. It’s about habit. Control. The illusion of it, anyway.

You glance up at him, catching the crease between his brows and the faint tremor in his thumb as he locks the magazine into place. He’s steady. Always has been. But this isn’t like any mission you’ve done before.

He senses your eyes on him and glances up, offering a small, tired smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You ever gonna stop checking that knife?” he asks.

You twirl the karambit around your fingers. “Not tonight.”

He nods like he understands—and he does. Of course, he does.

There’s a long stretch of silence before he speaks again, this time more carefully. “Can you tell me about her?”

You pause, eyes narrowing slightly. “Lim?”

He nods. “I’ve never met her. Never even seen a photo. Only heard what Reina and Jiwoo said. But if I’m going to walk into her house with a bullet chambered, I want to understand who we’re really facing.”

You sit back, the weight of the knife still warm in your palm. You stare out the window for a beat—at the darkening sky, at the streaks of stars beginning to appear above dense silhouettes of trees and valleys—before you speak.

“She’s brilliant,” you say softly, letting the words form with intention. “And terrifying in the most elegant way imaginable. She doesn’t raise her voice. She doesn’t make threats. She makes promises. And she keeps them. Always.”

Seungcheol listens, his jaw tight.

“She recruits people like an art collector would. She studies them. Waits. Makes them feel seen. Then she bends them to her will so subtly they don’t even realize they’ve changed sides. And when she’s done with them… she never gets her hands dirty. You’ll never see it coming.”

You feel his gaze on you, but you keep your eyes on the knife in your hand.

“I watched her take down five agencies from the inside just by turning people against each other. I watched her call a kill order on a pregnant agent because she had doubts about continuing. I saw the body. The husband. The baby didn’t make it.”

You swallow hard.

“She told me once that loyalty was just a leash wrapped in velvet. She said affection was a liability… and love?” You look up now, straight into Seungcheol’s eyes. “Love was a knife people begged to be stabbed with.”

The quiet after your words stretches thin between you, taut and cold. His face is unreadable for a long beat, but his hands are clenched, and you know that fury lives just beneath his skin.

“She gave the order for me to kill you,” you murmur. “When I married you, she knew who you were. She could have given me the order right then and there. But she waited until she was sure of my feelings for you. Until she was sure it would hurt me. She was always ten steps ahead.”

Seungcheol doesn’t flinch, but you see the flicker of pain in his eyes. “And you almost did.”

You nod. “I would’ve. I nearly did. But when I saw your face…” Your voice breaks, just slightly. “I couldn’t do it.”

“So this is it,” he murmurs. “The end of the road.”

You nod slowly. “If we fail, she disappears. The whole web collapses. And people like Reina, Mingyu, Jiwoo, Joshua—they’ll be hunted. You and I?” You give a faint, dry laugh. “We won’t even be worth the cleanup effort. She’ll make an example of us.”

“And if we win?”

You don’t answer him.

Seungcheol leans back against the wall again, exhaling heavily through his nose. “This is the part where I say we can still back out, isn’t it?”

You smile wryly. “That boat in Trinidad still floating?”

He chuckles—a low, humourless sound—but you’re glad to hear it.

“That cabin in the Alps is looking mighty tempting now,” he murmurs, gaze distant. “Just the two of us. Snowed in. No names. No guns.”

You lean your head back against the window, closing your eyes for a second.

He turns toward you again, one corner of his mouth twitching. “We’re idiots.”

“Mm.” You smile. “But we’re in love. That’s worse.”

The silence that follows isn’t tense. It’s… full. Weighty with all the things you aren’t saying, all the possibilities you won’t let yourself dream about right now. Your eyes meet his in the quiet—two people teetering at the edge of something neither of you can control.

No more chances after this.

No more exits.

You sit up slowly, slide the karambit back into your thigh holster, and reach for his hand.

“Till death do us part, right?” you ask, voice steady.

His eyes soften, his fingers tightening around yours like a promise.

“...and probably still after that, too,” he whispers.

The forest is silent. Still. Too still.

You and Seungcheol move like a whisper between the trees, every step calculated, every crunch of damp underbrush softened by instinct and years of experience. The canopy above shivers faintly in the wind, moonlight occasionally slashing through the leaves in silver streaks. Your gear is strapped tight to your body, weapons close. You feel your heartbeat in your throat, steady but forceful. The weight of what’s ahead presses against your ribcage like a warning.

After nearly an hour on foot, there it is.

Lim’s estate.

It rises from the forest, glass and metal shimmering faintly in the dark. But not glass—mirrors. Massive mirrored panels encase the exterior walls, reflecting the surrounding trees and sky so perfectly it makes the entire compound look like a trick of the eye. Almost invisible. Almost unreal.

You crouch down with Seungcheol behind the trunk of a fallen tree, binoculars raised. But they don’t help. The reflections are endless. No windows to see through. No weak spots. You try the thermal sensors, the electromagnetic sweeper, even the pulse radar.

Nothing. Complete blackout.

Seungcheol’s expression hardens beside you. “We’re going in blind.”

You nod once, tension coiling low in your stomach.

At least the scrambler still works. You check the signal and feel a flicker of control return. “No alarms. No cameras,” you murmur.

“But everything else?” he asks.

You meet his gaze. “We’re caught in her web now.”

Just then, movement—a silhouette rounding the west side of the compound. A guard. Walking alone, slow, almost bored. Rifle at his side. Head turning in lazy arcs.

You both recognize it instantly: your window.

You slip over the tree, bodies melting into the foliage. The air feels colder the closer you get to the structure, like something sinister is waiting. You signal. Seungcheol nods, flanking left. You go right.

The guard never sees it coming.

One swift, clean movement—your blade slicing silently, Seungcheol catching the body before it hits the ground. You both drag him into the brush and dart to the wall. A hidden side door. Seungcheol picks the lock, fast and silent, while you cover him.

The door creaks open with a soft hiss.

And then you’re in.

The compound swallows you in darkness. No overhead lights. Just muted emergency bulbs glowing red along the baseboards. The air smells faintly of bleach and expensive perfume.

Together, you move room by room—clinical hallways, offices filled with screens, empty staircases. You kill quickly, efficiently. One by one, the guards fall. They don’t scream. They don’t even know what’s happening until it’s over. You and Seungcheol sweep the entire ground floor, then the first, avoiding the glass-walled atrium and sticking to shadowed corners.

No alarms. No reinforcements. No Lim.

You’re starting to feel a strange sense of unease. Like it’s all too easy.

Then—just as your boot hits the top of the second-floor landing—it happens.

A voice rings out, smooth and cold, echoing through the speakers tucked into every corner.

“Gwisin.” You feel Seungcheol stiffen behind you. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Your body freezes. You’d thought—hoped—you were ahead. But of course not. You warned Seungcheol yourself: she’s always ten steps in front.

The silence that follows is deafening. You look down the hallway. Then, with a mechanical hiss, a door at the end slides open.

A deep, impossible darkness yawns within.

You don’t move. Neither does Seungcheol.

“Come in,” Lim’s voice purrs. “I insist.”

You glance at Seungcheol. His jaw clenches, but he nods once. No turning back now.

You move in sync, every step echoing on the polished black floors. The office is silent, save for your breathing. Then, the door shuts behind you with a hiss of finality, locking you in the dark.

And then—

Bang.

“Agh—!”

The sound of the gunshot is deafening, sharp and shocking in the enclosed space. You scream his name, reaching out, panic clawing at your throat.

“Cheol—!”

He drops beside you, groaning in pain, clutching his leg. You see the blood, dark and hot, pouring from his thigh.

“Stop.” Lim’s voice snaps, sharp now, slicing through the dark like a knife.

“He’s not dead. Yet. But if you take one more step, Gwisin, the next bullet goes through his skull.”

Your hands lift immediately. You straighten slowly, your heart thundering, your chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. Seungcheol grabs your hand as you try to move, fingers slick with blood.

He’s trying to stay conscious. His teeth are clenched, his breathing shallow. But his eyes never leave yours.

“Don’t,” he rasps. “Don’t do this.”

You turn to Lim, face blank. “I’m here,” you say aloud, stepping forward into the dark. “I’ll play your stupid games. Just don’t touch him again.”

The lights flicker to life.

And there she is.

Madame Lim sits in the centre of the room, calm and unbothered, her white suit pristine, her legs crossed as if she were merely waiting for tea. Her hair is swept back, face emotionless, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. A table separates the chair facing hers.

Atop it: a single, silver revolver.

Your stomach drops. Lim smiles slowly.

“You remember how this works.”

You stare at the gun. At the chairs.

And for the first time in a very long time, you feel real, consuming dread curl its claws into your chest.

Russian Roulette.

And you already know—only one of you will be walking away.

Your legs carry you forward, one heavy step after the next, the sound of your boots echoing in the stillness like distant thunder. The pain in your chest doesn’t come from a wound, but it hurts just the same—coiled fury, barely contained. You can feel the heat of Seungcheol’s blood still on your hand, your breath caught somewhere between rage and terror.

The chair is waiting. Empty.

You sit slowly, your knees trembling under the weight of what you’re walking into.

Across from you, Madame Lim lounges in her seat like the queen she’s always pretended to be—composed, elegant, a portrait of detached cruelty. She eyes you with a quiet satisfaction, her red lips curling into something that’s almost… amused.

“Welcome home, darling,” she says smoothly.

You clench your jaw. The mask doesn’t slip.

“I’m here,” you say evenly. “What’s the play?”

Lim’s smirk widens. Slowly, she reaches for the revolver resting on the table between you, her delicate fingers wrapping around the cold metal like it’s a treasured artefact.

She flips it open with a practised snap, turns it so you can see—

One bullet.

She closes the chamber and spins it. The click-click-click of the revolver spinning fills the silence between you, steady and cruel.

Then she sets it down, the handle pointing to the space between you.

“Simple,” she says, voice like silk over broken glass. “We spin the revolver. Whoever the handle lands on takes the first shot. If you win, you get the pleasure of accessing my system, removing your bounty, and tearing my empire apart from the ground up… before you put a bullet through my skull.”

She pauses, lips curling.

“But if I win… I get to watch the life drain from your eyes. I get to see the anguish on Seungcheol’s face when I shoot the love of his life in front of him. Right before I kill him, too. Tragically romantic.”

Your nails dig into your thighs beneath the table, the only outward sign of how close you are to snapping. But your voice remains even.

“You forget I need you alive to access your system. So this is a waste of time. I lose no matter what.”

Lim tuts, rising gracefully from her chair. “Oh no, darling. Quite the contrary.”

She walks toward the far side of the room, the hem of her white suit jacket swaying with each precise step. You glance behind you just once—Seungcheol still lies on the ground, bleeding, pale, but breathing. His eyes find yours, and the look there nearly unravels you.

You turn back to Lim just in time to see her approach her desk and pull out a sleek black laptop.

She returns, sets it down beside the revolver with exaggerated care, and slowly opens it. The screen glows to life. One by one, she performs the biometric logins—retinal, fingerprint, and voice. Just like Kang had.

Then she leans back, smug. “Now, you don’t need me alive anymore.”

You stare at her. And she stares right back, the game finally unfolding, the trap finally sprung.

“Let’s begin,” she says softly.

She takes the revolver, gives it a spin again, and when it stops—

The handle points directly at you.

You inhale deeply, picking it up. The weight of it is intimate and horrifying all at once. One in six. You press it to your temple, finger tightening on the trigger.

Click.

Nothing. Lim smiles, pleased. You slide the revolver across the table.

She picks it up gracefully and points it to her own head, never blinking, never breaking eye contact.

Click.

Still nothing. Your turn again.

You pick it up, ignoring the burn in your lungs, the sweat forming at the back of your neck. Lim is watching you with that same gleaming hunger.

“You always were weak,” she says. “Falling in love. Letting yourself care. You would’ve ruled this world, Gwisin, if you hadn’t gone soft.”

You ignore her. Gun to your temple.

Click.

You breathe out slowly, chest tight. She snatches it next, almost eagerly, her voice rising.

“You should’ve killed him. He was never worth it. Do you know how pathetic you look, crawling around for a man who’d bleed out for you? Do you think he’ll survive this anyway? Or do you just want someone to cry over your corpse?”

Gun raised.

Click.

Still nothing. Now you know. This is it.

If you get the bullet, it’s over. If not—you win.

She leans forward, taunting, her voice a venomous hiss now.

“He’s not going to make it. You’ve already lost, darling. Look at him—pale, dying, weak. Just like your resolve. Like your entire rebellion. You could’ve chosen me. But instead, you’re nothing more than a wife in mourning.”

You cut her off, hand closing around the gun mid-sentence. Her mouth stills, eyes flicking downward as you lift it once more. You don’t speak. You don’t blink. You just pull the trigger.

Click.

Silence. Everything stops. You don’t move. She doesn’t move.

Because that was the fifth shot.

And everyone in the room knows what that means.

The sixth belongs to her.

She smiles—slow, awful, the knowing kind of smile that monsters wear in their final moments.

You gently place the revolver back down, never looking away as you pick up the laptop. You pull the flash drive from your pocket with a trembling hand and plug it in.

Lines of code scroll by. You follow Reina’s instructions to the letter.

The virus deploys.

One by one, every trace of the bounty system begins to dismantle itself. Files corrupt. Names disappear. Targets are wiped clean. You check twice, then a third time. It’s done.

You press one final command, and the entire system shuts down.

No more empires. No more Lim.

Your victory tastes like ash.

You stand slowly, refusing to look at her, and turn toward the man on the floor.

“Cheol…” you whisper, approaching him softly.

That’s when it happens.

“Sorry, darling,” Lim purrs. “Can’t let you win.”

Bang.

You freeze. But the pain never comes.

The thud of a body hitting the floor echoes behind you. And when you turn— She’s there.

Madame Lim.

Shot through the chest.

Seungcheol’s pistol clatters to the ground beside him, his arm falling limp.

He’s panting, eyes fluttering, drained from the blood loss and effort it took to raise the weapon. But he did it. He saved you. Again.

“No— no, no, no, baby, stay with me—”

You scramble to him, sliding to the floor, pressing your hands hard against his thigh. Blood oozes between your fingers. You tear at your shirt, using the fabric to make a quick tourniquet above the wound.

His skin is clammy. Pale.

“Don’t do this to me,” you plead, voice cracking. “Don’t you dare go quiet now, Choi Seungcheol.”

He tries to speak, but no words come out. His eyes close.

“NO!” you scream, pressing harder, doing everything you can to keep him tethered to you. “Stay awake. Please. I can’t— I can’t lose you now.”

You grab your comms, tears streaking down your face.

“Reina! Mingyu! Jiwoo! Anyone!” you cry into the mic. “He’s down—he’s hit! We need extraction now—NOW!”

Static. Then Reina’s voice breaks through, panicked but focused.

“We’re on our way. Hold on. Just hold on.”

You sob, forehead pressed to his as you hold the wound with both hands.

“You promised me,” you whisper. “You said even after death, remember? So don’t you dare let go. Stay. You stay with me.”

The Caribbean sun beats down from a cloudless sky, the wind gentle as it dances through the sails of the boat that floats lazily just off the coast of Trinidad. Seagulls cry in the distance, their wings cutting through the heat as waves lap softly against the hull. The air tastes like salt, and stillness, and peace. For once, the world is quiet.

You lay stretched across a sun-bleached lounge chair on the deck, skin warm, drink sweating in your hand. A lazy breeze rolls over your bare stomach, ruffling your hair. Sunglasses shield your eyes, but you’re not really looking at anything. Just the endless blue horizon.

It’s been six months.

Six months since the compound. Six months since Madame Lim fell. Since you screamed into the comms for someone—anyone—to come and save the man bleeding out in your arms.

And now—this. The boat. His boat.

The one he joked about right before you came up with that ridiculous plan to take on your bosses. The mythical exit plan. A sailboat docked and waiting off the coast of Trinidad for a day that might never come. But it did come.

You take another sip of your drink and close your eyes.

The sun presses hot against your skin. Your breathing slows.

Then— A creak of wood.

Bare feet padding across the deck.

You don’t bother opening your eyes. You know who it is.

Reina’s voice floats out from the cabin, bright and amused. “I swear, this place is turning me into a whole new woman.”

You lift your sunglasses to peer at her. She emerges wearing a bikini that somehow manages to be both functional and designer, two fresh cocktails in her hands.

She walks over and hands you one before plopping down in the chair beside yours with a content sigh.

For a long time, neither of you speaks.

The boat rocks gently, and the sea stretches out in all directions.

Reina swirls her drink, then glances at you. “You know,” she says softly, “Seungcheol was onto something, keeping this boat stashed away.”

You smile, a slow curve of your lips. There’s something bittersweet in it.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “He definitely was.”

The silence between you shifts. Not heavy, not sad. Just full. You both sit with it. With the past. With what you lost. With what you kept.

Then—

“Is that how you talk about me when I’m not around?”

The voice cuts through the stillness like lightning. Familiar. Deep. Teasing.

A shadow moves at the stern of the boat.

Then, emerging from the water with a grin and a sun-drenched gleam in his eyes—

Seungcheol.

Shirtless, drenched, water trailing down his broad chest. His swimming trunks cling to his hips. His hair is dark and wet, pushed back by the sea. His towel is slung casually over one shoulder, and his smile—lazy, wicked, alive—makes your heart skip.

The scar on his leg is visible, faint against his tan skin. He walks with a slight limp still, but he’s upright. Strong. Getting better every day.

You stare, lips parted in a grin that spreads like a sunrise across your face. “You’re supposed to warn a girl before you sneak back on deck.”

He approaches, towel-drying his face, and when he leans over, he kisses you. Softly. Warmly. His lips linger, just long enough to remind you that this—he—is real.

“I heard you talking shit,” he murmurs against your mouth.

You laugh, brushing your fingers through his damp hair. “You heard wrong.”

He slides into the space beside you, pulling your legs gently over his lap, his hand resting casually on your thigh like it belongs there. Because it does.

“When are you coming in for a swim?” he asks, nudging you with a grin. “Water’s perfect.”

“When I feel like it,” you reply, tipping your glass toward him with a lazy clink.

Reina groans. “Ugh. You two are disgusting.”

You and Seungcheol both smirk, not even bothering to deny it.

The three of you laugh, and for a moment, everything is light.

Beep.

A sound breaks from the cabin. Muffled. Sharp. Urgent.

Your heart stutters.

You’re on your feet in an instant. So is Seungcheol. Both of you race below deck, Reina on your heels. You slide into the cabin, heart already pounding in your chest.

There it is.

You recognize it immediately. One of your old encrypted devices, the ones you used when Lim & Associates was still in operation, the one on which your bounties arrived.

You reach for it, hands steady despite the fear unfurling in your gut.

The screen flickers to life. Code scrolls. Then—

A name.

Target: Kim Mingyu.

Alias: Fireball.

Bounty: 3 Million.

Your blood turns to ice.

Seungcheol reads it beside you, lips parting in disbelief. “What…”

Reina appears in the doorway, eyes wide. “What’s going on?”

You turn the screen toward her.

She sees the name. And freezes.

“What the hell did that idiot do now?”

A/N: Andddd, it's here! After how much you guys seemed to love part one, I couldn't not write this second part. Hope you all enjoyed the rollercoaster that was Gwisin and S.Coups. Are you ready for the second storyline? 👀💟

Send me your thoughts - feedback/fangirling is always welcome.

(Collage created by me. Credits to owners of the pictures taken from Pinterest)

[luludeluluramblings]

Smalltown!Neglected!Meta!Reader x Yandere!Batfam ☁️ Part Three

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part One ☁️ Part Two ☁️ Part Four ☁️ Part Five ☁️ Part Six ☁️ Part Seven ☁️ Part Eight

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I’m realizing I’m struggling to find a good breaking point for reader, cause I want reader to break. I’m terrible at coming up with conflict though. (I’m not much of a writer, but I’m trying.)

A/N: There will be Romantic Yanderes. But, we’ll get to that later when we talk about each yandere. (Most will be platonic or start platonically at least.)

A/N: Hopefully y’all are noticing that Reader is in this constant state of just trying to cope. (If I wrote it correctly, that is.)

Warning(s): Yandere themes, Obsessive behavior

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

So, Reader’s childhood crush shows up looking fine and kind

Alfred informs the others of the unexpected guest.

Bruce isn’t home, Damian is out with Jon. Stephanie and Cass are busy in Gotham, Duke’s out on Patrol, Dick’s in Bludhaven, Jason meeting this guy is a bad idea, and Barbara’s at work.

Tim, being the only one home on a rare break (in reality working cases in the Batcave) is practically ordered to scope this guy out.

Which annoys Tim, because Reader is just fawning over their old crush and the truck.

The truck is surprising, not something he expected Reader to want. But, reader is practically crying over it.

Tim would have just brushed it off, but he notices how this guy keeps touching reader.

Practically clings to Reader. Even sniffing unaware teary eyed reader. (Teary eyed reader is…. Cute.)

Tim makes eye contact with this guy, and he looks… smug. Like he won the grand prize.

And, it pisses Tim off. (Why is he so smug? What does he know that I don’t?)

Childhood crush isn’t staying long, he’s going to catch a flight back to the smalltown.

Reader happily offers to drive him to the airport and Tim just hops in the backseat of the truck. (Why? Oh, I just want to get out of the manor for a bit. Hope you don’t mind.)

Childhood crush is peeved, but hides it from Reader. (Tim can tell. He’s a detective, it’s his job.)

The entire ride is Reader and Childhood crush reminiscing and catching up on smalltown gossip.

Tim is listening in on everything with intrest, realizing he knows practically NOTHING about reader. (Didn’t bother researching cause he was pissed and didn’t consider reader worth the effort when he had more important things to do.)

Now, he’s getting to see a side of Reader that no one in Gotham has really seen yet.

Reader is funny, approachable, a hint of a flirt, apparently sings, loves to spend time with people they care about, and a slight geek.

Tim is a bit entranced/intrigued. But, his biggest concern is Childhood crush.

Why is this guy so possessive of reader? What does he know that Tim doesn’t? Something’s amiss, and he’s going to figure it out.

(And, maybe he should get to know Reader some more. They’re trying to make him feel comfortable in the truck, including him in conversation, sharing happy memories and information with him, willingly. It’s nice. It’s soothing.)

Eventually, Childhood crush is dropped off at the airport. But, not after he tells reader, there will always be a place back home for them and to come home soon. We miss you. I miss you. Come Home.

The ride back to the manor is done in comfortable silence. Or, at least, to Reader.

For Tim, he has a lot to think about.

What does he know about Reader? What more is there to Reader? He wants to know more. He wants to know everything.

He asks questions on the way back, occasionally breaking the silence.

Reader happily answers, expecting this will change things between them.

It does for Tim, but not as much for Reader.

Tim jumps into discovering everything he can as soon as he gets back to the BatComputer, but he’s not ignoring reader anymore. He’s almost friendly. (He’s still busy as mess. Not much time to hangout.)

Which makes reader feel better, because Duke and Cassandra disappear for about two weeks after that. (Mission.)

Reader worries and wonders where they are.

Bruce says the two are taking a ‘small vacation’.

(Reader knows he’s probably lying, but in the off chance he isn’t, Reader feels a bit put out.)

Reader is really leaning on those phone calls to their friends and family. They spend hours talking on the phone while pacing the halls, their room, and the garden.

Everyone back in the town wants them home. They miss Reader soooo much. They just understand reader more than these rich city people.

They can’t wait for reader to come home visit.

Damian and Reader eventually have a confrontation.

Damian finds Reader cooking in the kitchen.

(Alfred lets Reader cook, and Reader helps occasionally with dinner and meals.)

Reader offers food to Damian, a peace offering.

Damian, obviously, rejects it.

Doesn’t matter that he’s vegetarian or if he’s not hungry, he was going to reject it regardless.

And then he verbally tears into reader.

Insulting everything about them, the food, their actions, their attitude, their clothing.

Nothing is off limits. (Damian’s had a bad day and is pent up. He wants an outlet and Reader is right there and the object of most of his doubts.)

Reader shuts down. Going cold and looking startlingly blank. (Eerily reminding Damian of Batman Bruce.)

After this all attempts for Reader to bond with Damian stop.

(Sometimes you just gotta cut your losses.)

It doesn’t help that Damian one day hears Reader on the phone when they’re pacing the halls.

Talking sweetly and softly to someone in such a loving voice. Before hanging up with an ‘I love you.’

Damian initially begins to try to interrogate reader. (Who was that? Are you having relations with someone? Does Bruce know?)

Only for reader to bluntly state that they were talking to their younger brother and it’s none of Damian’s business before brushing past him.

Damian would grab at them, but he’s a bit stunned.

He knew Reader had another brother. Bruce was going to try to bring him to the manor. (Still is trying to bring him to the manor.)

But, now doubts start to creep in.

Because he wants that. That unconditional love Reader so willingly gives to their brother.

He wants that love. He wants someone to say ‘I love you’ to him like it’s as easy as breathing.

Damian brushes it off at the moment, but it sits with him. (He’ll fix things eventually. He’ll apologize. He’ll have that one day. He will.)

[pathologicalreid]

hi!!! totally up to you if you want to write it (it maybe too self indulgent ahhhhh). but i was think of bau!reader (or bau!adjacent) who has known spencer for forever and has watched him "glow up"/become more confident and is now dating him, but is now more self-conscious that he will realize that he is totally out of her league since women are now hitting on him all the time and he is able to basically flip men in the field. something like that if you get the vibe? just a girlfriend who is worried her boyfriend will outgrow her and is scared they'll breakup. feel free to ignore! love your work sm!!!

a league of your own | S.R.

as your boyfriend seemingly evolves, you grow increasingly aware of the feeling of being left behind

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: flangst (heavy on the fluff, more like internalized angst) content warnings: in a bar but neither spencer nor reader are drinking, follows the events of 14x12 "hamelin", discusses the pronunciation of asmr word count: 1.4k a/n: self conscious reader is so important to me. this is for everyone who has a hard time naming their feelings. thank you for requesting!!

“He flipped him over the table?” You asked, raising your eyebrows as you looked up at Tara, who was talking about your boyfriend’s maneuvering of Arthur Brodie in the field. In passing, you had heard about the mark left on the suspect’s forehead, but you hadn’t heard the story of how he had gotten it – until now.

Bringing her cup to her lips, Tara nodded at you, her expression clarifying that it was as impressive as it sounded. You sighed at the newest addition to Spencer’s ever-evolving personality, it was hard not to think of them as grievances against you, but that’s what it felt like.

You looked over your shoulder to the bar, trying to scope out where he had disappeared to before you spotted a familiar mess of brown curls. From where you were standing, you could see him holding two drinks in his hands, but it wasn’t until he shifted his stance that you saw the girl that he was speaking with. “And that’s three,” Luke observed, shaking his head in disbelief as he watched the same scene as you.

Emily asked what he was talking about, but you tuned them out as you watched the interaction. You already knew this was the third woman to hit on him since the team entered the bar thirty minutes ago.

There was no mistaking it, your boyfriend was easy on the eyes, and you weren’t naïve enough to try to deny that fact. Still, you were having a hard time adjusting to seeing him garner exponentially more attention from people at the bar. “You better go get your man, or she might steal him away from you,” Luke taunted, nodding his head in the direction of the bar.

“What?” Your head snapped back in the direction of the bar, eyes wide as you peered across the bar where Spencer was talking animatedly to the blonde in front of him before he looked behind himself and gestured to you, prompting you to wave timidly at the both of them.

The girl sneered in your direction before spinning on her heel and trudging away, freeing your boyfriend to return to you at the table. “They didn’t have any limes, so they put a lemon in your Shirley Temple,” Spencer said apologetically, dropping a kiss on the part of your hair as he set the glass in front of you.

Shaking your head, you smiled up at him, “That’s fine, thank you.” You told him, placing your hand on the glass and spinning it to better access the straw.

If he noticed anything odd, he didn’t comment on it, instead deciding to contribute to Tara and Rossi’s conversation on ASMR.

As the team continued to chat around you, you just continued spinning your glass on the oak table, becoming more and more conscious of the way your thighs stuck to the leather booth. Your eyes only flicked up when you noticed people staring at you, “What?” You asked, heart racing as you had been caught daydreaming.

The five remaining members of your team at the table were all looking at you with similar curious looks, “Rossi’s headed out. He was just saying goodbye,” Penelope said, reaching across the table and awkwardly patting your hand.

“Oh,” you responded meekly, “Have a good night. Tell Krystall I said hi.” You shifted in your seat, the sound of your legs unsticking from the seat seemingly amplified tenfold in your self-conscious state.

As Dave made his way out, Spencer gestured for you to move over so he could sit next to you. Tara got up to get in line for the restroom and Luke and Garcia weaseled their way into one of their patented bickering matches, you nearly jumped when you felt Spencer’s hand settle on your thigh. “Alright,” he muttered, turning his head to you, “What’s up with you tonight?”

Frowning, you looked up at Spencer, brown eyes studying your face as he hunted for even the slightest hint of what had gotten into you. The only problem was you didn’t have a name for it yourself. It could be perceived as jealousy, but you weren’t concerned with anyone actually taking Spencer’s attention away from you, you were just feeling feelings. Unnamable feelings.

You brought your glass closer to you, the condensation being a welcome relief on your warm skin, pinching the straw as you took a sip of your drink. “Nothing’s up,” you said, stirring the lemon wedge around in your glass.

“Are you sure? You look flushed,” he said, pursing his lips thoughtfully before he gently pushed his water in your direction.

Brushing off his concern, you turned your attention to watching Luke and Garcia in an animated discussion on how to pronounce ASMR – Penelope insisted she was right, and Luke didn’t necessarily care either way. You only moved your gaze when the blonde from earlier passed by again, dragging her palm over Spencer’s shoulder, causing him to lean into you.

Flustered, you took a long sip of your drink before setting it back down, “Can we go?” You asked Spencer, pressing your lips together in a thin line as you looked at him expectantly.

As he began to put puzzle pieces together, he nodded, standing up and gathering your glasses to set them on the bar. You said your goodbyes before leading the way out and flipping Luke off as he called out something about protection, something that would have previously left Spencer embarrassed and stammering, but now made him chuckle as he held the door open for you.

Part of you was grateful for this sort of evolution in Spencer, he was, after all, more confident in every aspect of his life. Now waiting for the metro, you looked at him, longer hair, his work shirt unbuttoned at the top and pushed up to his elbows. The light breeze in the tunnel moved his hair as he crossed his arms in front of his chest, “Are you alright, love?”

Your shoulders drooped helplessly at the pet name, “You shoved a guy on a table?”

His face fell, “Is that what this is about? Me using force against a suspect?”

Quickly, you shook your head, “No, no. He pushed Tara, it’s not that at all,” you scrambled to reassure him, knowing he was afraid that his time in federal prison had made him a violent person. “It’s just… you shoved a guy onto a picnic table and you’re getting hit on by people in bars and you’re dressing differently and I’m just… me.” You hold your hands out as if you’re on display, looking down at the sundress you had thrown on and the sneakers you wore for comfort instead of style.

“Are you jealous that I’m getting attention from other people?” He asked, “Because I’ve never encouraged anyone.” That was true, last week a deputy sheriff had made a move on your boyfriend, and the only thing he had gotten in return was an earful on how you had made the deduction that eventually solved the case.

Bowing your head, you regretted ever saying anything in the first place, “No,” you groaned, “What’s that term for someone who can’t name their emotions? That’s me. Right now. At this moment.”

Spencer chuckled at your frustration, “It’s called alexithymia, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I’ve watched you change in front of my very own eyes in the last year, and I guess I’m just feeling left behind,” you admitted. “You’re a changed person and there’s nothing different about me.”

He tilted his head to the side curiously, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” you said desperately, hoping to get to the bottom of your conflicting emotions.

“Did you love me before?”

You froze, looking up at him, “Of course.”

He raised his eyebrows, reaching out and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “And you love me now?”

Nodding, you stepped closer to him, “Very much so.”

“Then there’s nothing else I could possibly ask of you,” he told you, smiling as you blushed. “You don’t need to change in time with me, and – since we’re being honest – I’ve always felt like I’m the one lagging behind you. So, maybe I’ve just been playing catch-up.”

You frowned, moving even closer to him as the platform grew crowded, “Well, now I feel ridiculous.”

“Not ridiculous,” he murmured, “Just human,” Spencer amended.

[fanzou]

Here's an idea? The OP guys. Sanji, Zoro, Law, (separately, of course) with a reader who has a crush on them, and they KNOW IT. (But nobody else does) So he just messes with her and gets her to blush, as his was of saying that he likes her too.🤭

Big, Fat, Crush

✗ Pairing(s): Zoro Roronoa x Fem!Reader, Sanji Vinsmoke x Fem!Reader, Law Trafalgar x Fem!Reader

✗ Summary: What do they do knowing you have a crush on them?

✗ CW: Reader is wearing a dress in Zoro's first half, Teasing... and it's RUTHLESS, Law makes reader cry but he makes up for it, it gets a little suggestive at the of Sanji's part [Let me know if I missed any]

✗ Total WC: Zoro’s Ver. (1.8K), Law’s Ver. (2.3K), Sanji’s Ver. (1.3K)

✗ A/N: Wow. If you couldn't tell I loved writing this. I didn't intend for it to get so long but here it is! Enjoy love.

ZORO RORONOA

“You want me to get you any more sake, Zoro?”

“Yeah sure, thanks.”

The bar is crowded, but not so much that it was unbearable. You and Zoro found yourselves at the little table across from each other in the very back of the room catching up and debriefing about today’s events. But the day wasn’t so very eventful, otherwise he’d probably be drunk by this point to alleviate and level himself. He liked to really enjoy the end of his day like this. It was a good day.

You were tipsy, but he on the other hand, always held his alcohol well.

“What do you wanna do tomorrow before we leave the island?” You ask him, he liked the silence between you two, even in a rowdy bar, but he didn’t hate when you talked to him either. You asked all the right questions, you weren’t obnoxiously dumb like the rest of the crew, even when you were under the influence.

“Not too sure yet. I didn’t get the time to check out what they had with your excessive clothes shopping.” He says so nonchalantly, taking a sip of the drink you got him.

You pout with your brows furrowed, cute, “I did not buy that many clothes!”

“It probably felt that way ‘cause I was carryin’ the bags all damn day.” He grinned at you, a mischievous one.

You roll your eyes at him, but then giggle into your own drink, “You’re insufferable.”

He doesn’t miss the way you blush at his harmless teasing.

He never does.

-

So…

You end up a little more drunk than anticipated.

And you can’t for the life of you remember what you did last night. Your head was pounding, like, real life pounding through your skull almost like it was angry at you being so reckless just a few hours ago.

But to your relief, your back on the ship, clothes from last night still on and somewhat in tact— a little wrinkled, and your dress was ridden up a bit more than you were comfortable with. You pull it down immediately in embarrassment. Hopefully Zoro didn’t see that. Anyway, you scope out the girl’s quarters to see that Nami and Robin weren’t anywhere to be seen, and there was none of the usual liveliness in the ship that you knew and loved, no running footsteps, bangs, booms, nothing. Assuming that the green-haired man probably took you back to the ship in your drunken state and took his own personal stroll into the small town at the island, you relaxed.

But you were probably gonna get an earful from the crew since Zoro had a tendency to get lost.

Your shame settles in, and you mentally curse at yourself for being so reckless when the team counted on you for being the more careful one of the two. But something about his energy was so comforting, and you felt so safe around him. The fact that he safely took you back to the ship was living proof of that and you got a little flustered at the thought.

How did he carry you back? Bridal? On top his shoulder? Were you faced forwards or back? Maybe not even carried at all, just arm slung around his shoulder— Whatever the case, the thought of the close proximity made you nervous to think about.

To your astonishment you hear a knock on the door to the shared room. “Come in!” You say, your head immediately punishing you for it.

To your surprise, Zoro opens the door, and comes in. He closes the door before he faces you. “You feelin’ alright? You kinda got a little ahead of yourself.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I have the worst head ache of all time.” Your head is in your hands and your hair looks ten times more disheveled than it did when you woke up. You fight the feeling of discomfort and look up at him through messy stands of hair, “What, you’re not going back to enjoy your time with out me? I wouldn’t be so offended.”

He thinks to himself for a moment,

“I was waiting for you to get up.” His arms are crossed onto his chest now. His words are so effortless when he makes your heart jump.

“Zoro, it’s gonna take me a long time to get ready, how ‘bout you just go on ahead?”

You push away the hair covering your face to get a good look at his; his expression is borderline unreadable. It looks foreign on him.

It was all-knowing, it was up to no good. And you can only imagine what that meant.

“I’ll wait.”

-

So, Zoro waited the hour and a half for you to get ready, even though it meant that most of the day was already wasted. He insisted on taking you with him to the town you guys went to only yesterday, stating that it was simply because the crew wouldn’t let him hear the end of it had you both separated. It’s funny though, because you could swear that he was moving a bit differently than he was just yesterday. Whether good or bad, it was off-putting nonetheless. You’ve never seen him act this way.

After dabbling in his fair share of store-visiting to try to tie with yours (Spoiler: he did not.), it was already sunset, and he wanted to go to the bar, but you insisted that you didn’t want a repeat of last night. In his surprising obedience, he listened. You did, however, both meet in the middle for a late night food-grab and settled on a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant. You and Zoro quickly ordered and waited for the delicious meals that you knew you both were going to absolutely demolish.

You finally relaxed your form into the seat, taking advantage of the comfort you felt after walking around all day. You hardly exchanged a few words since you got into the restaurant, presumably because of how much time you spent together all day, so it was a surprise when Zoro opened his mouth to finally speak.

“Y’know, you talk a lot when you’re drunk.”

You halt in your comfort, God, you thought he was gonna forget about this already. Zoro teased you a lot but since you got on this island, it’s easily become relentless. And whatever your shenanigans were about last night were ground for it now.

In an effort to move away from the topic, “Hmm… yeah, don’t we all? Amirite? I’ve heard you say some crazy stuff when you were black-out drunk!” You laughed, lightly slapping the table to emphasize how “funny” it was. He seemed unfazed though, if anything, a little more confident in the words he would utter. His head was resting on his on the palm of his hand now, and that same smirk from earlier returned.

“Guessing none of them were love declarations, huh?”

Time stopped, save for your heart dropping down to your asshole.

Your eyes were wide, and you were praying to God that you misinterpreted the insinuation of what he just said.

“W-What do you mean?” He seemed so fascinated by the situation unraveling between the two of you, his grin never faltering. It was shocking, Zoro never really talked this much about nonsense, if you could call it that.

He chuckles at your shock almost sadistically, “You tried kissing my face the entire night and kept telling me how handsome I was, and how much you lo—”

“STOP!” Your hand not so subtly smacks his mouth shut, and the staff gives you both a weird look.

Great, now I’m making it everyone’s business!

You slowly remove your hand and try to avert your gaze elsewhere, while still fending for yourself. “I’m j-just a loving drunk... I-I guess…” The embarrassment is getting to be too much now, and whatever you say at this point is just going to look like a lie, a big fat lie. And you wanna crawl into the nearest hole and die there. How can you even face the crew anymore? How can you look at him in the eye? Where’s the nearest exit so you can just run far, far away from him?! It seems like you’re plotting for the rest of how your life is gonna be from this point on, until he puts an end to your thoughts.

“C’mon woman. Get real. Why don’t you just face up to it? I see the way you look at me all the time. Drunk or not.” Zoro is leaned all the way back in his chair when you look up, his arms are crossed just how they were this morning. And you just want to melt into your chair at this point. Get away from anything and every thing that exists. Especially Zoro, if it wasn’t obvious. “God, you're naive, naive as hell.”

Embarrassment subsided for a moment, you sit there with your brows furrowed, now trying to piece together his new and probably much more embarrassing revelation. “…What? Why do you say that?”

He scoffs at you, “Y’Really gonna make me say it?”

What?

Zoro was never the articulate type and you respected that, but if there was an instance where you really hated his lack of speech; It was now.

For a split second, he looks a little conflicted on what he was going to say next. Like he was fighting the next words to come out of his mouth, his arms twitch a bit and he lets out a little sigh, shaking his head in what looks like defeat. But before you can say anymore; he gets out of his comfortable position, leans toward you and over the small table, grabs your shirt and…

Kisses you.

It was short, but Zoro thought he was going to die inside trying to build up the courage to say I love you instead. And this, this was so much better.

He would’ve mistook you for a tomato across from him when you sit back from his attack on your lips. He’s a little flustered himself, he does well to mask it, but it was worth your reaction. And since it was late at night the restaurant was almost dead at that point, with you both once again, sitting in the very back. So he wasn’t too crazy about who was watching.

“I’m… I… Um…” you’re trying so hard to get your words together. What the hell just happened. “I…”

Before you can say anything, you eat your words again. The server comes with your long anticipated dinner. He chooses to disregard the absolute mess you look, and some of your lipstick on Zoro’s mouth— and puts your food down onto the table.

“Enjoy you two lovebirds! My, what a beautiful couple you both make!”

LAW TRAFALGAR

The Polar Tang was full of energy today. In the dining hall, the crew sat down and talked the night away.

Penguin and Shachi were laughing it up and finding comfort in their drinks, you and Ikkaku talked about personal affairs over the amazing meal you shared, then Bepo joined in and you three all got a little too into some dumb gossip amongst another pair in the crew.

Safe to say everyone was having the night of their life. Something the Heart Pirates couldn’t do a lot.

All except your captain.

Always buried in his books and studies, Law claims that he wish he could have time to spend with you all, blasé blasé bla, but there was always an excuse that was thrown in your faces. Always. You respected his time and effort, it was something that not a lot of people could do.

So that’s why after your conversation with your friends was drawn to an end and they either resorted to drinking with the rest of the crew or just enjoying more talk, you decided to slip away for a moment. You didn’t know what possessed you to do this, (you did, you just wanted an excuse) but you fix up another plate and swiftly make your way towards your captains room. The food was delicious so, why not? What’s the harm?

The closer you got to his door is the more an anxiety rose in your chest, and your hands were getting a little shaky. There was nothing to be nervous about!

Just maybe seeing his handsome face focused so strongly on a certain text, the way his rough, calloused hand grips the pen so gently, or your favorite part— his parted and unbuttoned shirt, where you can see a window of his chest, not a lot but just enough to leave some imagination to how the rest of his tattooed body might look... And you stop yourself for a second, physically and mentally.

I’m being such a pervert right now.

You resume your slow and anything but steady walk to his quarters and you finally meet face to face with the door.

You pull your first up to knock after taking a very deep breath, but before your skin could touch the surface his voice is already urging you to step inside. And so you obey.

Once inside you immediately start to scan the sight before you, and it wasn’t much different from the one you had in your imagination. Of course this meant that you were a bit flustered coming to him, but you manage, “‘Just wanted to drop off some food for you, in case you couldn’t join us tonight.” You say with a little softness in your tone.

“Thank you. You can put it down on my desk.”

And you obey, again. Walking up to his desk full of papers and books, you quickly realize that it was a little messy and not clean enough to set the plate just anywhere, and his hands scramble through the paper to find a place for you to set the plate down until you finally do. Then, another thought emerges from your fantasy world.

“Do you need help organizing your desk, cap? I have some time and I don’t really feel like going to sleep anyways.”

He smiles softly at you and calls your name in a way that you wish you could hear over and over and over again, and he thanks you once more, “You’ve done enough for me tonight. I appreciate it.” You hide your disappointment in his words, but nod and make your way to the door anyway.

You exchanged your good night’s and make your way to your room. And when you fall back on your bed, you take your pillow and scream into it like a crazed schoolgirl in love.

-

The next morning comes, and you can guarantee that the crew has already started on breakfast. You rub your eyes and start to get cleaned up and fetch a new pair of clothes for the day.

Once you’re all freshen up, you make your way to the dining hall, surprised to hear no ruffling and noise. Maybe everyone was suffering the consequences of last nights drinking challenges, you thought. But even so, it wouldn’t be this quiet.

Your met with Law’s figure in the dining hall and he’s making tea for himself. He notices you, “You’re up really early.”

“Did you even get a wink of sleep?” You say in concern.

He’s silent for a few seconds, and he makes his way to the table to enjoy his freshly brewed drink. “I couldn’t.” Or more like he wouldn't.

You sigh, yup, that was your captain. You thought for a second, thinking about what you could do in order for him to feel better about his own consequences from a lack of sleep. But you know he would just decline most of your suggestions. Instead, you plop yourself in the seat across from him. You both sit in a comfortable silence while you waited for your coffee to be made, and you take a second to scan his tired features.

He does well to hide it in his mannerism, but his face betrays him. You can tell he's deathly tired, and if he let's his eyes close for more than a second you're sure he'd plop right onto the table.

“Take a picture, maybe it’ll last longer.”

You blink, and you blink again. “O-Oh, sorry…” he’s not offended, if anything his face is smug. You’re quick to defend yourself with a little scoff, “Can’t a woman be worried for her captain? You don’t look the best anyway.” You quickly cover your mouth, seriously, how dumb did you have to be?

But he only laughs at your remark, he shakes his head and his smug expression does not leave his face. “It’s a little hard to not point out when you do it all the time.”

“I do not!”

“Do too.”

“I don’t!”

“Don’t what?” Shachi comes into the room completely oblivious to what you guys were bickering childishly about. He’s rubbing his eyes, “Why are you both up so early? Especially you,” he points at you, “You drank a lot.”

You roll your eyes, you hardly drank. And now you were a little embarrassed at his public revelation, (though it was a secret to nobody but Law,) and your face grows a little red.

The rest of the crew gets up one by one and soon enough breakfast is served. You barely pick up your head anymore out of shame of your earlier dispute, if you could even call it that, with your captain. Bepo is talking about something he encountered a while back while on an adventure with Law, usually you’d be invested, but you were far too in your zone.

And so you get up and make your way to your room, the gloominess practically radiating off of you. Your absence is barely noticed due to the focus everyone had on Bepo’s story.

Law notices, though.

He excuses himself and Bepo gets a little upset, but he understands and respects his captain, so he resumes his dramatic story that keeps everyone on the edge of their seat. You, on the other hand, were now face flat on your pillow mumbling self-deprecating comments to yourself after the terrible situation you were just in.

That was so embarrassing. My captain hates me. It’s so obvious. Why do I do this to myself. Why did I think that was okay. I’m going to escape. (You were under water) This is dumb. I’m du—

*Knock Knock*

You lift your head up even though you didn’t want to, “No.” is all you could manage.

“It’s your captain.”

As much as you wanted to tell him to piss off and let yourself drown in the shame you felt, you couldn’t. Because at the end of the day, it was as your captain proclaimed, though you wanted it to be much more, there was nothing you could do. Nothing, especially after today's consequences.

After a bit of hesitance and a lot of hurt in your voice, you tell him, “You can come inside.”

He cracks the door open a smidge to further observe your well-kept room and there you were, lying on your stomach with your arms crossed, face laying against them and your eyes away from his. It wasn’t the most appropriate sight for your captain to walk in on, but you two were close enough for him to get comfortable enough to let the door open and let himself all the way into your room.

He walks towards you and pulls a chair over, turns it around and manspreads against it to take his seat-- and you really wanted to take in the sight completely, but even that wasn’t enough to get your mood back up and running.

“You left.”

“Why do you care?” You turn your head the opposite way facing the wall beside you. Law doesn’t say anything for quite some time and you can almost bet on your tears slipping soon. He was making this so much more worse than it had to be.

He calls your name, and you just wanna melt into the soft fabric beneath you. “Look at me.”

You disobey.

After your reluctance to his order, he draws out a sigh. You always were the most stubborn of the crew. So with this, he thinks long and hard on his next words or actions, and finally lands on one possible outcome.

“You leave me no choice.”

“Wha— Law!” He turns you around by your waist and forces you up with just one hand. Then, before you know it, your body is slung across his broad shoulder while he finds his bicep tight around your thighs. You were facing backwards while he carried you. “Now you’re calling me by name, no captain anymore?" he laughs, "I think I’ve gone too soft on you.”

“What are you doing!?” You say, trying to get out of his grasp, but even with all of your strength, he was no match for you. “Someone will see!”

“No they won’t. I’m taking you to my room.” He opens the door in one swift motion and kicks it in another.

“And you’re not explaining why!” You hit his back in defiance. You were halfway through the corridor to meet his room already, so you just give up.

He takes no time in entering his room, finally putting you down and ordering you to sit on a spare seat in the grand environment. You were insanely nervous at this point, taken aback by his sudden action and the intimacy of it all. He’s peering down at you with a seriousness in his gaze that makes you put your head down in the worst shame you’ve felt since you’ve woken up.

You always thought that maybe, you might have had a chance with him one day. All that was thrown out the window now.

And it's time to swallow your pride. You take a deep breath, and build a whole lot of courage, and:

“I’m sorry, for saying that about you in the dining hall. And getting smart with you. And calling you by your first na—”

“You’re really stubborn, did you know that?”

And there it is, you feel the tears build up once again, and it hurts. Because the firmness in his voice is always the same. So demanding and... so difficult for you.

“And I don’t know why I’m attracted to you. I don’t understand why I tolerate the things you do.”

You start crying now, because you don’t know what else to do. You don’t know the sincerity of his words, and you hold yourself in the chair that you sat on, trying your best to look away from him.

He walks towards you and gets on his knees in front of you, It was a little bit of a blow to his own pride, and it wasn’t something he would do for anyone else at all. But you were different. You’re still crying and you weakly try pushing him away and looking to the side and the new guilt starts to form itself inside of him, but he insists that he stays where he is. He’s whispers an I’m sorry before his hands find solace on your jaw while both of his thumbs wipe your tears away. You look down at him with the most beautiful eyes he’s seen, your gaze softens at him and your crying calms down a little bit seeing that he wasn't so serious anymore, but instead his expression was a little desperate.

-- He’s still got a lot to make up for, and he knows now was not the time to press you on anything else— there was nothing to press anyways. You were perfect, in every aspect of the word. He just enjoyed the idea of teasing you, not anyone else, but he took it too far.

When he was sure that you were more comfortable in his arms, he pulled you down and pushed the chair away. He takes you in his embrace and whispers his apologies into your ear so genuinely.

“This wasn’t the way I thought this would go.” He lets the thousandth sigh out of his mouth today. You look into his eyes with a questioning expression, “I mean that, I fucked it up.”

It was your turn to feel guilty again, but you were tired of words.

You just take his face in your hands just as he did not so long ago, and you both look at each other for a moment. His eyes look to your lips for a second, and if you didn’t know any better you would’ve thought he was just as eager as you, maybe he was. His lips inch towards yours and they take no time in meeting.

It’s slow, soft, sensual. And it takes a while for your mouths to part. When they do, all you can do is stare at each other.

You finally breathe, “Okay,” you face turns to the side to escape his beautiful one.

“Maybe all of that was pretty worth it.”

SANJI VINSMOKE

You’ve been avoiding Sanji all week.

And he can’t decide if he should talk to you about it or not, he’s leaning more towards the latter, just because he’s too into the nervousness that suddenly appears on your face when you’re in close proximity. Then; you’re scrambling to the nearest door and half-assing an excuse about where you need to be or what you need to do.

He personally loves when it’s breakfast, lunch, or dinner and he gets to not only cook your favorite meals and you can’t escape him, otherwise the crew would immediately worry for your absence. He also enjoys how embarrassed you get when you can feel him staring at you. Alas, he can’t stand the inability to talk to you and be in your unwanted presence anymore, he needed to make his move on you quick.

You see, earlier this week a battle occurred between you, Sanji, and an enemy that threatened the Thousand Sunny.

You and Sanji had both agreed to guard the ship while the rest of the crew had prepared their own duties on the foreign land, he insisted that there would be no good food supply and there was already enough stocked up from the last. It was a no-good devil fruit user, who wielded the ability to make its opponent confess a super big secret, to then throw them off completely, and defeat them. It was like a weak spot-- psychological warfare more so. And… he got you.

Can you guess what your secret was?

For certain, the devil fruit did its magic. And Sanji was surely taken aback, but adamant on defending the ship and more importantly, you, he did his part and tried with all his might to fight the bad guy off and made a mental note to immediately come find you afterwards.

You were close to passing out from shock after the bewildering confession, but when you came to, the blonde sat right beside you in a shit-eating grin, “So… you’re crushin’ on me, princess?” And you wanted to pass out again, but instead you just run for the ship and locking yourself in your room, ignoring his pleas to come back and talk about it.

Ever since that day, the atmosphere between you two had been a bit awkward. Conversations weren't as light and smooth, you tried finishing your food as fast as possible and managing a quick thank you before making a bee line to the girls room, and most importantly— everyone took notice of how distant you got from Sanji.

Usopp fell victim to the awkward encounters more often than the rest, and it was safe to say they were getting on his last nerve now. "Whatever you did, you should apologize, man!" He pats his back as a sign of encouragement. And for a second it almost felt like you and him were a married couple having problems, it brought a smile to his face.

Not to worry, he had a plan.

-

You joined Robin in a comfortable silence below the deck, praying to the heavens you wouldn’t hear from the blonde cook while the sun set so beautifully. Your original ploy was to just act like it never happened, but anytime you saw him it was like re-imagining the entire scenario over and over again.

Your head is hanging off the chair while you doze off and Robin is reading her book— appreciating your silence, the weather was just a little windy and the sky had a nice orange and red gradient to it. The waves were crashing against the boat but it wasn’t overbearing, it was just fine.

You asked Robin to read her book out loud, even though you weren’t following the storyline, you found comfort in her melodic voice and how softly she read it and sure enough she would be lulling you to sleep soon.

But before you could finally reach sleep like you intended, there’s a presence you can sense, and Robin puts her beautiful voice to a halt. You don’t want to open your eyes but it almost seems like you have to.

And you immediately regretted it.

Above you was Sanji. “Hi.”

“Sanji!” He moves a little back from you, and you straighten your posture, wide awake. “I was just leaving actually, I have to clean the girls room! I lost a bet a while back. So… I’m gonna go do that.”

“I don’t think that bet ever happened but, I’m not entirely opposed to you doing that for us.” Robin says smugly. You loved her but the betrayal on your face spoke volumes in that moment.

You’re already defeated and you’re trying to muster up another shitty excuse, “We can’t delay this anymore than we have.” He takes your hand and you can only burn eyes at the skinship. You’re lightheaded again, just like that day you confessed.

And he drags you into the kitchen with him before you can defy him a hundred times over, he locks the door to slow down your escape, and if anyone came in on the two of you.

He finally turns around to look at you with the most frustrated expression littered all over his face.

“Why are you avoiding me?” He asks you in desperation, and you kinda wanted to slap him out of your own mixed emotions, because it was pretty obvious as to why. He catches on shortly after, “Okay, scratch that. Why is it necessarily a bad thing that you have feelings for me?”

“Please Sanji, let’s just forget about i—”

“How do I forget something like that? Why are we holding this off? Are we just never gonna talk about it?” You sense some repressed anger boiling up inside of him, and to tell the truth you’ve never seen him speak to any woman like this, so raw and nothing to hold back. “Listen, the cat’s out the bag, right? What’s the point in hiding it if we both feel this way about each other?”

…

…

…

“You… felt the same way… and you’re just now telling me this?” You walk towards him, he looks away in shame.

“It’s not about how you feel towards me, I’m just not worthy of you. I don’t deserve you.” You push him out of sheer frustration, and he just lets you.

Sanji assumes you’ll just use him as your personal punching bag at this point with the amount of self-deprecating thoughts he’s already throwing at himself in his head, but all of them were replaced once you took him by the shoulders and pulled him into a powerful kiss. He was in shock, but he quickly melted into it, grabbing you by both sides of your face, and you pull away.

“All you did was tease me and taunt me and put me over the edge these past few days, for what? Just to reveal that you wanted me too?” You scoff, but your lips betray you. You lean back into the kiss and it’s so much more passionate than before. His hands find comfort in your hips.

After the kiss got a little too passionate, and Sanji already making his move on your neck, you all but gave into him. So willingly.

“You locked the door, right?” You ask.

He grins into the quick kiss, excited by your insinuation, “Yeah.”

meanwhile, on the deck

Chopper quickly becomes your replacement for Robin, although not as quiet, she does equally enjoy her time with you both.

Choppers stomach gives him away, “Robin, I’m hungry. Do you know if Sanji’s making dinner soon?”

Robin smirks, and pats Chopper on the head.

“He’s busy with something right now, I think it would be best if we didn’t bother him, either.”

[heaven4lostgirls]

i am in need of angist. I need a good cry rn so what do you think would happen if reader got attacked by fenrir greyback. not to the point of where she becomes a werewolf but like a bill Weasley kind of thing. what would be polymarauders reaction be?

pairing: poly!marauders x fem!reader

summary: request above!

warnings: graphic depictions of violence, the attack and blood. prejudice against werewolves, greyback bc fuck him

word count: 1.6K

author's note: thank you for this request lovely! i had fun writing this, i hope you enjoy it! this is somewhat also remus centric due to the nature of the ask but nevertheless i hope you enjoy it. left some fluff at the end for you too

You wince as another scar on your face knits itself together, a strangled gasp leaving your lips. Regulus stands in front of you, wand in hand as he slowly heals the worst of the scars left after your attack.

His gaze is troubled, and you can still feel the blood he had scourgified off of your skin. Your hand is being held in Lily’s shaking ones, you can tell it’s taking all of her energy to hold herself together for you.

You’re too tired to do anything other than stare blankly at Regulus’ stormy expression as you tune out Lily’s shaking sobs that she attempts to muffle in Mary’s shoulder. You’re  unaware that Regulus is done healing you until he takes a step closer, dropping his arm to his side.

“Do I look that bad?” you joke weakly, and all Regulus does is inhale sharply, “You look beautiful,” he says angrily. You know not to take it personally, he’s angry at the situation.

You, Lily, Mary and Regulus were sent on an Order mission to scope out a potential death eater attack hours prior from when it was intended to occur. Greyback had caught the end of Mary’s robes as she was about to find her stakeout spot.

He had cornered her, alone and in fear, she had dropped her wand. You had been the nearest to her at the time and heard Greyback’s snarling voice as he taunted her.

You didn’t think to call for backup in fear of being too late to save Mary, so you had thrown yourself in front of her as you threw multiple curses in quick  succession. Your failing grace had been a well timed stupefy by Greyback that had you hesitating for a short period in which he had time to attack.

It was horrible, you can barely close your eyes without seeing the looming monster above you, amber eyes illuminated by the darkness of night. You can still feel the agony of his claws slashing into you as his manic grin burns your eyelids.

Mary had been able to escape and intercept Lily and Regulus as they looked for the two of you. According to her she was a mess of tears and snot as she recalled quickly what was happening and that they needed to hurry to help you.

They had found you exactly where Mary had last seen you, mangled and in a pool of your own blood. Regulus had confessed in a plea to keep you conscious as soon as they arrived to base that he had thrown up before coming to his senses to help.

Regulus looks less pale as time passes and you start to show signs of healing such as moving without wincing. You gift him a small smile before the moment is interrupted by a slamming door and three unmistakeable sounds of loud footsteps.

Your boyfriends rush to your bed in haste, before all three stop in their tracks at the sight of your torn clothes and scars littering your skin. You think you hear Remus let out a whimper at the sight but you’re all too consumed by the grief permeating the air.

Exhaustion floods your bones as tears fill your eyes, sobs wracking through your body that have Lily, Mary and Regulus shuffling out of the small room. Remus, Sirius and James hesitate for a moment before clambering clumsily to encompass you from all angles.

You can feel the three of them shaking in sorrow and anger. Your body shakes in their hold before one wince from a badly timed squeeze has the three of them jumping far away from you in fear.

You cower away from them at the sudden movement, closing your eyes and wincing,  before you peak one eye open to see them look at you in varying stages of despair.

“I’m…okay,” you offer hesitantly, eyes shining and pleading with them to believe you. It’s Remus who breaks the silence with a scoff that has both James and Sirius looking at him incredulously.

“Don’t lie to us, not about this,” he says finally, his heart breaking as he watches you cave into yourself. There’s a building insecurity in your chest that you know he’s aware of, all too well.

“Do I look…bad?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. Sirius’ smile is wobbly when you look at him and your gaze catch his shaking hands as he shuffles over to the bed to cup your face softly, the same you’ve seen him do to Remus after a full moon.

“I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he offers through a warbled tone. Your eyes shine again as tears line your vision. With a sniff and a quick kiss to his palm you smile at him, loving and trusting just as you did before you had left for the mission.

“Can I hug you?” James voice cuts across the quiet room, he’s shuffling on his feet, wringing his hands as his eyes swim with worry. You know he needs to touch you to fully grasp that you’re okay and not stuck bleeding out in a random alleyway.

You offer him a small smile and a nod as you shuffle to the side of the bed, opening  the covers for him to get in. He wastes no time, clambering towards you in a clumsy haste, tugging you delicately into his arms as a breath of relief leaves him.

“I’m right here.” you murmur into his chest and with a small sniffle he presses a deep kiss into your hair as his arms tighten around you in acknowledgement. You can see out of the corner of your eye, Remus shuffling into Sirius’ awaiting arms.

You lift your head slightly to catch his eyes over Sirius’ shoulder and he clenches his eyes in pain. You know what he’s thinking and before you can think better of it, you sit up slowly with maximum effort and a small wince.

James scrambles to help you as he adjusts himself to lie against the headboard, tugging you again to lie backwards against his chest. His hands rub calming circles on your hips as you breathe deeply through the pain.

Sirius and Remus watch you both in agony. You hold your hand out, eyes locking with Remus’. He looks hesitant but with one sharp look aimed at him, he concedes and shuffles to the sit next to James’s leg, hand holding yours.

With your hands intertwined, you pat your other side for Sirius to sit down, which he does with minimal hesitation, only hesitating before asking he can lay his head in your lap.

You roll your eyes fondly before nodding, he’s gentle in a way he never was before and some part of you aches for the normality you’ve lost.

You lock eyes with Remus before taking a deep breath and murmuring for the three of them to hear, “He didn’t turn me.”

Sirius and James both stiffen but Remus only nods, his gaze guarded. “It’s not a full” he explains for Sirius and James, eyes still locked on yours. “Do you hate me?” you question weakly, and Remus immediately looks horrified as Sirius and James squawk in protests and indignation.

“Hate you? Because you were attacked?!” he asks appalled. You shrug, looking away in shame before he grasps your chin in his palm, tugging your gaze back to his.

“Why would you ever think I would be upset with you for this?” he asks, eyes pleading for you to explain. You want to close your eyes again, let the tears roll down your cheeks again because no part of you wants to have this conversation.

“You’ve never necessarily…liked being a werewolf, which is okay!” you rush out before clenching your eyes shut and looking down again. “I understand you don’t like this part of yourself, that you will never fully understand that James, Sirius and I love you, including your wolf side. I just thought,” You huff out a broken laugh.

“I just thought you’d hate me too for becoming something you hate” you confess, voice cracking as insecurity coats your bitter words.

You hear Remus let out a shaky exhale, looking back at him to see tears trailing over tanned scarred skin. “I didn’t mean to make you cry” you rush out and all he can do is shake his head jerkily before leaning forward to place a deep kiss to your lips.

“There is nothing in this world that could make me stop loving you,” he mumbles into the kiss. James and Sirius echo his sentiment, though the static in your brain seems to  switch off when Remus detaches from you.

“I hate what Greyback did to me, and I will never not be thankful that you do not have to carry this burden, but even if you were turned, that would have never changed the love I hold for you” he says seriously, unflinching and calm as he looks at you.

You laugh a little hoarsely before nodding, squeezing his hand and shuffling deeper into James’ arms as your hands card through Sirius’ curls.

“You do look pretty badass with the scars” Sirius adds through the silence which has James snorting into your hair, murmuring a soft, “subtle.”

“Now you and Moony match, Prongs and I look so boring next to you guys” Sirius continues which has James reaching over to flick his forehead in annoyance.

“Speak for yourself Pads, my muscles are completely badass,” James  smirks and flexes his biceps around you. Sirius scowls looking at him before turning his puppy dog gaze to you with a pout, “Lovie, you think I’m badass don’t you?” he asks with a saccharine grin.

You shrug with a sly look that has Sirius gasping dramatically and huffing in offence. “I’ll have you know if anything I’m the most badass out of all of us” he proclaims.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Turning Tables

Summary: The team finds you and Spencer, you come back to work after recovering, things are tense. Spencer realizes he messed up, but you're not so quick to forgive.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: suggestive content (16+), mentions of hookup culture, talks of cases, reader is heavily assaulted by unsub, broken bones, dumb man Spencer, missed signals, bad communication

Word count: 6.9k

a/n: hiii there will be a part three!!

main masterlist part one part three

The team finally found the two of you in the abandoned warehouse, but the sight they came upon was brutal. Spencer had a black eye and a split lip from being hit, his face bruised and bloodied, but you— you had taken the worst of it. The unsub had unleashed relentless violence on you. You’d been slapped, punched, kicked, spit on, cut, and thrown around like a ragdoll. The unsub’s twisted plan was clear: break Spencer by hurting you, the "weaker" hostage, using your suffering to force him into talking. But you both knew that wasn’t an option. Spencer couldn’t give the unsub what he wanted, no matter how much it tore him apart to watch you take those blows.

Every hit that landed on you felt like it was striking Spencer himself. He watched, helpless, feeling the pain of every blow as though it was his own flesh being torn and bruised. Yet he remained silent, knowing that any begging or pleading from him would only make the unsub escalate. He couldn’t give them that. He couldn’t put you through more than what you were already enduring, though it felt like it was killing him inside to watch.

When the team finally stormed in, you were unconscious, your body battered and limp as they carted you away on a stretcher to the waiting ambulance. Hotch approached Spencer, his voice calm but filled with concern as he asked, "What happened to Y/N?"

Spencer, sitting in the back of another ambulance, stared blankly ahead. His shoulders were slumped, weighed down by the guilt and horror of what had transpired. His voice was quiet, flat. “She was the target.”

Hotch took in Spencer's empty gaze, the exhaustion and anguish etched into every line of his face, and knew better than to press for more. They’d have to wait until you woke up to understand the full scope of what happened in that warehouse. But even then, Hotch feared that some wounds might never truly heal.

—

You eventually did wake up, groggy but relieved to find that, despite the brutality you endured, you had very little internal damage. The doctors assured you that your body just needed time to heal. Two weeks of paid leave were granted as you recovered, a rare gesture of empathy from Chief Strauss, who seemed to have a soft spot for you.

As the painkillers faded and your mind cleared, the questions from your team began. You sat with them, still feeling tender but able to think straight, recounting everything you remembered from that night. You and Spencer had been investigating a house, following up on an anonymous tip. It seemed routine until the moment you two split up to check different rooms. That’s when it happened—ambushed from behind, a cloth drenched in chloroform shoved over your mouth. After that, everything went black.

"I only remember waking up inside the warehouse with Spencer," you explained, your voice steady but laced with tension. The memories still fresh, the pain still vivid. "The unsub wanted me. I was the real target. They said I was more of a challenge than any of their other victims."

JJ, sitting beside you, asked softly, her voice gentle and careful. “Why did they take Spencer?”

You heaved a breath, feeling the weight of the answer on your chest. “They thought if they took him too, they could find out where the rest of the team was. They wanted Spencer to tell you all it was a dead end, to send you off on a different trail.” You paused, your breath shaking as you continued. “They said if Spencer did that, they’d release him. But they made it clear… they just wanted me.”

The room was silent for a moment, the gravity of your words hanging in the air. Your team exchanged glances, but no one said anything. They didn’t need to. You all understood what it meant—that the unsub was willing to let Spencer go, but you were never supposed to walk out of that warehouse alive.

—

When you returned to work after your leave, the atmosphere shifted. The entire team was happy to have you back, and there were warm smiles all around. Spencer, however, seemed unsure how to approach you now. Still, he smiled as you passed by, his voice tentative yet sincere as he said, “I’m really glad you’re back and feeling better.”

You returned the smile, a brief and polite response escaping your lips. “Thanks, Spencer. I appreciate it.” The exchange was short, almost too brief, and you both seemed to sense the unspoken tension lingering between you. It didn’t go unnoticed, especially not by JJ, who had grown close to you since the incident. She had been your rock, someone you confided in more and more. 

When she found a quiet moment alone with you, JJ slipped into the conversation with ease. “Hey, how’s your first day back?” she asked with her trademark smile, though there was a hint of something deeper in her tone.

You shrugged lightly, trying to mask any unease. “Same as usual, I guess. It feels good to be working again, though. I was getting restless at home.”

JJ laughed knowingly, nodding. “I know exactly what you mean.” Then, her voice dropped, softer now, as she leaned in slightly. “Did something happen between you and Spence?”

The question caught you off guard, your brows knitting in surprise. Did Spencer say something to her? You quickly tried to brush it off with a joke. “Other than, you know, getting kidnapped together? Not that I know of.”

But JJ wasn’t convinced. She made a face like she wasn’t buying your casual response. “Are you sure? You two haven’t really been talking much. I guess I just assumed something like that would have brought you closer… in a weird, awful sort of way.”

You let out a short laugh, trying to deflect again. “Yeah… we didn’t get the trauma bonding memo, I guess.”

JJ still looked skeptical, her eyes scanning your face for cracks in your armor. “Okay, well… just, if you need to talk, I’m here. You don’t have to go through anything alone.”

Her offer was genuine, and the sincerity in her voice made you pause. You smiled back at her, feeling a small but comforting warmth settle in. “Thanks, JJ. I really appreciate that.”

Across the bullpen, Spencer had been listening to the conversation from his desk, his heart aching at what JJ was implying. He’d been mulling over the same thought—that the trauma you both went through should have drawn you closer. Shared experiences like that often created a bond, an unspoken connection forged in survival. But instead, he could feel the distance between you growing wider, and it tore him up inside.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how hard this must be for you, how you were facing it all alone. You were still relatively new to the team, and as far as Spencer knew, this was your first time being kidnapped. After his first time, he had shut everyone out. Granted, he’d been addicted to drugs back then, but that isolation still hadn’t been the right path. It had only deepened the pain, and he feared you might be doing the same thing.

He could only hope you were receiving the support you needed—support he wasn’t sure he could give you anymore.

—

Later that week, you found yourself in the kitchen, trying to ignore the sharp ache in your side as you reached for a mug to make tea. The pain in your ribs flared up with every stretch, the broken bones protesting loudly. As your arm extended toward the cupboard, the burning sensation became unbearable, and you yelped, clutching your side in an attempt to steady yourself.

“Y/N?” Spencer’s voice was filled with concern as he walked into the room just in time to see you wince in pain. He was by your side in an instant, his hands hovering uncertainly, as if he wanted to help but wasn’t sure how far he could go. “Are you okay?”

You grunted, trying to downplay the pain. “I’m fine, just... need a mug.”

Spencer gave a small, understanding nod before stepping in to help. He reached up with ease, grabbing the mug he knew was your favorite—the one you always used for your tea. “Here,” he said softly, placing it on the counter in front of you. “Making tea?”

A small flutter stirred in your chest at the realization that he remembered both your favorite mug and your preference for tea. It was such a small detail, but it felt significant in that moment, a quiet acknowledgment of the bond that still lingered between you despite everything.

—

You laughed as you watched Spencer pour himself yet another cup of coffee. “It’s three in the afternoon, Spencer! Who drinks coffee this late?”

Spencer chuckled along with you, lifting his cup with a playful grin. “Me! Obviously!” he said, gesturing toward the steaming mug with a mock sense of pride.

You bumped his hip with yours, gently nudging him out of the way as you reached for the kettle. “Well, some of us actually like to sleep,” you teased, your tone light and playful.

What you didn’t notice was the way Spencer had stared at you after that, a soft, affectionate gaze lingering on your face, the kind of look that held more meaning than words could express.

—

“Yeah, thanks,” you sighed, knowing you needed the help but still feeling a little self-conscious about it.

Without missing a beat, Spencer grabbed your favorite tea from the cupboard and began steeping it for you, his movements calm and precise. He didn’t ask if you needed more assistance—he just did it, like he knew exactly what you needed in that moment. It was a silent kindness, one that reminded you of the Spencer you knew before everything had gotten so complicated.

As the tea steeped, you leaned back slightly, watching him with gratitude and lingering uncertainty. The simplicity of the moment, of him helping you with something as mundane as making tea, felt like a brief return to the way things used to be between you.

“Do you need help with anything else?” Spencer asked, his gaze fixed on the steaming mug in front of him rather than meeting your eyes. His tone was casual, but there was something tense beneath it, something unspoken that lingered between the two of you.

You frowned, feeling a bit of confusion and then a flicker of annoyance rising up. Was he only doing this out of guilt? You straightened up slightly, crossing your arms over your chest despite the ache in your ribs.

“Look, I appreciate your help, but you don’t have to suck up to me because of what happened,” you said, your words sharper than you intended. You regretted it immediately, but the frustration had been bubbling beneath the surface for a while now—how careful everyone was being around you, how things with Spencer had grown so strange and distant since the kidnapping.

Spencer froze for a moment, his hand still resting on the counter as he absorbed your words. His jaw tightened, and for a second, he didn’t move or say anything. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but steady. “I’m not… sucking up to you.”

You huffed, unsure where this conversation was heading but feeling the tension building between you. “Then what is this? You’ve barely said two words to me since I came back, and now suddenly you’re… what? Trying to make up for it by being overly nice?”

Spencer’s shoulders stiffened, and he finally turned to face you, his expression guarded. “I’m just trying to help,” he said, his voice measured, like he was trying not to let his own emotions show. “I know things are… different now. But I didn’t want to push you into talking or pretending everything’s okay if it’s not. That’s all.”

The frustration in you wavered, your annoyance softening as you realized he wasn’t trying to guilt-trip or coddle you. He was as lost in this new dynamic as you were, both of you navigating the aftermath of something you hadn’t fully processed. His hesitation wasn’t about sucking up—it was about not knowing how to be around you anymore.

“I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything,” you said, your voice quieter now. “You don’t have to fix this, or me.”

Spencer's eyes softened slightly as he watched you, his own uncertainty flickering across his face. “I’m not trying to fix anything,” he said, almost a whisper now. “I just… don’t want to make things worse.”

The weight of his words settled between you, and suddenly the air felt heavy, filled with everything you both hadn’t said since the warehouse.

“Worse, right,” you scoffed, the bitterness lacing your voice before you could stop it. “Sorry I started an awful chain of events.” You could feel the hurt bubbling up again, the weight of rejection you’d been carrying ever since that day in the warehouse. It wasn’t just the physical pain—it was the emotional bruise left behind, the wound that hadn’t healed.

Spencer looked at you, his expression faltering. He opened his mouth as if to respond but then hesitated, unsure of how to mend what had already spiraled so far out of control. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said softly, his words stumbling out in a rush. “We were under a lot of stress… sometimes people say things they don’t mean, searching for comfort.”

You felt your heart drop at his words. He thought it was just a fleeting moment, something you’d said out of desperation. That stung worse than anything. You blinked back the frustration and the tears that were threatening to spill over, the pain in your side flaring as you tried to catch your breath.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and stormed out, the door to the break room slamming behind you with a sharp, echoing crack.

Spencer stood there, stunned, the sound of the door slamming reverberating in the silence. He hadn’t meant to make things worse. He didn’t realize until it was too late that you hadn’t just left the conversation—you had left the room entirely, and maybe… left something between you both behind.

He clenched his hands into fists, a knot tightening in his stomach. He didn’t know how to make this right, how to undo the damage that had already been done. All he knew was that you had walked away and it felt as if he was losing you for good.

—

Things on the team settled into a new rhythm, even if it wasn’t quite the same. Everyone seemed to accept that you and Spencer were no longer as close as you had once been, though there was an undercurrent of tension. The two of you weren’t assigned together anymore, and that seemed to smooth things out for the most part. But it didn’t go unnoticed that Spencer kept a quiet distance, while you partnered up with Derek in the field.

Spencer couldn’t shake the bitterness that crept in when he saw you with Derek. He couldn’t help but wonder if Hotch had reassigned you because he thought Spencer couldn’t protect you, that you needed someone strong like Derek to keep you safe. The thought left him feeling sour, inadequate, like he’d somehow failed. But then, just as quickly, he’d get mad at himself for even thinking that way. You didn’t need protecting. You were more than capable of handling yourself in the field. You had survived worse than most, even if he couldn’t bear to watch it happen.

What gnawed at him most, though, was how happy you seemed with Derek. The way you laughed and joked with him, talking easily like you once did with Spencer. It stirred something ugly inside him, something he didn’t want to admit. He couldn’t deny that Derek was the kind of man who seemed perfect—strong, confident, and charming. A man who could sweep anyone off their feet. He hated that it bothered him, but he’d never allow himself to admit that he was afraid you’d fall for Derek. That kind of jealousy was too much to confront.

You, on the other hand, were content with your new partnership. Derek was easygoing and didn’t pry into your personal life. He let you manage things on your own terms, only asking questions when you willingly brought something up. It was a refreshing change, especially after everything that had happened with Spencer. You didn’t want to talk about what had gone wrong. You were too embarrassed, too ashamed of how vulnerable you had felt. It was easier to leave it behind, buried where no one could see the cracks.

But despite the professional ease, there was still a part of you that missed what you and Spencer once had, even if you’d never admit that either.

—

On one particular case, you and Derek celebrated the capture of an unsub with a big, triumphant hug. In the heat of the moment, you jumped into his arms, and he caught you effortlessly, spinning you around as the rest of the team cheered. It had been the two of you who made the breakthrough that led to the unsub’s hideout, and everyone was thrilled. You were beaming, caught up in the excitement of the team.

But Spencer, standing on the sidelines, was stewing. His mind kept replaying the mistake he had made, the detail he had missed that Derek had caught. And now, it was Derek who had caught you, too. Watching the two of you laughing, hugging, and celebrating felt like a punch to his gut. His insecurities gnawed at him, building into a quiet anger that simmered beneath the surface.

The rest of the team, however, smiled at the sight of you, happy to see you so joyful and healed enough to engage in lighthearted horseplay with Derek. The dark cloud that had followed you since the kidnapping seemed to have lifted, and it was a relief to everyone.

When the team returned to Quantico, Penelope was quick to corral everyone for celebratory drinks at the local bar. You stuck close to JJ and Penelope, grateful for their company as the night went on. After a few drinks, they pulled you out onto the dance floor, laughter bubbling up between the three of you as the music played. You let yourself go, dancing with JJ and Penelope, the worries of the past few months fading in the glow of the evening.

But it wasn’t until Derek joined you girls on the dance floor that something shifted. Spencer, sitting at the bar, felt a surge of jealousy flood through him. Derek was there again, touching your arm, laughing with you, spinning you around as the girls cheered. Spencer’s vision blurred with red-hot anger, the insecurities and feelings he had been burying for weeks now boiling over.

Before he could think twice, Spencer stormed over, grabbing Derek by the arm and pulling him outside the bar. The sudden outburst left Derek confused, glancing at Spencer with genuine concern. “What the hell, Reid?” Derek asked, his voice sharp with confusion but tinged with worry. “Are you okay?”

Spencer was breathing heavily, steam practically pouring out of his ears as he glared at Derek. “Do you like her?” he snapped, his voice cracking with frustration.

Derek blinked, taken aback. “Who? Like who, Reid?”

“Y/N!” Spencer shouted, his voice louder than he intended. “You keep touching her, and dancing with her, and laughing like—like you’re trying to be with her!”

Derek’s face softened in realization, and he held up his hands defensively, trying to calm Spencer down. “Whoa, whoa, kid,” Derek said slowly, his tone measured. “You think something’s going on with me and Y/N?”

Spencer’s chest heaved as he struggled to control the emotions that had been brewing for so long. “I… I don’t know. I just—every time I see you with her, I can’t help but think you’re—”

Derek cut him off gently, shaking his head. “Spencer, man, it’s not like that. We’re friends. That’s it.”

But Spencer wasn’t ready to accept it. “Then why do you keep acting like that with her? I see it, Derek! You’re always laughing with her, touching her, like you’re… like you’re taking my place.”

Derek sighed, finally starting to understand what was bubbling beneath the surface. “Alright, Reid. What’s going on? ‘Taking your place’? You know Hotch was the one who reassigned us all. It’s just work, man.”

Spencer huffed in frustration, his foot kicking at the loose gravel beneath him. His mind raced, emotions swirling, but he couldn’t seem to piece together a coherent response. He felt like a rubber band stretched too far, about to snap, and it wasn’t just about work. He knew that much.

Derek watched him closely, reading the tension in Spencer’s body, the unease in his eyes. “That’s not what you meant, though, is it?” Derek questioned carefully, his tone soft but pressing for the truth.

Spencer’s shoulders tensed even further, his head dipping slightly as he tried to find the right words. “I… I don’t know,” he muttered, his voice shaky with frustration. He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to confront what was really bothering him. But he also couldn’t stand feeling like this—watching from the sidelines, seeing you with Derek, seeing you laugh and smile like he wasn’t even part of your life anymore.

Derek took a step closer, lowering his voice so only Spencer could hear. “There’s more, isn’t there?” he asked, but he wasn’t accusing. He was just trying to get Spencer to open up, to confront whatever it was that had him spiraling.

Spencer clenched his fists at his sides, staring at the ground as his heart pounded. “I… I didn’t mean for there to be,” he admitted quietly, his voice strained. “It’s just… I don’t know how to be around her anymore. Everything’s different, and I—I don’t know how to fix it.”

Derek nodded slowly, understanding dawning. “You care about her. More than you’re letting on.”

Spencer’s silence was answer enough. He cared about you deeply—more than he had ever allowed himself to admit, even to himself. And now, watching you get closer to Derek while he kept his distance, it felt like he was losing you, piece by piece.

“I don’t know what happened in that warehouse," Derek began, his voice steady and understanding. "I read the report, but I’m sure there were some forgotten details… stuff that can’t be put into words.” He paused for a moment, giving Spencer a chance to process what he was saying. “If there’s something you need to tell her, just do it, Reid. Y/N isn’t the type to laugh at you or shut you out.”

Spencer sniffled, the tears coming against his will, his emotions too raw to hold back any longer. “I... I know that,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the strain. He wiped at his eyes, feeling small and overwhelmed. “I just want to go back to how things were,” he complained softly, his words sounding almost petulant, like a child wanting to undo what couldn’t be undone.

Derek’s heart softened at Spencer’s admission. He had seen this kind of pain before, knew how trauma could twist things, how it could fracture even the strongest of bonds. “That’s not gonna happen, kid,” Derek said with sympathy, shaking his head gently. “What happened to the two of you… that changes people. It changes the way you see the world, and it changes how you see each other.”

Spencer swallowed hard, feeling the weight of those words sink in. He knew Derek was right. He knew things had changed, that he had changed, and so had you. But hearing it made the ache in his chest sharper, more real.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t rebuild together,” Derek added, his voice hopeful. “It’s not about going back to how things were, Spencer. It’s about moving forward—together. You’ve both been through hell, but that doesn’t mean it’s over. You still have a chance.”

Spencer looked up at Derek, his eyes filled with uncertainty and vulnerability. “What if… what if it’s too late?”

Derek shook his head, giving Spencer’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “It’s only too late if you give up on her. Don’t wait until you lose her for good before you try to fix things. You care about her, Reid. She needs to hear that from you.”

Spencer took a deep breath, nodding slightly, though the fear still gnawed at him. He didn’t know if he was ready, but one thing was certain—he couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t. He had to find the courage to face you, to face what had changed, and to see if there was still a chance to rebuild the connection he had feared was lost forever.

After their tense conversation outside the bar, Spencer headed home, deciding it was best not to linger. He didn’t want to ruin your night by bringing up anything uncomfortable, and the idea of watching you dance with Derek—or worse, with other men—was too much for him. The weight of jealousy and regret was already suffocating, and he needed space to figure out what he was really feeling.

It turned out to be a good thing he left when he did. After Spencer and Derek stepped outside, you were approached by a very handsome, very suave man. He had an easy charm about him, the kind that made conversation flow effortlessly. His flirtatious smile and smooth lines quickly caught your attention, and for the first time in a while, you felt yourself relax, enjoying the moment without overthinking it.

One drink turned into two, and before you knew it, the night had slipped away. The man offered to take you home, and in the haze of alcohol and the desire to forget the complicated feelings with Spencer, you agreed. You didn’t want to think about what had been left unsaid, about the tension between you and Spencer, or how much everything had changed.

That night, you went home with the charming stranger, eager to escape the weight of the unresolved emotions that had been building for weeks. But in the back of your mind, even as you tried to lose yourself in someone new, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder if this was just another way of avoiding what you were really feeling.

—

That one night started a fire inside you, one that you hadn’t realized had been smoldering beneath the surface for so long. The realization that—even if it was just for a fleeting moment—you were wanted, desired, was intoxicating. After everything that had happened with Spencer, after feeling rejected and unsure of yourself, it was refreshing to be wanted without complications or emotional baggage.

The feeling of being desired, even if only for one night at a time, ignited something within you. It gave you a sense of control, of freedom, and it felt good—so good—to be seen as someone worth chasing. So you leaned into it. You found your place in the hookup culture, where the rules were simple and the emotional weight was nonexistent. One night, one person, no strings attached.

And it was fun. The thrill of meeting someone new, the brief connection that didn’t require anything more than mutual attraction, gave you a rush. Sure, the expense of condoms and the constant reminder to stay on top of frequent STD testing was a minor annoyance, but it was worth it for the feeling of power and liberation that came with it.

You felt like you were finally getting your fix, like the hole that had been left after your complicated feelings with Spencer was being filled—albeit temporarily. It wasn’t about love or deep connection anymore. It was about reclaiming something for yourself, something you hadn’t realized you were missing. You had found an escape, and for now, that was enough.

But then, one day, you made a mistake—a slip of the tongue in the office. You weren’t necessarily trying to keep your new lifestyle a secret, but you hadn’t planned on making it common knowledge either. Your friends and coworkers didn’t need to know every detail of how you were trying to get over Spencer, how you had buried your hurt in casual flings to escape the complicated feelings lingering from the rejection.

It happened when Penelope asked about your weekend plans in the bullpen. You casually mentioned that you were busy, but the response sparked curiosity.

"Busy? With what?" JJ asked, her eyes narrowing playfully. As your close friend, she felt like she would have known if you had something going on. She sensed something was off.

You laughed awkwardly, realizing you had stepped into dangerous territory. "Uh, just... seeing a man."

Penelope's face lit up with excitement. "You have a date?" she asked, her glee impossible to hide.

"Not exactly..." you trailed off, hoping the conversation would end there, but you should’ve known better.

Derek, never one to miss an opportunity to tease, raised an eyebrow with a sly grin. "Little miss thing, do you have a scheduled booty call?" he asked, his tone filled with mischief.

Your face flushed fiercely, the blush creeping up your neck. The small, involuntary smile on your lips gave you away instantly, and before you could protest, Penelope squealed with delight, while JJ chuckled in surprise.

"Oh my god!" Penelope exclaimed, eyes wide with excitement. "You minx! Why didn’t you tell us?"

You tried to play it cool, shrugging lightly. "I mean, it’s nothing serious. Just… you know… having some fun."

But what you didn’t notice was Spencer, who had overheard the entire conversation from across the bullpen. His face paled, and his heart sank as the reality of your words hit him like a freight train. You were seeing other people. You were sleeping with other men, and it was painfully clear—you were trying to get over him.

The girl he had always wanted—you—had wanted him back. That truth crashed into him with an intensity he wasn’t prepared for, and the weight of it left him standing frozen, unable to process how much he had lost. Spencer felt the deep ache of regret, gnawing at him with every word you spoke to your friends. You had moved on—or at least, you were trying to. And it was all because of him, because he had pushed you away when you had been vulnerable, honest, and open with him.

At that moment, Spencer couldn’t deny it any longer. He finally admitted it to himself—he wants you. He likes you. Maybe he even loves you. He always has. 

The realization of what he had been running from all this time hit him harder than any unsub ever could. He had been too scared to face it, too afraid of messing things up between you, too unsure of how to handle his own feelings. But now, watching you laugh awkwardly with your coworkers about casual hookups and hearing how you were slipping further and further away from him, it became painfully clear—he had already messed things up. 

Spencer clenched his fists at his sides, his mind racing with the weight of what he'd been denying for so long. He wanted to be the one you turned to, the one you laughed with, the one you came home to after a long day. He wanted to be more than your friend, more than someone you used to be close to. He wanted you in his life, in every possible way.

—

Spencer had always been on your speed dial—back when things were simpler, back when you called him almost every day, your friendship close and easy. So when his phone buzzed after 11 p.m. on a Saturday, his first instinct wasn’t concern. But after everything that had happened between the two of you lately, the timing made him uneasy. This wasn’t normal anymore. He hadn’t heard from you in weeks, not like this, and certainly not at this hour.

His heart pounded as he grappled for the phone, his mind racing. If you were calling him this late, something had to be wrong. He didn’t hesitate for a second, fumbling to answer as quickly as possible, already imagining the worst. “Y/N?” he called out into the phone, his voice tense with worry. “Y/N, are you okay?”

But instead of your voice answering, what he heard stopped him cold.

It was faint at first, a muffled noise, but as he strained to listen, the unmistakable sounds of… pain? groaning? It left him on edge, his panic rising. His mind raced, thinking the worst—had you been hurt? Were you in danger? He called your name again, louder, more frantic this time. “*Y/N!*”

But still, no response from you. Just the sounds, growing clearer, louder.

And then, it hit him like a punch to the gut. Through the haze of sounds on the other end, he heard a man’s voice, moaning your name.

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat as realization dawned painfully, his stomach twisting. You hadn’t called him on purpose. You had buttdialled him during a hookup. The groans, the noises that he had thought were of pain—they weren’t what he had feared. They were… something entirely different.

His hands shook as he stared at the phone, the pit in his stomach growing. He could hear everything, the intimacy, the passion—things that weren’t meant for him, things he should never have been privy to. The knowledge of what was happening, of who was with you right now, left him reeling.

He hung up, the phone slipping from his grasp onto the bed. Spencer sat there, stunned, trying to process what had just happened. It was the harshest reminder of what he had lost, of what he had pushed away. You were moving on. You were finding comfort in someone else. And here he was, on the other end of a phone call that was never meant to be made.

For the first time, Spencer felt the full weight of what he had done. He had pushed you away, too scared to face his own feelings, and now he was watching—no, hearing—you slip further away from him. The girl he had always wanted, the one who had wanted him, was now with someone else. And all he could do was sit there, helpless, with the sharp, bitter taste of regret heavy on his tongue.

—

You were blissfully unaware that you had called Spencer the night before. After a fun, carefree night with a man whose name you couldn’t even remember, you woke up feeling satisfied and content. It wasn’t until the next day, when you went to call Penelope, that your heart stopped. Staring at your call log, your eyes widened in horror as you saw the call to Spencer. A call that had lasted for several minutes. 

You quickly checked the time. It had definitely been when you and what’s his name were together. Oh god. A pit formed in your stomach as the realization hit you—did Spencer hear anything? Your mind raced, mortified by the idea. You hadn’t spoken to him much lately, and now, this? It was beyond awkward.

By Monday morning, you were terrified to face Spencer. The embarrassment gnawed at you, and the thought of seeing him after that accidental call made your stomach churn. When you arrived at the office, you tried to keep your head down, praying the situation would somehow blow over. But as soon as you made it to your desk, Spencer stormed over, his face set in a hard, unreadable expression.

“Y/N,” he said lowly, his voice tense, “a word.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. You nodded silently, following Spencer into the hall, the weight of what you feared was coming making it hard to breathe.

Before he could speak, you blurted out, “Listen, Spencer, I’m sorry—” You didn’t even know how to finish the sentence, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. 

Spencer’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked like he was grappling with something—whether to be angry, hurt, or simply frustrated. “You called me,” he said, his voice calm but tinged with something else you couldn’t quite place. “I heard... a lot.”

Your heart sank even further. He did hear. “Spencer, I didn’t mean for that to happen,” you said quickly, desperate to explain. “It was an accident. I wasn’t trying to—”

“Just…” Spencer interrupted, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked away, clearly uncomfortable. His voice was quieter now, but the tension between you was palpable. “Please don’t do that again. It was horribly uncomfortable.”

You winced, guilt washing over you. The last thing you had ever wanted was to make Spencer feel that way. “I’m really sorry, Spencer,” you said, softer this time. “I didn’t realize I had called you. If I had known...”

He nodded, still avoiding your gaze. “I know. It’s just… hearing that, knowing what was happening, it was…” He trailed off, the words hanging unfinished in the air.

"It was what?" you pressed, sensing that Spencer was leaving something unsaid, something important.

Spencer glanced away, his expression tense, and then, as if the weight of his feelings could no longer be held back, he blurted it out. "I was jealous, okay?"

You blinked in disbelief. “Jealous?” The word left your mouth before you could stop it, confusion swirling in your mind. How could he be jealous after everything that had happened between you two?

“Yeah, Y/N,” he sighed, finally meeting your eyes, the vulnerability in his gaze clear now. “I was jealous.”

You shook your head, still baffled by his confession. “Spencer, you rejected me,” you reminded him, your voice sharper than you intended. The hurt from that moment still stung, and hearing him say he was jealous felt like a twisted irony.

“I know,” he said quickly, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I know I did, and I’ve regretted it ever since. I was scared. I didn’t know how to handle what you said or what I was feeling, and I pushed you away. But hearing you with someone else, knowing you’ve moved on… it hit me harder than I expected.”

You stood there, staring at him, processing his words. Part of you wanted to lash out, to remind him of how much his rejection had hurt you. But another part of you, the part that had always cared for Spencer, softened at the sight of him so open, so raw with his emotions.

“Spencer…” you started, your voice gentler now, “you don’t get to be jealous. Not after everything. You made your choice.”

“I know,” he whispered, his eyes full of regret. “And it was the wrong choice. I didn’t realize how much I wanted you—until it was too late.”

There was a pause as his words hung in the air between you.

“Well, I’m sorry it took you so long to realize it,” you said, the hurt still lingering in your voice despite the calm exterior you tried to maintain.

Spencer nodded slowly, his expression full of regret. “Me too,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked at you then, his eyes filled with all the things he hadn’t been able to say before, the weight of his hesitation clear now that the truth was out.

The silence between you stretched on for a moment, heavy with everything that had gone unsaid for so long. You could feel the weight of it pressing down on you, the hurt and confusion swirling around inside your chest. This was what you had wanted once—to hear Spencer admit that he had made a mistake. But now that it was happening, it didn’t feel as satisfying as you thought it would.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Spencer continued, his voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know how to deal with my own feelings. And now I’m scared I’ve lost you for good.”

You stared at him, unsure of what to say. There was no quick fix for what had happened between you. His apology was genuine, but the damage had already been done.

“I don’t know what to say, Spencer,” you admitted. “I’m not going to pretend like this doesn’t hurt, or that everything can just go back to how it was.”

“I understand,” he said softly, looking down at the floor. “I don’t expect things to go back to the way they were. I just… I wanted you to know how I feel. And that I’m sorry.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath. “I appreciate that. But this doesn’t change everything.”

“I know,” he replied, his eyes meeting yours once more. “But maybe… maybe it’s not too late to figure it out. If you’re willing.”

You hesitated, the rawness of the conversation still fresh. You didn’t know if you could open that door again—not yet. But maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to rebuild what had been broken.

“We’ll see, Spencer,” you said softly. “We’ll see.”

And with that, the conversation hung in the air, fragile and uncertain, but with the faintest glimmer of hope.

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

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[badkitty3000]

can u write a five x reader smut where five makes the reader watch him jerk off before fucking them

This request has been in my inbox for a LONG time...sorry. I set this during season four, and it's mixed with my usual sense of humor and confidently sexy Five 😉

Forced Confinement: Friends to Enemies to Lovers

Five x Female Reader-Insert, 5.7k words, one-shot, reader request

Warnings: Smut, explicit sex, masturbation

Summary: You and Five used to be friends. That is, until he got you stuck in the endless cycle of time traveling trains and no way home. Now he is the last person you want to be stuck with at the end of the world. But, after months of resentment and bickering, you and Five finally work out your differences

It had been eleven months. Eleven months since you and Five had taken that stupid fucking train to nowhere. Why you had let him talk you into going with him, you had no idea. You had been friends and you trusted him, sure, but that didn’t mean you wanted to skip out on the real world forever and live in captive domesticity for the rest of your life. You had wanted adventure and danger, which always seemed to follow Five wherever he went. But that’s not what this turned into. This had turned into playing house.

After nine months of mindless travel to various timelines that just seemed to get worse and worse, you were about ready to kill one another. The passive aggressive arguing had gradually turned into bickering, which then turned into outright shouting matches. You wanted to go home, god dammit! You didn’t care that time travel was tricky or unpredictable. He had gotten you into this mess and you demanded that he get you out of it.

To get you to shut up, Five had presented you with a temporary solution. When you came across a mostly still standing house with a greenhouse and clean water, he begrudgingly suggested that you two stay there for a few days. Just to relax, wash up a bit, and gather some food. It would also grant him some time to think about how to navigate this situation you were in. You had agreed, although you had scoped the crappy house out first to determine if there were separate living quarters. There was only one real bedroom, but Five conceded it to you and said he would take the living room floor.

A few days had turned into two months.

You knew he was trying his best. You knew that. And you knew he certainly had never meant to get you stuck in this endless loop of time travel fuckery. He had only been trying to save the world. Again. Only this time, he wanted company. And since you and he had become friends over the course of the five years you had been serving him large quantities of whiskey and beer at your bar, he had asked you.

It’s not that you were best buddies or anything. You had never hung out outside of the bar. But he was a frequent enough customer that you and he had a good rapport. You were comfortable around each other, which you had noticed for Five, was kind of a big deal. And maybe you were a little flirty with one another as well. Not that anything had ever happened between you, but the tension had been there.

So, when Five had come stumbling in one night, seemingly already drunk, and had plopped down on a barstool in front of you with a smart-ass grin on his face, you were intrigued. After a very confusing and convoluted story about something called “marigold” and Five having the power to teleport and time travel, you were already hooked.

How many times had you dreamed of doing something amazing? Something so incredibly exciting and weird that when you told your friends all about it later, they wouldn’t believe you? It was just one of those silly fantasies that never left your head. But the longer you ran that bar, and the more comfortable you got pouring shots and mixing drinks for others, the less likely it became that your fantasy would ever be realized.

But time traveling subway trains and teleportation powers? It was everything you had been waiting for! When he told you his idea of trying to get to the correct timeline and stop another apocalypse from happening, you barely even hesitated.

In those first couple of months, you didn’t really mind being lost with no real way to get back home. It was still exciting and you were getting along great back then. He confided in you; told you he had asked you along because you were his only real friend and he just didn’t want to face the unknown alone again. He had apologized when it became clear he was just as lost as you were, and he promised to get you back safely. You made each other laugh, and invented stupid games to kill the boredom, and would cuddle up together on cold nights even though there was nothing romantic going on. Those were the good times.

But now…now, it was like the two of you were living in some bad sitcom with no laugh track. Five was still good looking, there was no getting around that. Even when he was grubby and dirty and his deodorant gave out months ago. Yes, he was hot, you could admit that. But that wasn’t quite enough to cover the fact that he was an arrogant, know-it-all asshole that was systematically ruining your life. You missed your bed. And your bar. And god, what you wouldn’t do for some fucking fast food. You had dreams about McDonald’s French fries and if Ronald McDonald himself had come walking up to you and told you he’d give you a Big Mac if you sucked his dick, you’d be on your knees in a second. That’s what this had come to; you would blow a clown for a hamburger.

Instead, here you were, in some bullshit little Hobbit house, listening to Five’s snoring from the other room. And if you had to eat another fucking strawberry, you were going to vomit. You would rather eat a dozen half-cooked subway rats than choke down another one of those god damn red berries. Sometimes you laid awake at night, envisioning Five choking on one, his eyes bulging as he panicked and tried unsuccessfully to get air through his blocked trachea. It brought a small amount of comfort to you. Until the morning, when you walked out and saw there were no animals in your traps, and you wanted to cry. No meat. Only fucking strawberries.

“We need more water,” you told him as you came out of the green house where the first few sprouts of cucumbers and green beans were finally starting to come through.

“So? Go get some, then,” Five muttered back at you, his head buried in a notebook while he sat at the wobbly kitchen table.

“No. I’m always the one that has to go get the water. It’s your turn.”

Five glanced up briefly, then looked back down at his incoherent scribblings. “I’m busy.”

“You’re busy?” you asked incredulously. “How the fuck is making little pictures in a book busy?”

He looked up again, his worn-down pencil paused in midair. His eyes narrowed. “They are not little pictures. They are complex mathematical equations that your simpleton mind cannot possibly understand.”

You snorted. “Fuck you.”

One corner of his mouth turned up just slightly and he set his pencil down, leaning back in his chair and draping one arm over the back. Fuck, if he didn’t look amazingly hot like that. Asshole.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

He scoffed. “Don’t play dumb. You’ve been eye-fucking me since we got here. Actually, since before we got here.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “What the…are you delusional? Did you hit your head the last time you were out scavenging? I have, under no circumstances, been eye-fucking you.”

“Ok, sure…whatever you have to tell yourself.”

You placed a hand on your hip and tilted your head to the side. “If anyone is eye-fucking anyone, it’s you to me. I see the way you just so happen to look in my direction when I’m changing clothes.”

“If I do that, it’s only because I want to make sure you’re actually changing into something new instead of wearing that shitty old tank top that smells like dead rats.”

“That is my best tank top! And look who’s talking. Who wears a suit in a fucking apocalypse? It’s insane!”

“At least I don’t walk around with my tits half hanging out. I mean, fuck, those things are going to knock you out the next time you have to run from anything. It’s like you’re just begging for attention.”

You smiled. “Oh, I just bet you’d love to see me running with my tits hanging out, wouldn’t you? Probably play right into some weird-ass Baywatch fantasy you have.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.” He tossed his head so that the piece of hair in his eyes flicked out of the way. “You are wearing the literal last pair of tits in the world right now and I wouldn’t care if you slathered them in baby oil and shoved them in my face.”

You watched as his eyes moved briefly to your chest before landing on your face again. You smirked. “Gosh, Five, you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course you don’t want anything do with these.” You ran your hands up your sides and rested them on your breasts. Then you began to rub them and squeeze them together, all while looking him directly in the eye. You gave a little moan and licked your lips. It was subtle, but you saw him swallow and shift in his seat.

Five rolled his eyes, but you could tell you had gotten to him. “While the tits themselves may be alluring, there is the unfortunate fact that they are attached to the body that is powered by your idiot brain. Therefore…not interested.”

You gave them another hard push together, and then let out a short laugh before dropping your hands. “That’s what I thought.”

“What did you think?”

“That you’re a dickless asshole”

Five flashed you that devious smile that you had come to associate with an unfortunate fluttering inside your stomach. “I’ll concede to being an asshole. But dickless? Quite the opposite, sweetheart.”

Your mouth went dry at that implication and you momentarily had a loss for words. After a couple of seconds, though, you regained your cool.

“As much as I’m sure you’d just love to whip out your little pickle dick right now, how about you get your scrawny ass up and go get us some water? Sweetheart.”

Five gave a short laugh. “And as much as I’m sure you’d love to be choking on my pickle right now, like I told you…” He pointed his pencil at the notebook. “I’m busy.”

Without another word, he lowered his head and started scribbling again, ignoring you completely. Your mouth opened in another retaliation, but then it snapped closed again. There was no point in continuing your little childish spat. Five was a stubborn old bastard and it was a waste of time. You might as well go get the damn water yourself.

Giving a loud, dramatic huff, you flipped your hair over your shoulder and stomped away. You did happen to notice, though, that Five looked up to watch you leave. So, as a final act of brattiness, just before you were out of sight, you made sure to bend over and act like you were tying your shoe while wiggling your ass in the air. Which, if Five had the oversized brain he was always saying he did, he would remember that your shoelaces had disintegrated a month ago.

As you angrily made your way to the old well that was your water source, you mumbled out loud to yourself.

“He thinks he’s so fucking smart. Well, he’s not. Just because you’re a smoking hot asshole does not mean you’re a genius, I guarantee you.”

You tripped over a rock and you cursed before continuing on. “And he is dreaming if he thinks I’m the one that wants to fuck him. Granted, it has been a long time since I got laid, but still. I think I can do better than Five Hargreeves, even if he is the last man on earth.”

You approached the old-fashioned well pump that was still in service and started pumping, much more vigorously than needed while you ranted to no one. “Honestly, he is so hard up for some ass, it’s embarrassingly obvious. But, good luck buddy, because that ain’t happening.”

You watched thoughtfully as the water slowly poured into the plastic bucket that served as your portable water reservoir. You stared into the distance; the landscape not quite as bleak as the others you had seen. This one at least had some trees and wildlife. “Still…I did see him shirtless that one time and I can’t seem to get that little image out of my brain. The guy has sex appeal, there’s no doubt about that. And I suppose he’s not all bad. He did let me take the bed, after all. He hasn’t even tried anything, either, which I suppose makes him kind of a gentleman.”

You gave the well a few more pumps to fill the last of the bucket. “But why hasn’t he tried anything? Maybe he doesn’t think I’m attractive? He said he likes women, though. I wonder if he jerks off when I’m not around?”

You smiled to yourself, feeling your chest tighten a little at the thought. “I guess I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t used him as motivation for my own hand-fucking. He might be annoying but I bet he can deliver in certain areas.” You paused a moment more and sighed angrily, looking toward the sky. “Damn it…now I’m horny!” The water started overflowing in the bucket and you realized you’d been pumping the well for too long, wasting your most precious resource.

“Shit!” You stared at the dusty ground that was now turning into a muddy puddle around your feet. “He doesn’t need to know about this, that’s for sure. I don’t need yet another lecture on water preservation.”

Hoisting up the bucket, and holding it against your chest because the handle had given out a week ago, you started back towards the house.

“I’m going insane,” you panted as you made your way up the slight incline. “It’s official; I’ve finally lost it. Stuck out here in the middle of nowhere and talking to myself. Cool.”

As you walked into the house, the water bucket was partially obstructing your view and it sloshed water down your front as you set it heavily down on the floor.

“There,” you declared, out of breath. “Here’s the water, no thanks to – Oh holy shit!”

When you had looked up, you had been assaulted with the sight of Five pleasuring himself right there in your cozy kitchen. You froze, taking in the sight, not able to look away. He was on full display, with the chair pushed out from the table, facing the doorway. His shirt was open, sleeves cuffed up, head thrown back, eyes closed, pants undone, and his cock in his hand. He was languidly stroking himself, appearing to not be in a hurry to finish the job, while he sat there with his legs spread open for all to see. Well, not all to see…just you.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry…shit…what are you? Ok, never mind, um…I’m gonna, yeah, just go…” you stammered while still staring directly at the obscenity before you.

You said you were going to go, but you were rooted to the spot. Eventually, after what seemed like an inordinate amount of time considering what was happening, Five opened his eyes and looked at you. No, not looked. Stared at you. Those bright green eyes bored into you and a small smirk played on his lips.

Still panicking, but also confused as to the very real sensation of moisture not caused by the bucket of water forming between your legs, you abruptly turned to leave.

“Stop.”

Five’s voice was different than usual. Harder. Commanding. And you inexplicably stopped in your tracks.

“Turn around.”

You obeyed and slowly spun around, nervous as to what you might see, or have him see. You were sure the look on your face would give you away.

Five hadn’t moved. He was still stroking himself and he looked like he didn’t have one ounce of shame about it, either.

You swallowed hard. “What…”

“I decided after your little show earlier that I just couldn’t help myself. And now that you’ve got some wet t-shirt action going on, I’m going to need you to stay. I think you owe me that.”

Looking down at yourself, you saw that the spilled water had created a nearly see-through situation over your chest. Even your bra was soaked through, and your nipples were visible through the thin fabric. When you glanced back up, you bit at your lower lip. Despite the blush growing across your cheeks, you were intrigued with this new game.

“Owe you?” you asked, your voice cracking as you tried to keep your cool.

Five groaned quietly, picking up his pace and ignoring your question. “You really do have magnificent tits. Now, take that ratty ass top off.”

You couldn’t believe you were actually going along with his demands. You should be telling him to fuck off and throwing the nearest heavy object toward his head. Instead, you found yourself holding his eye contact while you slowly stripped your wet shirt away and dropped it onto the floor.

There was another deep moan from Five as he worked his shaft over with his whole hand, his breathing becoming louder.

“Bra,” he rasped.

As you unhooked your bra and let it fall on top of your shirt, you smiled at his reaction.

“Fuck honey…I’ve been dreaming about these tits for so long and they do not disappoint.” He groaned low in his throat again. “Perfect.”

You eyed him up and down, taking in the detail of his cock as his fist slid easily over it. It was most definitely impressive. Much more than you had imagined and you found yourself running your tongue over your bottom lip involuntarily.

“Shit, Five…I guess you weren’t kidding. Definitely not dickless.”

“You like what you see?” he asked, looking out under the pieces of hair that had flopped in front of his eyes.

You nodded, and then began to move closer in. “Yeah, I do.”

Five shook his head, pausing his fist fucking momentarily. “I don’t think so, honey. Not yet.”

“Not yet what?” you asked, thoroughly confused. Did he not want you to jump on top of him?

“I know you’re just dying for my cock to be buried deep inside you right now, but you’re going to have to wait. That’s your punishment.”

With your eyebrows drawn together, you suddenly felt very stupid standing there topless while he continued to jack off.

“What the hell…what do you mean? Punishment for what?”

“For walking around all bitchy and complaining about everything. All while throwing your body in my face and leaving me high and dry.”

“What!? You’re the one that has been the asshole –”

“Shut up, sweetheart. I don’t need to hear your mouth. I just need to look at you. Now drop your pants.”

It took a minute for your mind to comprehend just what the fuck was going on here. Five Hargreeves, your friend turned enemy turned…jack off partner?...was ordering you around like you were his own personal interactive porno mag. And you fucking liked it.

As you started unbuttoning your shorts, you gave him a lopsided smile. “So, how long have you been using me as your whack-a-thon inspiration?”

“I could ask you the same,” he snarked back before working just a little harder when your pants came off.

“Since about 3 months in,” you admitted with a shrug, pushing your panties all of the way off.

“Fuuuck,” Five groaned loudly, closing his eyes briefly before scanning your body hungrily. “I think I lasted 2 weeks.”

You laughed, leaning back against the table with your hands behind you as you pushed out your chest. When your eyes caught his again, you let out a soft whimper.

“Damnit…I really want to fuck you right now.”

“I know, darling,” he responded, his voice dripping with condescension. “You’ve made that quite obvious.”

Neither of you said anything more for a moment. The room was filled with the sound of your collective heavy breathing and the slapping noises as Five jacked himself hard and fast. You could see the beads of pre-cum forming around the head. On a whim, you decided to lean in, bending down with your mouth open and tongue out, to daintily lick up the tempting drops. Five growled and flung his head back again while you gave one more flick of your tongue over the slit and backed away again.

“Finger yourself,” he grunted out.

When you smirked, licking all four of your fingers before lowering them between your legs, the sound Five made, a shaking, guttural sound, had you thinking he was on the verge of blowing his load. But he only seemed to concentrate harder, working his fist over his thick shaft. You watched as his thumb traced the underside of his swollen tip, the veins that ran from top to bottom prominently on display. You had never really thought the sight of a man pleasuring himself in front of you would be that hot, but the wetness dripping out of you right now proved that maybe it just depended on the man.

Because watching Five unabashedly fuck himself; his left hand tight around his cock and his hips jerking up in response; the tendons in his forearm taught and straining; his hair hanging messily around his face, his eyes never leaving yours; had you more worked up than you had ever been in your life.

“Fuck, Five,” you moaned as your own hand began to move through your slick folds.

“Damn it, I’m going to come. On your knees,” he growled through clenched teeth.

You dropped down without a second thought, just blindly following his orders. Your hand was still working furiously, and you were unsure if he wanted you to suck his dick or not, so you just waited for further instructions. When he groaned loudly and shifted forward in the chair, his own hand moving fast, you realized what he was going to do.

“Don’t you dare come on my face,” you rasped out. You removed your fingers from yourself so that you could lean back, exposing your chest at a better angle.

With a strangled moan that sounded like some sort of wounded animal, Five bit at his bottom lip while he came; long ropes of cum covering your chest and dripping down your stomach as he unloaded onto you again and again. You watched his face as it contorted in orgasmic bliss before finally relaxing again, his hand slowing, and his body easing back into the chair.

“Fucking hell,” he whispered through heaving breaths; eyes still closed. “You have no idea how much I needed that.”

As you knelt before him, covered in his semen, and still horny, you frowned. “Good for you.”

When he opened his eyes, he had the nerve to laugh and he shook his head. “Give me a minute, ok? I might have a fairly quick refractory period, but it’s not immediate.”

“Hmm, yeah. Likely story,” you said under your breath, although your mouth twitched up with amusement as you stood up. “I’m going to use our most precious resource to wash up.”

“Use it sparingly,” Five reminded you.

“I think I’ll use as much as I want, considering it’s your cum that’s currently drying all over my tits right now.”

“Fair,” Five said with a breathy laugh.

After you found one of the clean rags that doubled as a washcloth, you dipped it in the bucket of cool water and started to wipe at your chest. Five watched you bend over, ringing out the cloth and letting the water run down your breasts and abdomen. His refractory period may not have been instant, but watching you like that was most definitely speeding the process along.

While you were enjoying giving him this show, what you really wanted was a little more satisfaction than just watching him jerking off. With your body as cum-free as it was going to be for the moment, you sauntered back over to Five who was still sitting in the same chair; pants open and semi-hard dick out. When you stood in front of him, he looked up at you through the fringe of hair covering his eyes, that damn smirk of his playing on his lips. Without even thinking, you hauled your right hand back and smacked him across the face.

As he raised a hand to his stinging cheek, he glared up at you. “What the hell was that for?”

With a smile, you straddled his lap, draping both arms over his shoulders and leaning in to kiss him. After biting at his bottom lip, you pulled back.

“That was for stranding me here in this hell hole.” You kissed him again, tugging hard at his hair at the back of his head. “And for being the world’s biggest prick.” Your groin slid over his hard cock and he grunted. “And for looking so fucking hot all the time.”

Five grabbed your chin in his hand, holding you steady as he gazed into your eyes; his deep green ones sparkling as that arrogant look crossed his face again. Gripping your ass tightly with both hands, Five stood up, taking you with him as he slammed your body down onto the rickety kitchen table. When your back hit the wooden top with a thud, the pedestal holding it up wobbled dangerously underneath. You huffed out a loud breath from the impact.

Standing between your legs that were still wrapped around his waist, Five reached down between you, grasping his hard cock and rubbing the tip against your clit. When you gave a tiny whimper, he nodded.

“I’m sorry I got you stuck here. And I’m working on being less of a prick. As for looking hot all the time? That I can’t help so much,” he said with a grin, continuing to massage your slit by running his dick up and down, spreading your wetness over both of you.

“Asshole,” you rasped after sucking in a loud gulp of air. Your hands clutched at the edge of the table and your hips rocked against him.

He shook his head, closing his eyes with a moan before locking onto yours again. “No. If I were an asshole, I would have done what I’ve been dying to do for months now.”

“Which is?”

“Sliding into bed with you in the middle of the night and waking you up with my dick shoved between your legs.”

Your head tipped back as you tried to push yourself harder into his cock that was continually sliding over you in just the right spot. “Oh shit, Five…I wish you would have.”

“You’d like that, huh?”

You nodded. “I’d still have kicked your ass, but not before I’d let you fuck my brains out.”

“How about I fuck your brains out now and we can discuss kicking my ass later?”

“Sounds good,” you breathed out.

Five used his hand to guide himself inside of you. Once the head of his cock was inside, he thrust himself into you, impaling you on his sizeable dick, and watching your face for your reaction.

“Oh god…” you cried, gritting your teeth against the intensity.

“You ok?” he asked as his hands traveled over your thighs, sides, and hips.

You nodded. “Yeah. Definitely ok. Fuck, that feels good.”

With a self-satisfied smirk, Five grabbed your ass tightly with both hands, squeezing each cheek hard and digging his fingers into your flesh. When he started to guide you by pushing and pulling you over his shaft, you let him take full control of your body. With your arms splayed to the sides and your head tipped back against the table top, you wanted him to break you down; strip you of your inhibitions, and make you his.

“Shit…” he hissed through his teeth. “I need…fuck…I need more of you.”

Without warning or consent, he pulled you roughly up by one hand before pulling out of you and yanking you off the table to standing again. Not sure what his game plan was, you just stood there until he stepped out of his pants that had dropped around his ankles, and held you tightly to him. With a long kiss that made you momentarily forget where you were, he pulled back again.

“Floor,” he gasped.

Despite having a perfectly good bed in the other room, you were thinking the same thing he was. There was no time for relocation. You needed him inside of you again. Immediately. Hands clutching at one another, you both clumsily dropped to the floor. There was a moment of ungraceful maneuvering while you hastily repositioned yourself, but once Five was on his back and you were mounting him again, his dick slid inside once more and you let out a high-pitched whine.

In between grunts and whimpers as you started to move your hips, you attacked his mouth, face, and neck with kisses. Eventually, one of his hands came to rest in your hair. When you looked him in the eyes, he was smiling. Not his normal, asshole smirk. An actual, affectionate smile.

“I’m not sure why we waited this long,” he said before kissing you deeply, while also bucking his hips up, driving his dick in harder.

“Because we hated one another,” you explained as he sucked kisses onto your neck.

“Not always…fuuckk…” he moaned when you slammed harder on top of him.

“I kind of don’t hate you now.”

Five laughed and squeezed one of your breasts in his hand, hard enough to make you hiss through your teeth.

“Five….” you whined.

“Keep fucking me, baby. Harder.”

You were fucking him as hard as you possibly could. So hard that you were seriously concerned about the health of your knees as they bore most of your weight and dug into the hard dirt floor of your crappy kitchen. But that didn’t stop you. Riding his dick like it was somehow essential to your existence, you had never wanted anyone more than you did right then. You couldn’t control the loud cries and broken sobs that filled the small kitchen, and Five wasn’t exactly being quiet either.

“Oh shit, honey…please keep doing that…I’ve wanted this so badly.”

After one more long kiss, you could feel your body start to reach its climax. As Five grasped your hips again, working you over even faster, you let yourself go with a broken moan that got louder the more your body reacted to his. With your back arched, head tipped back, and your hips twitching wildly, Five clenched his teeth and looked down between your bodies. He could see the white lather of your arousal coating his cock. With a husky growl, Five pushed you down and came inside you.

Gasping for air, you collapsed into him, chests heaving against one another. He held you loosely, his hands idly caressing your back and hair.

“Five?” you panted; nuzzling your nose and mouth into the side of his sweat-damp neck.

“Yeah?”

“If you had been fucking me like that this whole time, these last several months could have been much more enjoyable.”

He let out a breathy laugh. “If I were more confident in my time travel skills, I would go back and remedy that.”

As your playful kisses traveled over his neck and cheek, you gave him one last, deep kiss on his mouth before pulling back again. You stared deeply into his eyes that you only just now realized were so easy to get lost in.

Moving a stray piece of hair from his forehead, you smiled sweetly. “While I definitely would not mind more of your amazing dick action, I am going to murder you if I have to spend one more day in this strawberry hellhole.”

Five matched your snarky grin with his own, and smacked your ass swiftly. “Off.”

Rolling your eyes, but not able to hide the blush that dusted your cheeks again when he took that tone with you, you unfurled yourself from his body and stood up. Offering a hand out, you helped Five to his feet.

“While the thought crossed my mind to leave you in the dark just so I can get some more action, I don’t have the heart. Look,” he said as he pointed to his notebook that had just recently been pinned under your body on the table.

When you looked closer at his illegible scrawls, you frowned. “I don’t get it.”

“I did it.”

You looked back over at him with raised eyebrows. “Did what?”

“Found our way home. While you were out getting water, I figured it out.”

As the realization of what he was saying washed over you, you shrieked and threw your arms around his shoulders, pulling his damp, naked body into yours. “Five! Oh my god, you did it! We can go home?”

He nodded, a giant smile growing over his face. “I think so. And I think I figured it out so that we will have time to stop the whole mess that was starting to go down before we left, too. I think we can save the world.”

“Oh my god! This is amazing!” You pulled him tighter and kissed him hard on the lips, still smiling. “Five, you’re amazing!” Then a thought came to you and you tilted your head to the side. “Hang on…if you figured this out while I was out getting water…were you really jerking off to thoughts of me, or just your own mathematical genius?”

Five shrugged with that sexy, lopsided smile of his. “Can’t it be a little of both?”

“Holy shit,” you laughed. “Let’s get the fuck out of here and go home.”

Five pulled you close with a jerk, his arm around your waist and his hand resting securely on the small of your back. With a look that made your heart flip in your chest and your knees weak and wobbly, Five leaned in to kiss you, biting gently at your lips before pulling away and rubbing his cheek across yours.

“Why leave now? We have all the time in the world and things were just getting good,” he said, his voice low and smooth; the rush of his hot breath down your neck sending shivers down your spine.

“Ok,” you breathed out before tipping your head back so he could access your neck. “What’s a few more days?”

[danburys]

media is open to interpretation, obviously. i do find it a little baffling when people say that the team in general and hardison and parker specifically haven't been taking care of eliot and are only now realizing that he gets hurt for them.

yes, being a hitter is a fundamentally messed up job. yes, it's a reflection of societal patterns of violence. yes, eliot often hates that he's been reduced to this. yes, it's not all he wants to be, so cooking saved him. and yes, he takes those punches for other people, for the team, and his body pays the price.

but in my view, it's pretty clear that the team ultimately gives each other the dignity of choice. they miss each other when one has to take a break, they try to make a case for why someone should stick around, but in the end sophie goes on her journey of self-discovery with no one mad at her, hardison gets to branch out and try to widen his scope. breanna gets taken along on college tours by the wilsons. parker has trouble accepting change but she lets sophie decide for herself whether she wants to go to london.

eliot is an adult man with a lot of life experience. working with the team has shown him a hundred different ways to keep going. he knows fellow vets who've chosen paths that no longer involve physical violence. he knows other hitters that could protect the team. he's taught every single member of the team a thing or two about self-defense.

eliot could stop at any point but he doesn't and that, to me, is a very conscious choice that he makes. hardison telling eliot he doesn't like seeing him get hurt all the time isn't so much about eliot being a poor abused soul as it is a personal truth of hardison's.

eliot being a hitter, taking the punishment, is not because he thinks no one cares what happens to him. it's his reality, it's the path he's gone down and every day he gets up and he decides for himself that his road to making up a little bit of the hurt he's inflicted still involves taking those punches (hardison says that, too, btw, in the very second ep of redemption, as an ultimate example.)

i think the team has shown him that he's cared for, but he's still a person in an imperfect world and both he and the team know this. and they choose who they are andvwhat they do in the confines of that fact.

[mcrdvcks]

Shut Up

Summary: You and Logan are sent on a mission: go to the gala and find out information about a mutant trafficking ring.

Word Count: 3.7k+

Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x fem!reader

Notes: the summary seems much darker than what the story actually is, promise!

reader's powers are psionics, but her specialty is feeling other people's emotions

also, check out the part 2 if you so please! it's pretty much only smut (i think it's more words than this too, oops)

picture of reader's dress

warnings/tags: some uses of y/n, pet name (doll), rich people

Part 2

You and Logan stood in the large entrance way of the gala, the worker taking your feathery coat from your hands, leaving you in your black figure-hugging gown, with detachable arm sleeves and a high slit on one side.

This certainly wasn’t your ideal mission, you hated dressing up.

You fidgeted with the detachable arm sleeves of your gown, glancing over at Logan, who stood beside you in the grand entranceway. His usual rough exterior was toned down by the crisp black suit he was wearing, though he still had that rugged edge about him that no fancy attire could hide. He caught your fidgeting and smirked, leaning in slightly.

"You look uncomfortable, doll," he said in that deep, gravelly voice of his, his eyes scanning your figure from top to bottom. "Fancy parties not your thing?"

You shot him a quick look, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. He had a way of making you feel both self-conscious and... something else. Something you didn’t want to think about too much.

"You know I hate dressing up for this shit, Logan," you muttered, tugging slightly at the fabric near your waist. "I feel like I’m suffocating in this thing. And these people…" You gestured toward the well-dressed crowd mingling in the ballroom ahead, laughing and sipping on champagne. "Ugh."

Logan chuckled lowly, his gaze never leaving you. "Coulda fooled me. You look damn good." The compliment was casual, but the way he said it, the way his eyes lingered a bit too long on your slit, sent a small shiver down your spine.

You rolled your eyes, trying to act unaffected. "Focus, Logan. We’ve got a job to do, remember?"

"Trust me, doll," he said, slipping his hands into his pockets, his smirk still in place. "I'm plenty focused."

You couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. Logan had always been like this with you—flirty, teasing, but never crossing the line. It was this unspoken thing between you two, a game that neither of you had acknowledged but both played. Sometimes you wondered if he was just messing with you, or if there was something more underneath all the teasing.

Either way, now wasn’t the time to be thinking about it.

As you both stepped further into the ballroom, the sound of soft classical music filled the air. Logan’s hand brushed against the small of your back, guiding you toward the bar, where you could at least look like you were blending in while you scoped out the place.

Charles had said there were going to be a group of people here tonight talking about a mutant trafficking ring. All you had to do was find them and listen in.

And just maybe kick some ass, even if Charles told you not to. You and Logan weren’t exactly the type to follow orders.

Logan leaned close to your ear as you both approached the bar. "Just remember, doll, no ass-kicking unless absolutely necessary," he said with a smirk, his voice teasing but with a hint of seriousness underneath.

You glanced up at him, trying to suppress a smile. "I know, I know. We’re supposed to play nice and just listen," you said, rolling your eyes. But let’s be honest, 'just listening' wasn’t your strong suit either. You were here to get information, but the thought of standing around, making small talk with these people, made your skin crawl. You’d much rather get straight to the point. Maybe that’s why Logan had been assigned to partner with you on this mission—he was just as bad at following orders as you were.

"Good. 'Cause the last thing I need is you turning this into a scene," Logan replied, his grin widening as he leaned against the bar.

"Oh, come on, Logan," you shot back, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "When have I ever been known to cause a scene?" You batted your eyelashes dramatically, playing innocent.

Logan snorted. "Yeah, sure. You, not causing a scene? That's cute, sweetheart." He signaled to the bartender. "Whiskey. Neat."

You glanced around the room, using your psionic abilities to subtly sense the emotional energy of the people around you. The room was a mess of conflicting emotions—excitement, greed, lust, and arrogance filled the space, but nothing out of the ordinary for a gathering like this. Still, you could sense something darker underneath the surface, a faint thread of fear and unease woven into the fabric of the crowd. It was faint, but it was there.

Logan nudged you with his elbow, drawing your attention back to him. "You picking up anything?"

"Just the usual cocktail of emotions," you said, lowering your voice as the bartender handed Logan his drink. "But there’s something… off. I can’t quite put my finger on it yet."

Logan took a sip of his whiskey, his eyes scanning the room. "We’ll find 'em. Just gotta stay patient." He gave you a sideways glance. "Think you can manage that, doll?"

"Patience is my middle name," you deadpanned, though both of you knew that wasn’t true. You weren’t known for your patience. But for now, you’d play along. This mission was important, and you weren’t about to screw it up. Not with Charles counting on you.

Logan chuckled again and leaned back against the bar, his eyes briefly flicking down to your gown before meeting your gaze again. "Still can’t believe you got all dressed up for this. Coulda fooled me that you hate it. You’re turning a few heads."

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Is that your way of telling me I look nice, Logan? Because that almost sounded like a compliment."

His lips curled into a slow, lazy grin. "What can I say? You clean up nice, Psionix." He downed the rest of his whiskey, eyes twinkling with amusement.

You felt a slight blush creeping up your neck but quickly masked it with a smirk. "And here I thought you liked me better in tactical gear."

"Don’t get me wrong, doll," Logan said, his voice lowering as he stepped just a little closer, his presence filling the space between you. "You look good in anything. But this… this is something else."

Your breath caught for a split second, the heat between you rising as his gaze lingered on your face, your lips, and then back to your eyes. “Well, if I’m being honest, I prefer you shirtless,” you teased, your voice low but dripping with playful intent. You didn’t break eye contact, letting the words hang in the air between you both.

Logan raised an eyebrow, that cocky smirk of his creeping back onto his face. “Is that so?” he murmured, leaning in slightly, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. "Can't say I'm surprised. Most people do, sweetheart."

You snorted softly, rolling your eyes as you turned away from him to glance around the room, trying to refocus on the mission. But you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. This was just Logan. Always pushing boundaries, always teasing. And you weren’t exactly innocent in it either.

But still, there was something… different about tonight. The way his eyes lingered on you, the way his voice dropped a little lower than usual, the way your heart raced just a little faster. You wondered if he could sense it too—the tension between you both that had always been there but never quite acknowledged.

Logan’s hand found its way to the small of your back again, his touch light but steady as he subtly guided you toward a quieter corner of the ballroom. The warmth of his hand sent a jolt through you, but you tried to ignore it, focusing instead on scanning the crowd for your targets.

“You see anything?” he murmured, leaning close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath against your ear.

“Not yet,” you replied, eyes darting from face to face. “But that uneasy feeling is still there. Just need to figure out where it’s coming from.”

“Hmm,” Logan hummed in acknowledgment, his gaze still roaming over the room. “Stay sharp, doll.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “Like I need you to tell me that.”

He smirked, a hint of a challenge in his eyes. “Just making sure you remember the plan.”

“Oh, I remember,” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Play nice, look pretty, and no ass-kicking unless absolutely necessary.”

Logan chuckled, his eyes flicking over your form again. “Well, you’ve got two out of three down pat.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Which two?”

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “Looking pretty and causing trouble.”

Your breath hitched slightly, the intensity in his gaze sending a ripple of heat through you. “Pretty sure ‘trouble’ is your middle name, not mine,” you said, trying to sound casual.

Logan’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Guess that makes us a good team, then.”

You wanted to scoff, to brush off the implication, but the way he was looking at you made it hard to think straight. For a second, you almost forgot why you were there, the mission blurring at the edges as you got lost in those damn eyes of his.

“Psionix,” he said, bringing you back to reality with just your code name. His tone was more serious now, a subtle reminder of where you were and what you were supposed to be doing.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, tearing your gaze away from him and focusing on the task at hand. “Just keep your eyes peeled.”

He nodded, his expression unreadable. But as you turned to face the room again, you couldn’t help but feel his eyes on you, a weighty gaze that made your skin tingle.

You refocused, honing in on the emotions swirling in the crowd. There was excitement, greed—nothing unexpected for a gala full of rich people. But that dark thread of unease lingered, slipping just beneath the surface. It was faint, but unmistakable. Whoever it was, they were here.

You closed your eyes for just a second, concentrating. Your power flared slightly as you extended your senses further into the crowd, gently weaving through the emotions until you found it—a cluster of fear and malice. Bingo.

"There," you whispered, nudging Logan subtly. "Near the back, close to the big windows. Two men, maybe three. They’re nervous, hiding something."

Logan gave a small nod, his gaze shifting casually toward the area you’d mentioned. "I see 'em," he murmured. "Can’t hear much from here, though. We’re gonna have to get closer."

You both started moving, weaving through the crowd, trying to appear casual. You made your way to the bar again, standing just a few feet away from the group of men. Logan's superhuman hearing kicked in as he subtly leaned in, pretending to survey the liquor bottles behind the bar.

"They’re talkin’ about somethin’ shady, but it’s quiet," Logan muttered, low enough for only you to hear. "Mutants, shipments, some kinda deal goin’ down soon."

You kept your eyes forward, but your heart quickened. "Trafficking?"

"Sounds like it," Logan replied, his jaw tightening. "We need more details. But if we hang around here too long, they’re gonna get suspicious."

"Maybe we should split up. We’d blend in easier with the crowd," you suggested, trying to stay casual as you glanced around the room.

Logan tilted his head slightly, his eyes scanning the crowd before settling back on you. "Not a bad idea, doll. But if things go sideways, you better stay close. Don’t need you gettin' yourself into trouble without me."

You rolled your eyes. "I think I can handle myself, Logan."

He smirked. "Oh, I know you can. Just sayin', I like bein' there to watch."

You ignored the way his words made your pulse quicken and nodded. "We’ll stay in each other’s sight. I’ll keep an eye on the emotions from this side. You listen in, and if anything happens, we meet at the far end of the bar."

"Got it." Logan took another sip of his whiskey before turning to saunter off toward the side of the room where the group of men stood. You watched as he moved, trying to blend in with the crowd as you stayed where you were, your senses focused on tracking the emotions of your targets.

The nervous energy around the men was still there, tense and uneasy. It was like they were waiting for something—or someone. You shifted your stance, leaning casually against the bar as you closed your eyes briefly, letting your psionics stretch out just a bit more, trying to pull at the threads of fear in the room.

Logan, now closer to the group, kept his back to them but you could tell from his posture that he was listening in. His superhuman hearing had always been a huge advantage in these situations, and with your psionics guiding him, you made a pretty solid team—when you weren’t teasing each other, that is.

Just as you started to focus, one of the men in the group glanced over, his gaze lingering a little too long on Logan. Shit. He must've noticed something.

You felt the wave of suspicion hit you before Logan even turned slightly to meet your eyes across the room. You knew you had to do something before the men caught on to what you were both up to.

Without thinking, you pushed yourself off the bar and sauntered over to Logan, pretending like you’d been on your way to him the whole time. When you reached him, you leaned in close, brushing your fingers against his arm as if you were just here to flirt.

"Play along," you whispered into his ear.

Logan, ever the pro, didn’t even flinch. Instead, he turned his head slightly toward you, a smirk playing on his lips. "Thought you couldn’t stay away from me, doll."

You narrowed your eyes at him but kept the playful banter going. "Yeah, well, someone has to keep an eye on you. Besides, you’re the one who told me to stay close."

His smirk widened as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you in closer so you were pressed up against him. It was all for show, of course, but the feel of his hand on your hip sent a jolt through you that had nothing to do with the mission. "That’s right. Guess I did."

You could feel the eyes of the men across the room on you both, their suspicion easing slightly as they bought into the act. You had to keep them distracted, keep their attention off what you and Logan were really doing.

"Don’t get too comfortable," you muttered, trying to stay focused. "They’re still watching."

Logan’s grip tightened on your waist for just a second, his eyes flicking toward the group before settling back on you. "Don’t worry, doll. I got this." Before you could respond, Logan leaned in even closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, "You’re really sellin’ it, Y/N. Almost too well."

You swallowed, trying to ignore the way his breath on your skin made you feel. "Just doin’ my part."

His hand on your waist slid a little lower, dangerously close to your hip bone. "Sure you are. You’re enjoyin' this a little too much."

You shot him a glare, but before you could retort, one of the men from the group stepped forward, moving toward the bar. He was heading in your direction.

"Incoming," you muttered to Logan, your voice barely audible. “He’s confident. Think he knows who we are?”

Logan didn’t look phased, but you saw the subtle shift in his posture—his muscles tensing under the fabric of his suit. He kept his gaze focused ahead, though you knew his senses were already tracking the man moving toward you.

“Don’t think so,” Logan murmured, his lips barely moving.

The closer the man got to you, the more arrogance you felt. Whoever this guy was clearly thought he had you both right where he wanted you.

You turned slightly in Logan’s hold, his hand moving with your body to finally rest on your hip. “Quick, pretend like you're about to kiss me.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Pretend, huh? Doll, you should know I go all in or nothin’- ”

You cut Logan off by putting your hands on his jaw and pulling him down, pressing your lips against his. It was supposed to be just for show, just a distraction to keep the guy from getting suspicious. But the second your lips met his, the whole plan went out the window.

Logan didn’t hesitate. He kissed you back, hard and fast, his hand tightening around your waist as he pulled you even closer. The heat between you two had been simmering for a while now, and suddenly it felt like a dam had broken. You felt the tension that had been building for so long snap into something real, something you couldn’t ignore.

Your heart was racing, and you knew you should stop—this wasn’t the time or place, and you had a job to do—but his lips were on yours, and it felt way too good to stop. You could feel his rough beard brush against your skin as he deepened the kiss, his other hand sliding up to the back of your neck, holding you close like he didn’t want to let go.

For a brief moment, the mission faded into the background. The gala, the crowd, even the man approaching—all of it disappeared as you lost yourself in Logan. The heat between you two was undeniable, every teasing remark, every playful touch over the years suddenly making sense. It had always been there, simmering just beneath the surface.

But then reality crashed back down, hard.

You heard the footsteps stop a few feet away, the arrogant man watching you both with thinly veiled disgust. He cleared his throat, his presence a stark reminder of where you were and what you were supposed to be doing.

You pulled back from the kiss, breathless, eyes wide as you met Logan’s gaze. For a second, neither of you moved, the intensity of the moment hanging thick in the air. His hand was still on your waist, the other resting gently at the nape of your neck, fingers brushing your skin. You could see it in his eyes—he didn’t want to let go, and truth be told, neither did you.

But the mission.

Clearing your throat, you took a step back, putting some distance between you and Logan while keeping your posture relaxed, like you hadn’t just been completely swept away. You smoothed your gown, trying to regain some composure.

The man standing before you smirked, his eyes flicking between you and Logan with an air of superiority. “Enjoying yourselves?” he sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Logan was the first to recover, his rough exterior snapping back into place like a shield. He gave the man a once-over, his gaze hard and unyielding. “What’s it to you?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, as if daring the guy to say something more.

The man’s smirk widened, clearly not intimidated. He tilted his head, studying you both for a moment before speaking again. “You two don’t look like the usual gala attendees.” He raised an eyebrow, his suspicion obvious now. “Mind telling me what brings you here?”

You could feel the tension crackling between Logan and the man, both of them sizing each other up. Logan’s body was coiled, ready to strike if needed, and you knew he was already itching to shut this guy up the old-fashioned way. But you couldn’t let this turn into a fight. Not yet.

You forced a smile, stepping slightly in front of Logan to diffuse the situation. “It’s a gala,” you said, keeping your tone light and playful. “We’re here for the same reason everyone else is—to enjoy ourselves.” You ran your hand down Logan’s chest as if to sell the act, even though your heart was still pounding from the kiss.

The man’s eyes narrowed, clearly not buying it, but he didn’t push the issue further. Instead, he gave a condescending shrug. “Well, enjoy the party,” he said, his voice laced with disdain before he turned and sauntered off toward the bar.

The second he was out of earshot, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, glancing up at Logan. “That was close.”

Logan’s eyes were still on the man, watching him like a predator watches prey. “Too close,” he muttered, his voice gruff. Then his gaze shifted to you, softer now, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “You okay?”

You nodded, though your mind was still spinning from the kiss, from the intensity of it, from what it might mean. “Yeah, I’m fine. You?”

Logan didn’t answer right away, his eyes lingering on you a moment longer before he finally tore his gaze away. “We need to figure out what those guys are up to. You still got a read on them?”

You blinked, shaking off the lingering effects of the kiss as you focused on the mission again. Closing your eyes briefly, you stretched out your psionic senses, feeling for that dark thread of unease that had been following the group. It was still there, pulsing just beneath the surface of the room’s general excitement. “Yeah,” you said, opening your eyes. “They’re tense. Something’s about to happen.”

Logan’s jaw tightened. “Then we better be ready for it.” He gave you a long look, as if trying to figure something out, but then his expression hardened into his usual no-nonsense demeanor. “Stay close, doll.”

You nodded, pushing aside the butterflies still fluttering in your chest as you focused on the task ahead. There’d be time to unpack what just happened between you and Logan later—right now, you had a mission to complete.

But as you and Logan moved back into position, ready for whatever came next, you couldn’t help but steal one more glance at him. The tension between you wasn’t going anywhere. And something told you that after tonight, it was going to be a lot harder to keep ignoring it.

tags: @freythecrazyfae, @its-in-the-woods

[sativariddle]

DEAD GIRL WALKING₊˚⊹ ᰔ

♡ ⋮ wc: 9k+

♡ ⋮ content: mentions of guns and getting shot. if you don’t enjoy my content, there’s no need for you to stick around, i’m not responsible for what you choose to engage with.

♡ ⋮ summary: you’re shot during a supply run and wake up in a stranger’s safehouse, stitched up by the same man who pulled the trigger. anger erupts as you learn you’re too injured to leave. jenny, who tagged along, leaves to find your group while you’re forced to recover under the watchful (and annoyingly attractive) eye of your would’ve been killer.

╰› m.list.⌇walking dead au.⌇my au’s.

“THERE’S A WALKER!” theodore burst into the safety house, breathless and shouting, his hands tight around his rifle. the group of five froze. lorenzo glanced at the weapon, raising a brow as if to ask, why aren’t you doing something about it? without a word, theo held up the rifle and tilted it, revealing an empty chamber: completely out of ammo.

it was breakfast, or at least, what passed for breakfast these days. the metallic smell of old canned food, and the soft clatter of spoons scraping against tin filled the quiet. pansy sat cross legged near the stove, her thin brows furrowed in thought as she rationed out what little was left.

for the past couple of months, she’d managed to stretch their food supply using the cans she scavenged on the way to what they now called the safety house. it wasn’t much, but it had kept them fed.

but now, the stash was thinning out. too fast. the pantry shelves had become bony. the days of handing each person their own can of beans or soup ended. now, a single can was pried open, its scopes divided as evenly as possible among the group. just enough to keep the hunger at bay, not enough to satisfy.

there was silence, before mattheo reached for his own gun and slid a fresh round into the chamber. he locked eyes with theo, giving him a silent look that clearly meant, where is it? theodore didn’t speak. he just turned and jogged out the door, rifle still clutched in his hands.

that was all it took. the rest of the group followed without hesitation. mattheo sighed under his breath: he knew damn well they wouldn’t stay put even if he shouted at them to get the fuck back inside. they were too bored. however, theo had said it was just one walker.

one. with any luck, it’d be quick, and not as big of a mess it could’ve been.

"are you... are you sure?" pansy's voice came tense as she hurried after mattheo and theodore. her boots crunched over the gravel strewn path just behind them. pansy had every right to ask: this place, this safety house, had been their shelter. a rundown two story cabin tucked into the tree line, high up on a hill that most walkers never managed to climb. the landscape grew too jagged, too unstable near the top, and more often than not, the dead lost their footing and tumbled back down before getting anywhere close. no walkers had breached it: ever.

that was the point. that was the hope.

theodore didn’t slow his stride. “are you questioning my vision?” he snapped, glancing over his shoulder with irritation sharpening his words. mattheo reached out and smacked the back of theodore’s head with an open palm. not hard, but firm enough to make a point. “watch your fuckin’ tone,” he muttered.

theodore scowled but didn’t respond. pansy blinked, but didn’t shrink away. she’d been through too much with them to be discouraged by a bad attitude.

mattheo shot her an apologetic glance. she wasn’t just some tag along. pansy had stitched their wounds with shivering hands. she’d turned dented cans and half rotted root vegetables into meals that kept them alive. she was the closest thing they had to a medic, a cook, and on some days, a voice of reason. mattheo understood the mood. the wear and tear of running for months had started to show on all of them. everyone was thinner now, shadows hollowing beneath their eyes. the house had been tense lately, snapping tempers, silence stretched for far too long. hunger didn't just eat at your stomach; it ate at your mind.

and still, the idea that a walker had made it all the way up here? it didn't sit right. not with anyone. but if theodore had seen something, they had to check. doubt could get them killed.

“let’s just keep moving,” mattheo said, more to calm the rising disagreement than anything else. “we’ll check it out. if it’s nothing, it’s nothing. if it’s not... we’ll handle it.”

pansy didn’t say a word.

she just stood there for a moment, shoulders drawn slightly inward, lips pressed into a thin line. her silence was louder than any argument, and it caught mattheo off guard. she didn’t glare, didn’t curse, didn’t remind theodore of everything she’d done for them: patching up wounds, cooking with almost nothing, keeping them sane in a world that had gone to hell. no fire in her voice. no bite in her response. she gave the smallest shake of her head, barely more than a breath, and turned around, walking back toward the safety house without another glance.

mattheo watched her go, something tightening in his chest. she used to be the first to snap back, especially when someone talked to her like that. she never took shit, not even from him. there were nights she’d argue with her whole chest, fists on her hips and eyes blazing because someone had forgotten to fix the bandages or wasted water on washing a shirt instead of drinking.

that fire had helped keep them going. it meant she still cared. but this time, there was nothing. just a tired shake of her head. mattheo turned back toward the treeline, jaw clenched. things had changed. too many near deaths, too many cold nights, too little food.

theo sighed, “now i’m the asshole.” mattheo didn’t even look at him, he just gave a small nod. “yeah,” he said quietly. “you are.” the wind rustled through the trees. behind them, the screen door creaked shut as pansy disappeared inside.

normally, theodore would've had something to say. whether it’d be sarcastic, defensive or a muttered insult, but this time, he stayed quiet. he just jerked his chin toward the edge of the woods behind the barn, brows furrowed in that focused way he got when things felt real. “walker was coming from over there,” he said. “must’ve cut behind the barn.”

mattheo followed his line of sight. the barn sat at the back of the property forgotten: its wood warped and splintered from rain, the red paint now faded. they’d cleared it out weeks ago. no supplies. no place for anything to hide. if the walker had ducked behind it, they’d have a clear view. no excuses.

“right,” mattheo said, popping open the rifle chamber and sliding a round into place with a click. he moved to follow, boots crunching softly over the dry grass. “you’ve got incredible luck, huh? ammo runs dry the exact second a real threat shows up.”

theo let out a humorless scoff and lifted his empty rifle, tapping it lightly against his shoulder. “you’re tellin’ me,” he muttered.

riddle made a soft noise in response, a kind of laugh and sigh: but then he froze. movement. so quick he could’ve missed it. it wasn’t the wind, and it sure as hell wasn’t a bird. his instincts kicked in before thought did. he spun toward the motion with a snap of his body, raising his rifle in one swift motion. the barrel leveled in the direction of the barn’s edge, and with a flick of his wrist, he chambered a round, the click-clack sound echoing slightly.

right eye closed. left eye peering through the scope: the forest and barn blurred around the circular view through the lens. dust motes floated in the sunlight, snipping through the trees like golden blades.

a shadow shifted, barely visible, but it was there. something hunched. waiting. mattheo adjusted the angle, finger hovering just over the trigger. but what made mattheo’s breath hitch, what really made his stomach twist with confusion, was the sight that came into focus through the scope.

not one walker. two. they stood just at the far edge of the barn, partly hidden by its shadow, their forms jerky and uneven. at first glance, they looked like the infected: slumped posture, slow steps, heads low. classic walkers.

mattheo’s instincts didn’t hesitate. “wait…” theodore’s voice was a small whisper beside him. but mattheo’s focus stayed locked, jaw set. there wasn’t time for second guessing. he clicked off the safety and squeezed the trigger.

the rifle cracked through the silence like a whip, a deafening shot that echoed down the hillside.

one of the figures dropped instantly, collapsing to their knees with a strangled cry. not the usual guttural growl. not the mindless noise of the undead. no, this was pain. real pain. they clutched their arm, blood soaking through their sleeve, fingers curling tightly around the wound. the cry that followed wasn’t inhuman. it was unmistakably human. mattheo froze.

the second figure, also not moving like a walker at all, lunged toward the injured one and screamed, “NO!” a voice. not a moan. not the rasp of the dead.

a fuckin’ voice. mattheo’s arms lowered automatically, rifle still warm in his hands. his mouth went dry: these weren’t walkers. not even close. he stepped back, stunned to his core. theodore stood beside him, equally still, eyes wide. “that… that wasn’t a walker,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.

⌗ ( a few moments before. )

“what did i say about eating the food before the twins?” daisy’s voice snapped through your eardrums. before you could react, she snatched the protein bar straight out of your hands. your fingers instinctively clenched around the empty space where it had just been, stomach clenching tighter than before. you’d barely peeled back the wrapper, just enough to catch the scent of chocolate and oats.

it had been days since anything tasted remotely real, and now, not even that small bite would be yours. you stared at the ground, heat rising behind your eyes. not from embarrassment, but from hunger and frustration. so hungry. it had been chomping at you all morning, a grumble from your stomach loud enough to make your thoughts scatter.

it chewed at your focus, made your limbs feel heavier, your temper shorter. patience was already hanging by a thread, and even that, it seemed, was something you weren’t allowed to have.

“they’re taking too long,” you muttered, pushing yourself up from the log you’d been sitting on. the wood creaked beneath your weight, and your legs felt heavier than they should have. dust clung to your pants, your fingers dirty and sore from the last supply run. you didn’t look at daisy when you spoke. you didn’t need to. she had that tone again: the one she always used when she was playing leader. as if she’d been appointed.

“i said,” she replied, louder this time, “they’re going to eat after. you know, when they’re done playing.” she bent down, sealing the food containers like they were treasures. you watched her, jaw set like she was the only one keeping the group from spiraling into chaos.

the sound of laughter from the twins somewhere beyond the tree line made you roll your eyes, their games echoing faintly like spirits of a world that no longer existed. you resented them a little, not because they were playing, but because they could. because no one was snatching bars out of their hands.

you clenched your fists and looked away, not saying another word. you knew better than to argue with daisy, at least, not today. not when hunger was making everyone more brittle than usual. and especially not when she was convinced her word meant order in a world where almost nothing made sense anymore.

“that’s dangerous,” you say, voice pointed as you dug into the side pocket of your shorts. fingers curling around the crinkled wrapper of a protein bar, warm from your body heat. you didn’t look up, but you could already feel it: the moment the protein wrapper gave the slightest rustle, daisy would hear it, and she’d be on you like clockwork, marching over with that usual tight lipped expression.

sure enough, you barely got the wrapper open before you heard her footsteps crunching over the gravel.

“a walker could easily sneak up on them,” you continued, peeling the wrapper back slowly. “especially if you’re here criticizing me for not waiting to eat, instead of being over there, you know, actually keeping an eye on them.” you motioned toward the woods, where the kids’ laughter screened faintly through the trees.

daisy’s sigh was loud the moment she saw the bar in your hand, her shoulders tensing like she was preparing to dive into a speech. “yeah, well… aiden is with them,” she said quickly, just before reaching out and snatching the protein bar straight from your grip.

you froze. not because of the bar, your stomach had already given up the idea of food hours ago: but because of the mention of aiden. you didn’t say anything, but she saw the way your posture shifted, how your hand twitched slightly in response. it was small, nearly invisible, but daisy had always been the type to pounce on the smallest crack.

“he’s been helping around a lot more lately,” she added casually, already pulling out a ziplock bag from her pack like this was all part of some routine. she wasn’t done. “seems like he’s trying to get stuff off his mind,” her tone slid into that overly sweet, singsong she used whenever she was about to stir the pot. “or someone.”

you blinked once, then again, eyes shifting away before you could stop the reaction.

that was all she needed. her lips curved ever so slightly into a victorious smile. that was what daisy did: she didn’t argue, she played games. poked, prodded, needled her way under your skin just to prove she could. her real satisfaction came not from winning, but from making you flinch. you looked down at your empty hand, where the protein bar had been. hunger was one thing, but this was the kind of hunger daisy fed on.

“have your fucking protein bars,” you muttered under your breath. words meant more for yourself than anyone else. you turned away from daisy and stalked toward the white plastic table where the group usually laid out the food supplies. the table was already stained from weeks of use: faded marks from cans, crumbs scattered from meals, fingerprints smudged across the surface from the twins.

you grabbed your rifle from where it leaned against the side, slinging it over your shoulder with ease. your fingers moved quickly, snatching up a few rounds of ammo, sliding them into your pocket. the motions were automatic now.

as you adjusted the strap and checked the weight, you muttered just loud enough for daisy to hear: “tell aiden to stop sharing other people’s business.” you spun on your heel and started walking, each step grinding down onto the dry forest floor. leaves and twigs cracked under your boots, the sun baking the dirt until it was more dust than soil. the rifle bounced lightly against your back with each step. sweat clung to the back of your neck, sticky beneath the collar of your shirt, and the heat of the summer sun felt like it was trying to cook you from the outside in. not that it compared to the heat you were already carrying inside, burning frustration, hunger, and daisy’s ability to push every single one of your buttons.

“can i come?”

you glanced over your shoulder. “you talk?” you said dryly, catching sight of jenny hovering a few paces back. she was always quiet, always watching.

before she could open her mouth again, you added firmly, “and no.” jenny let out a soft grunt: more annoyance than surprise. you didn’t blame her for asking. shit, you almost admired her for trying, especially with how things were. but this wasn’t the time. not with daisy breathing down everyone’s neck like she was the second coming of leader and stomachs growling. especially not when any wrong move would get pinned on you, as always.

daisy had a gift for that. twisting the narrative, turning glances into guilt. she walked like she was born to lead, as if her voice mattered more. aiden, her older brother, was more reserved. but even he seemed to encircle her. and then there were the twins, barely seven years old, all jumpy, picked up along the way. just like you. just like jenny.

a group stitched together by circumstance, not choice. people who had nothing in common except that they were still breathing. and somehow, you were always the problem in daisy’s eyes.

you adjusted the rifle, wiping the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand as you pushed deeper into the woods. you didn’t know where you were going yet, just away. away from the arguing, the power games, the constant ache in your gut. you just needed space. and maybe, if you were lucky, something that involves shooting.

you never stayed in one place for long. none of you did. there wasn’t anywhere safe enough to settle, not really. even when it felt safe, it was only a matter of time before something pushed you back on the road: a noise in the distance. tracks that weren’t yours.

so you moved. always moving.

jenny walked a few paces behind you as you made your way toward the woods. you and her didn’t talk much. actually, talking was a stretch. most of the time, she’d ask something, and you’d reply with a grunt or a single word before wandering off to check in with aiden or head out on your own.

that was the rhythm. she never seemed to take it personally. but today, she wasn’t giving up so easily. “please, please, please,” jenny begged, jogging a little to catch up. her ginger hair was pulled into a high ponytail that bounced with every step, and her cheeks were already flushed from the heat. “i’ll stay quiet the whole time i promise! or—or i could be your armor holder. like, when you ask for ammo, i’ll hand it over lightning fast! i’ll even save you a protein bar later!”

you didn’t answer right away. you just kept walking, your boots crunching over sun baked leaves and dry twigs. the path ahead curved toward a familiar spot, a place you’d checked before. it wasn’t much, but these days, even a squirrel felt like a luxury.

daisy never let anyone else leave with you, claiming it was “too dangerous” or that “splitting up is stupid.” which meant you always hunted alone. no one to talk to. no one to watch your back. it wasn’t that you didn’t want the company. truth be fuckin’ told, anything was better than the silence that trailed after you. but having jenny with you meant one thing: if daisy found out, you’d never hear the end of it. she’d start with the lectures, then the glares, and finally that performative disappointment she put out: you didn’t have the energy for that today.

“and get yelled at by the big bad boss?” you muttered, finally glancing at jenny over your shoulder. “no thanks.”

jenny grinned a little, despite your answer. she’d heard you call daisy the big bad boss before: always with that mocking twist in your voice. it had become an inside joke, even if neither of you ever said it out loud.

jenny fell into step beside you anyway, hands shoved into the pockets of her big cargo pants, walking like maybe if she didn’t say anything else, you’d just let her stay. you didn’t tell her to go back. not yet. and she seemed to understand that the silence between you wasn’t a rejection, it was just how you were.

“i’ll just tell her i wanted to come,” jenny said flatly, her converse crunching over dry leaves as she kept pace behind you. even if you’d wanted to send her back, it was already too late. you both knew it. you’d started walking, and the forest had swallowed the trail behind you like it never existed.

“and anyway,” she added, gesturing behind her with a swing of her arm, “i don’t remember which way we came from. so if you want me to get bit and die out here, then fine. totally your call.”

the trees were dense here, their trunks tall and thin, releasing long streaks of shadow across the path of leaves. a breeze rustled above, stirring branches across your skin. you kept your eyes ahead, one hand steady on the strap of your rifle, the other brushing aside a low hanging branch.

“whatever,” you muttered. “if you die, i’m killing you.”

“that doesn’t even make sense,” jenny replied. you could tell by the way she started to walk a little faster, by the way her shoulders eased just slightly, that she was glad to be there. glad you hadn’t told her to turn back.

you smirked, finally glancing over your shoulder. “actually it does. you die, you turn into a walker. then i kill you again. basic logic.”

she rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. rather, she narrowed them in that signature jenny way. her gaze snapped forward, locking onto something ahead. “last one to that tree is a rotten egg,” she called, already swerving off the trail. she pointed to a tree standing alone at the top of a grassy slope, a massive oak, wider than the others, its roots exposed and curling out like knotted fingers gripping the earth: sunlight over its branches, causing a shine on the hill as though the world wasn’t falling apart all around you.

you sighed, not bothering to hide your annoyance. “m’not really in the mood…” you started, trailing off as you slowed just a bit. jenny had stopped just long enough to look back at you, her expression faltering.

normally, that wouldn’t mean much. you were used to brushing people off. used to moving on. but something about the way she looked right then: disappointed, stuck with you. maybe it was because daisy always shut her down, always played the responsible one and rarely let jenny breathe, let alone have fun. or maybe, in a world where everything felt like it was falling apart, she just wanted to feel normal again for five goddamn seconds.

jenny’s shoulders dropped, and she stared at the ground, kicking a rock with the toe of her boot.

you let out a breath and shifted your grip on your rifle strap. with a push of your legs, you took off running. “hey!” jenny shouted, laughing behind you. “cheater!”

you didn’t respond. you just ran.

the wind pushed past your face as you sprinted, dirt and leaves kicking up beneath your boots. the hill was steeper than it looked, and the burn in your legs was immediate: but it felt good. real. the oak loomed closer, its shadow stretching toward you like a giant hand. jenny’s laughter echoed behind you, full of breath and joy.

there were no walkers. no worry. just footsteps. just air in your lungs and sunlight on your face. just the sound of two people trying to outrun the darkness by racing toward a tree.

“that’s not fair!” jenny took off after you. you could hear the beat of her sneakers hitting the earth, closing the distance between you. she was catching up fast. “should’ve at least said ready, set—mmph!” her sentence was cut short by the sound of impact: a thud followed by the rustle of leaves and a short, pained grunt. you stopped dead in your tracks. instinct overrode everything else. without hesitation, you spun around, your hand whipping to the grip of your gun and drawing it up, the barrel sweeping until it landed on the source of the noise.

but there was nothing. no walkers. only jenny, awkwardly in the dirt, her palms pressed into the mud and her breath shallow with the wind knocked out of her. you lowered your weapon, your grip still tight as adrenaline pulsed through your veins. your eyes widened slightly, every muscle still locked in that second of panic, the type that never fades when survival is your every day.

“you fuckin’ scared me,” you muttered, forcing out a breath through your nose as your gaze flicked to the treeline. nothing moved.

you walked toward her in quick strides, boots sinking slightly in the ground with each step. jenny was already pushing herself up, her face pinched in embarrassment and annoyance as she wiped her hands on her jacket. mud clung to her knees and the side of her leg where she’d hit the ground, soil and leaf sticking to her clothing.

even with careful footing, one wrong step was all it took: jenny had been running, her converse slipping against rocks and wet leaves. here, even the ground itself could hurt you. the rocks were sharp enough to slice open skin through thin material.

your eyes darted around once more. the trees loomed close together, their branches clicking in the wind. it wasn’t just the physical danger that made your skin crawl. it was the silence. the waiting. the paranoia that slithered beneath your thoughts. out here, every sound mattered. every leaf crunch could mean something more.

you reached jenny, and she looked up at you with a faint wince, brushing more dirt from her arms. “i’m fine,” she muttered, though her pride was clearly more bruised than her body.

you reached down to help jenny up. and by ‘help,’ it really just meant hooking two fingers into the back of her shirt, lifting with just enough force to get her moving while very purposefully keeping your palms away from the mud smeared across her arms and torso. the last thing you needed was to be dragging half the forest with you.

jenny immediately caught on, a sly smirk curled across her lips as she stood, brushing herself off with slowness. “thank you,” she said sweetly. and then, before you could step back or react, she lunged forward and hugged you.

not just a polite hug, either. she wrapped her arms around you like you were her long lost sibling, pressing herself against you with the full weight of her muddy clothes. the mud that had soaked into her jacket, smeared across her knees, and ground into her sleeves now bled into your own clothes.

“stop!” you recoiled as you pushed her back with both hands. it was too late. mud had already transferred in wet patches onto your chest and arms. you looked down in disgust, exhaling sharply through your nose.

jenny was already laughing, wild laughter like a kid who knew exactly how far she could push before getting tackled. without a word, you crouched, scooping up a handful of mud from the ground.

it was cold and chunky, squishing between your fingers as you packed it just enough to give it weight. then you stood, took a short step forward, and launched it. the muddy ball hit her dead center in the chest with a splat, flecks of it bursting across her jacket, neck, and unfortunately: her face. she tilted back with a sharp gasp, one hand immediately swiping at her cheek while the other instinctively moved to her hair. but it was no use. “ew!” she coughed, her lips puckering in disgust as she started spitting. “pt—ptt! gross! it got in my mouth!”

you couldn’t help but laugh this time, the sound bursting from your chest before you tried to stifle it. jenny wiped at her lips with the back of her sleeve, her other hand already reaching for the nearest pile of mud.

“okay,” she huffed. “you asked for it.”

you didn’t wait to see what kind of revenge she had planned. you sprinted up the hill, boots slipping slightly against the surface of the muddy path. rocks scraped beneath your shoes, and stray branches clawed at your legs as you surged forward. you clutched the rifle strap tight against your chest to keep it from swinging wildly, the familiar pull against your shoulder.

every exhale forced through your mouth as your legs pumped, one foot in front of the other, faster, always faster.

behind you, you could hear the chaos of jenny’s laughter, you didn’t dare look back. the only rule of a mud war: never give your opponent a clear shot.

the wind tugged at your hair, strands whipping gently around your face as you ran up the hill, boots crunching against the patchy, overgrown trail. as you reached the top, your eyes landed on something nestled halfway down the other side: an old barn, sun bleached, sitting crooked in the tall grass like it had been forgotten.

your pace slowed. usually, you only came across places like this when you were with the full group: daisy always a few steps ahead, keeping an eye on the twins who never seemed to stay in one spot for more than a minute, and aiden trailing at the back, always watching for trouble. jenny never wanted much to do with the searching or the waiting; she’d usually peel off without a word, pretending to be interested in the rocks under her converse or the trees lining the path.

even if the group never expected much from these barns, they always seemed to hold something: a few cans of food just past expiration but still edible, tools rusted but useable, things that meant survival could extend a little longer.

with that in mind, you turned your head just enough to glance over your shoulder. jenny was moving slowly, just a small figure now against the wide field, but still close enough to see where you were headed. you let yourself slow down more, your chest rising and falling as you tried to even your breathing. your shoulders sagged slightly, the adrenaline of the hill fading as curiosity started to pull you toward the barn.

there was something about it, maybe the way the light caught the edges of the broken roof, or how the door hung slightly ajar.

something flickered in your peripheral vision. a sudden movement: too quick to register properly. your body reacted before your mind caught up, head snapping to the side, eyes scanning the shadows just beyond the barn. but there was nothing. no one. just the empty space and your own breath echoing louder in your ears.

you exhaled hard through your nose, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. it was happening more often now, these little moments where it felt like someone was watching, like a presence was just out there. but there hadn’t been anyone. not in months. not beyond your group.

you kept moving forward: barns always had something inside. and something was always better than nothing.

the barn was exactly as filthy as you expected, maybe worse. it’s wooden cover, grayed with age, creaked slightly as the wind blew past. you hadn’t really anticipated finding a barn out here, let alone anything useful. inside, however, was mostly empty. no tools, no crates. just old flattened hay scattered across the dirt floor and the stench of animal waste: you stepped through the entry.

the only light coming in is through the uneven cracks in the barn's siding. it made strange patterns on the floor, strips of sunlight that looked almost like bars.

then came the sound of footsteps behind you. you turned fast, gun already raised, finger ghosting over the trigger. but then the figure stepped into one of those thin stakes of light, and you saw jenny, hands raised in surrender. her eyes wide, face pale with fear. she stared at the barrel of your gun like it had grown teeth.

“that’s the second time you’ve pointed that thing at me,” she said.

you lowered the weapon instantly. “instinct,” you said, turning away before you could see more of her expression. guilt was a luxury you couldn’t afford right now. jenny let out a shaky breath and followed a few steps behind, muttering under it. “yeah, well, your instinct is giving me heart pulsations.” she brought two fingers to her neck, checking her pulse. “yup. beating like a damn drum. thanks for that.”

“welcome,” you muttered back, adding a flicker of cheer to your tone as you crouched near a pile of hay. you reached out, letting the dry strands slide through your fingers. it felt crude: off. like it had been untouched for years. the barn hadn’t seen life in a long time. no animals. no people.

jenny watched from a distance, nose scrunched in disgust. “what are you even doing?” she asked finally, clearly impatient. you resisted the first response that bubbled up: shut up and let me work, because that sounded too much like something daisy would say. “trying to find clues,” you said instead, standing and brushing your hands off on your shorts. “maybe a sign that someone’s been here recently. something. anything.” you didn’t say the rest. you didn’t say maybe we’re not alone out here. you didn’t say maybe we’re not the last ones still breathing.

hope was fragile. saying it out loud always made it feel more breakable. jenny rolled her eyes, already turning to leave. “well, good luck with that,” she said, waving a hand as she backed out toward the barn doors. “i’ll be outside. smells like shit in here.”

you glanced down, then pointed toward the far end of the barn where the floor was caked with something dark. “there is shit, jenny. that’s probably why.”

she looked, and the second her eyes landed on the pile of dried poop, her face twisted and she doubled over slightly, gagging. one hand clutched her stomach like the sight alone had caused physical pain.

“yeah. i’m out of here,” jenny mumbled as she spun on her heel and stomped toward the barn’s exit, converse crunching through old hay. you stayed behind for a moment longer, eyes sweeping the space one last time, hesitant to leave without being sure. but there was nothing. no sign of recent life, just the reek of rot and shit, the long abandoned smell that clung to barns like this. if anyone had ever passed through, it hadn’t been recently.

with a soft exhale, you followed jenny out, the disappointment settling in your chest.

the moment you stepped past the entry, the difference in air hit you like a wave. it wasn’t exactly fresh, but at least it didn’t feel like you were breathing through filth. beside you, jenny let out a dramatic sigh, like she’d just resurfaced from deep underwater. “god, i swear i was holding my breath the entire time in there.”

you kept walking a few paces ahead, scanning the tree line automatically, the barn already fading from your mind like it had never mattered. “let’s head back,” you said finally. “there’s nothing here.”

“okay, okay,” she replied. “let me at least tie my shoes first.” she dropped to one knee in the tall grass, fumbling at the laces of her converse while you stood there waiting, the wind stirring faintly through the field. you gave her three seconds. that was all the patience you had. then, without a word, you turned and started walking again.

“can’t you just wai—NO!”

people always said that when your ears ring for a long time, it means someone’s talking about you: dragging your name through the mud, behind your back, maybe spitting out words that sound nothing like the person you think you are. but as the high pitched shriek echoed through your skull, you realized how wrong that old saying was. because this ringing wasn’t some petty gossip: this was the sound of getting shot.

it didn’t register right away, not the pain, not the panic. just that noise in your ear like a fire alarm pressed against your brain.

your body caught up. your arm felt wrong: numb and heavy. the pain wasn’t strong at first, but faint. like when your foot falls asleep, except worse. this wasn’t just tingling: it burned. as if thousands of tiny ants chewed just beneath the surface of your flesh, each bite lighting up your nerves in waves. you wanted to move, to breathe, to scream, but every motion set off a new gush of torture.

you stayed still, not out of strategy but because moving felt like it would break you.

your vision began to blur, slipping sideways. everything lost its harshness, like the lens of your life was fogging over. it was like someone handed you a pair of glasses, but not before smearing the lenses with their breath, leaving you to peer through a blur that only made everything harder to see.

you blinked hard, tried to focus, and that’s when you saw jenny. her face hovered above you, twisted with panic, lips moving, but her voice was muffled. it was like she was yelling at you from underwater, as if you were floating somewhere just beneath the surface and she was sinking fast, too far to reach. you tried to ask when did i fall? but the words wouldn’t come. you hadn’t even realized you were on the ground until you saw the dirt against your cheek, the grass pressed under your arm, blood soaking into the soil.

when had that happened? when had jenny knelt beside you? when had two strangers appeared behind her, standing over you both? were they the ones who pulled the trigger? were they the ones who'd been silently watching?

your heart raced, but your limbs stayed heavy, body sluggish and sinking further into the dirt like it was swallowing you whole. consciousness pulled at you, tried to keep you tethered, but it was getting harder to resist the exhaustion creeping into your bones. you wanted to say something, to tell jenny you were okay, or at least that you would be.

that you just needed a second to close your eyes. just a second. but your mouth wouldn’t move. your body was no longer listening. still, as the edges of your vision turned to shadow, you managed to latch onto one thought: maybe this’ll teach her to tie her damn shoes on time.

you could feel the grin trying to form on your lips, the muscles barely twitching. but the darkness came too fast, like a surge crashing over your head. and then your eyes closed. entirely.

“NO! YOU KILLED HER! I SWEAR TO GOD—just wait until aiden hears about this!” the words cracked through the mushiness in your mind like thunder. you were barely conscious, your body heavy and uncooperative, your eyes glued shut as if someone had stitched them closed.

another voice cut in: “awww, you hear that, malfoy? we found you a sister for life in the apocalypse. that’s what it does to us, it brings people together.” there was a collective groan and a smack, the sound of palm on skin. you didn’t have to see it to know someone had slapped him, probably to shut him up.

a new voice speaks, however, more serious: “enzo, take everyone else and let the motherfuckers who actually know what they’re doing handle this. your jokes aren’t needed right now. this is serious.”

you weren’t even fully awake and they were already arguing. you blinked slowly, eyes dragging open. the light stung. everything was washed in a strange way: shapes moved in front of you, doodles you couldn’t quite place yet. one… two… maybe four people passed by and slipped through the doorway. you watched them leave, not entirely sure if you were dreaming.

am i dead?

it seemed like a fair question. for a second, you really believed it, believed maybe you had finally died, and this was the waiting room to something else. maybe god, or whatever version of him still existed, had decided to scoop you up in some moment of mercy. maybe this was what peace looked like. but then your vision cleared just enough, and you saw jenny. she was crouched beside you, hair a mess, face smudged with dirt, but her smile was wide and bright and absolutely real. her eyes welled with tears the second she saw you blinking.

“you’re alive!” she gasped, then launched forward without hesitation, wrapping her arms tightly around you.

yeah. sadly, you were still alive. the aching in your body proved it, especially in your right arm: you turned your head, just barely, and caught sight of the bandages. they’d dug the bullet out. a dark stain had bled through the dressing already, but the wound was wrapped in clean cloth and held in place with medical tape. someone had done their best to patch you up.

“okay, steady on the hug…” you managed to croak, grimacing slightly as jenny squeezed a little too hard around your shoulder. she pulled back, brushing a tear off her cheek and giving you a sheepish smile.

you adjusted your weight slightly on the bed, or what felt like a bed, though it was probably just a mattress on the floor. either way, you finally noticed there was someone else still in the room.

he stood leaning against the far wall, arms crossed. his hair was a mess of dark curls that looked like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times. his skin was tan, jaw shadowed with scruff, and his eyes, all deep and chocolate brown, locked onto yours the second you looked at him.

he had a few scars on his face, one across his cheekbone and another slicing just under his lip. but they didn’t take away from his looks. god no, if anything, they added to them.

your lips parted slightly, without realizing it. it had been months, maybe longer, since you’d seen anyone who looked like that.

fuck, you thought, how is anyone allowed to look like that in the middle of the goddamn apocalypse? beside you, jenny let out a knowing whisper. “oh, please.” you blinked, eyes still locked on him, barely able to look away. she leaned in, her words like ice slicing through your dazed admiration. “he’s the one who shot you, for fuck’s sake.”

your entire body tensed. the softness in your expression vanished. “what?” you hissed, turning to her, your voice suddenly harsh despite the weakness in your limbs. your gaze snapped back to him. the butterflies in your stomach were instantly replaced by confusion. “him?” you whispered, more to yourself than to her, but the poison in your tone was impossible to miss. the stranger didn’t flinch, didn’t move from the wall. he just watched you, like he was expecting a reaction. maybe even welcoming it.

your nose flares slightly as the heat rose to your cheeks had nothing to do with attraction anymore. you hadn’t seen who shot you, everything had gone numb the second the bullet tore into your flesh, but now, with that crashing into you like a second blow, it made sense.

“yes!” jenny hissed, just inches from your ear. “asshole had me thinking you were dead! he told everyone to leave the room while he took the bullet out, like he was the only one qualified or something.”

you blinked at her, trying to process the image of him: the guy leaning against the wall like he didn’t just put a hole through your arm, digging around inside you like some back alley surgeon.

jenny looked flustered, her hands fluttering slightly in her lap like she didn’t know what to do with them. you could just picture the awkwardness of it all too: the silence, her pacing in the hallway outside, trying to peer through cracks in the door without looking like she cared too much. the thought struck you then: even after all this time, after all the fire and blood and chaos, jenny was still jenny.

still shy.

still the girl you and aiden had found trembling in a collapsed drugstore two towns over, clutching a crowbar like it would keep her safe from the world. you’d dragged her out, literally, when she refused to move, and even after saving her life, she’d barely spoken above a whisper for weeks. she was scared back then, like a deer always on the edge of bolting. and while she’d grown tougher since — who hadn’t? that softness never quite left her.

actually, now that you thought about it, this was probably the most she’d ever spoken in one go.

your brow furrowed. “wait, he took out the bullet?” you whispered, eyes flicking back toward the guy. “and you let him? after he shot me?!”

your voice rose just slightly at the end, the outrage slipping through the pain. jenny winced and quickly leaned closer, trying to shush you, though her expression said she wasn’t exactly proud of the decision either. “what was i supposed to do?!” she snapped under her breath. “i panicked! there was blood everywhere, and you were unconscious, they were the only people nearby with supplies and actual hands that weren’t shaking!” she exhaled hard, brushing her bangs out of her face. “sorry for immediately saying yes to the first people who offered help, i didn’thave time to interview anyone!”

you opened your mouth to argue, something about loyalty, about how if the situation were reversed you would’ve found a way to treat her yourself, how you wouldn’t trust the person who pulled the trigger to also be the one digging around inside her. but the words didn’t come.

because truthfully… she wasn’t wrong.

if she hadn’t accepted their help, you’d probably be dead. you could still feel how close it had been, your body limp, heat draining from your skin, the ringing in your ears like someone had flipped the switch on your life and you were slipping away. and someone, apparently him, had brought you back.

you swallowed, shifting your gaze again to the guy in the corner. he hadn’t moved. just stood there, watching the two of you, like he already knew what you were saying and didn’t feel the need to defend himself. you let out a slow breath, your anger simmering into something more conflicted. still frustrated. still sore — literally and figuratively.

but also… aware that you owed your life to the same person who nearly took it.

“i’m still mad,” you muttered to jenny. “yeah,” she said, nodding. “but at least you’re alive to be mad.” touché.

the room calmed into silence. you and jenny both sat there, quiet now, until you remembered one important detail: he was still in the room.“done talking like i’m not standing right here?” the guy asked. of course he had to have a sharp mouth. you resisted the urge to roll your eyes, but barely. “you shot me,” you said flatly, staring him down like that single fact was all the conversation needed.

mattheo exhaled slowly through his nose and gave you a small nod. “yeah. i apologize.”

“it hurts,” you added, as if he somehow hadn’t figured that part out yet. “that tends to happen when you’ve just been shot, yeah.” he replied without missing a beat. the delivery was so quick, that jenny almost let out a tiny puff of air, on the edge of a laugh, but she clamped it down fast when she caught the way your eyes flicked toward her.

you turned your attention back to mattheo, your stare narrowing. “what happens if i were to shoot you back then, hm?” you asked. “i’d ask what we are afterward,” he said casually. you didn’t know what pissed you off more, the fact that he had an answer ready, or the fact that you had no response. your mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out. just silence. first time in a long time that words failed you.

so instead, you said, “where’s my gun?” your eyes swept the room again, still no sign of it. the place was nicer than you expected, all things considered. worn wooden floors, patched up windows, an actual bed beneath you. someone had taken the time to make it feel lived in, not just survived in.

“why?” he asked, a slight curve tugging at the corner of his lips, somewhere between a smirk and a challenge. “gonna shoot me back for payback?” you shook your head slowly. “i’m not you. am i?”

that wiped the smirk off his face. just for a second. his jaw shifted like he was grinding down a reaction, then he huffed and looked away, giving you the smallest of nods.

“my friends are keeping it safe,” he said.

“safe,” you repeated, the word rolling around your mouth with a bitter taste. safe from what? or more like, from who? you didn’t like not having it. you didn’t like the idea of being unarmed when daisy and the rest of the group were likely still tracking your last location, probably thinking you’d be dead.

you glanced over at jenny. “get it back. we’re leaving soon.” she gave a hesitant nod and started moving toward the door, already on her feet when his voice stopped her.

“you can’t leave,” he said, stepping forward. “your injury is bad. you need to let it heal.”

the audacity. the absolute audacity of him to stand there like some self assigned officer, telling you that you couldn’t leave, after he’d been the reason you were bleeding in the first place. it lit something under your skin, that frustration that had nothing to do with the wound in your arm.

“as if we’re staying here. with you,” you pushed yourself up, trying to swing your legs off the edge of the bed. but the second you shifted your weight, a bolt of pain shot through your shoulder, slicing down your side and stealing the breath from your lungs.

with a low hiss, you collapsed back against the mattress, your arm pulsing, teeth clenched to keep from cursing out loud. mattheo shrugged a little as if he expected that exact outcome. “i don’t like the idea either, trust me,” he said. “but pansy insisted. especially after… well. shooting you. she's a stickler for cleaning up after our messes.”

“pansy?”

“she’s our friend,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “and the closest thing to a medic this group has.” so there’s a girl, you thought, who feels bad for what her dumbass friend did. you didn’t know her, but you could already picture her: someone helpful, definitely fed up with the ones around her.

and honestly, the idea of meeting another woman out here who didn’t want to shoot you, steal your supplies, or abandon you sounded… kind of nice.

and god, it had been so long since you’d felt the softness of a real mattress under you. a creaky one, sure. but it was so soft, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d laid on anything that didn’t have rocks or dirt digging into your back. “fine,” you muttered, your pride still bruised. “but we’re with another group. they’re going to worry. we need to let them know we’re safe.” you almost choked on that last word. safe. what a joke.

he gave a small nod. “just tell us where. my friends can go find them, deliver the message. meanwhile, you stay here—with me and pansy.”

you tightened your eyes at him, studying the way he leaned against the wall like none of this was a big deal. “why aren’t you going?” you asked. “what if they see a walker? you’ve got good aim. maybe you’ll shoot them on purpose this time.”

he smirked at that, tilting his head like he was trying not to look too amused. “i’m the only one who knows how to handle a wound like yours. what if you start bleeding again? who’s gonna be here to lick it off for a second time?”

your eyes widened instantly, a wave of disbelief crossing your face so fast it made him chuckle. jenny had been standing awkwardly by the door, rolled her eyes so hard it looked like it hurt. “he’s fucking with you,” she muttered, glancing between the two of you like she was mentally preparing to referee a second gunfight.

the two of you didn’t even spare her a glance, just locked in a stare so intense, she couldn’t tell if you were seconds away from tearing each other apart… or tearing each other’s clothes off. honestly, she wasn’t sure if it was a glare or a full-blown eye-fuck.

“whatever,” jenny said, finally stepping forward. “i’ll go. i’ll show them where the group is.” you didn’t argue. it made sense. you weren’t exactly in running shape, and despite how much you didn’t trust the guy, you really didn’t trust him around daisy and the others. not with that mouth. jenny put her hand on the doorframe, hesitating just long enough to toss a final look over her shoulder. “try not to shoot each other, okay?”

[1800titz]

WOOO second part to the pornstar!au (Tiger Harry). Find the first part here

If you'd like to read more goodies from me (including a RIDETHET!GER threesome, already up!), my patreon is HERE :)

CONTENT/WARNINGS: p-in-v, anal sex, Sir kink, choking-ish, light dom-sub dynamics

WC: 4K

“They’re both just such pretty holes,” Harry coos, and he thumbs apart her lips before folding over her to reach for his priorly discarded smartphone. His confession is mottled by a sigh, “…I simply cannot decide.” 

Tiger has perfected the art of edging. 

Not even in a literal, tethered-from-the-sweet-peak-of-precipice with an iron hand wrenching backwards sense — though, she’s seen plenty of that through his camera work. It’s a finely formulated craft, making her skin itchy and her cunt weepy before he’s even really touched her. And he hasn’t. She thinks, maybe he’ll nip at her clit with the pads of a forefinger and thumb, but he doesn’t even do that. Instead, he takes a step back. The phone pings. Action. 

“Spread,” Harry tells her. Light. Easy. Pats at one cheek, “Here.” 

Y/N obliges. She rolls onto her shoulders and tucks her arms behind her, splaying her fingers and pulling the flesh apart there. There’s a hiss like a breath coming in through little nooks between his bare teeth. It feels absolutely glorious. 

And lewd. A torrid kind of heat climbs up her neck. Lingers in the apples of her cheeks when Tiger pets at her thigh — probably taping a close-up vista of her oozing pussy — and comments, “Look at that pretty, little cunt.” 

Her digits jolt over her flesh, squeezing it apart almost desperately when he traces the back of a finger beside her clit, and then meanders up to her leaky entrance, prodding with the tips of two fingers. Not quite breaching. Tiger slinks one — a forefinger— up the short trail of her taint and nudges at the hilt of her plug, tracing the petals. Stuffed with silicone flora. Pretty. 

“Fuck. Fucking gorgeous.”

He sighs all soft behind her, and trails lower.

“I think—“

Harry scopes the hood of her clit with a thumb and then pulls it back to scrape with the pad of his middle finger — a motion that makes her jerk and wrests a soft sound from the back of her throat. A deviously mirthy hum comes from behind. 

“I’ll fuck you here—“

The tip of a finger brushes her weepy, pulsing seam.

“—first. Stretch you out a bit before. Sound good?”

She hums against the sheets. Please. Tiger traces the rim and sinks in to the second knuckle with paltry notice. His fingers are long, fill up more space than her own. Lengthier than hers. Girthier. They prod at the nooks and crannies that yearn to be grazed with little effort on his part, and by the time he’s sunk to the base of his chilled ring bands and added a third digit, Y/N is nearly drooling into the sheets. 

“You are such a tight, little thing, sweetheart,” Harry hums. Enunciates his speech with the wet squelch of his fingers plunging, cradled warm and wet by her sloppy pussy.

A mewl gets muffled in linen when he scissors the pair, stretching the seam taut, and rolls his thumb in slippery circles where her slick has trickled. There’s heat swelling in the trench of her tummy; a warm tide pool sloshing in waves that crest. Higher and higher. Building. It overcomes her — this tsunami, blighting her ataraxy until she’s a slobbering mess at the foot of his bed, keeled over. 

“Gonna—“ Y/N warns, brows pleated and mouth pried apart, tongue brushing bunched fabric with little couth. 

Tiger milks her through it, rigid fingers pumping and thumb swirling clusters of spheres into her pulsing flesh, until all that’s left of her are melty shambles with a weakly fluttering cunt. And it does flutter, throbbing emptily as his digits withdraw. Sucks onto them like it doesn’t want to let go, and then spasms around bare atoms like it needs to be corked back up. 

“Good girl,” Tiger praises. He sounds soft and pleased. Concentrated as his cockhead prods at her hole— “Got my fingers all wet, too. That’s two for two.” 

He swipes them at the back of her thigh, so she feels how slick. The pink border of his mouth is probably twitchy. Traces of a smile scratch at his dialogue the way something claws in the pit of her tummy as he nudges with the fat tip. She feels melty. Frozen fudge on a summer day dribbling down the handle. She thinks, for a moment, with her knees and her shoulders seeping into the mattress, that English has slipped her mind. Nothing plucks at her vocal cords, almost as if they’ve been snipped entirely.  A high sound crawls from the back of her mouth, though, when Harry tucks his cock into her. 

He’d been big in her palms — the pads of her digits hadn’t quite kissed around his shaft when she was kneeling, sweeping her tongue at the slit of his ruddy head, and her jaw had strained wide apart to fit him in and swallow him down. Even still, Y/N hadn’t anticipated the stretch. He bullies his cock into her — just about halfway — forcing against her spongy walls in a way that’s nearly too much. Like a paw wriggling into a glove that’s two sizes too small. She feels him in her belly, deep, as he sinks in, inch by inch (hisses escaping the cracks of his bared teeth and scraping at the edges), and bottoms out. She tastes clean cotton on her tongue, mouth wide and muted dumb, eyes screwed. 

A gasp shatters the lull, like one sucked in bobbing to the surface of a sea that’s going to ripple and kick her back under. It thaws in her achy lungs as a soft, dreamy moan when Harry fetters her wrists with one hand at the small of her back, rocks out, and pumps back in. 

“There you go, little bird. Nice and—“

She cries out as his hips snap. 

“Full?”

He rolls out slow, and her fingers twitch when he pummels in to the hilt. Ragged, little noises scarper from her mouth like he’s punched them from her from the inside. The ping of the phone sundering its video doesn’t register, but she realizes he’s tossed the phone again when he pets his free hand over her ass and stamps a sharp, stinging blow to it. Harry sets a brutal pace, then. Soft strokes that strain her rim taut and give her room to adjust simmer off when something scathing boils in the trench of his belly. He grapples her joints in his palm firmly, and the tempo of his hips smacking into her morphs merciless. Used and abused. 

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” Y/N whines when his thumb presses at the hilt of petals stretching her littlest hole. 

“Fuck, yeah,” He mirrors, snarling, and twists at the plug to siphon a whimper. 

Inferno spumes her arteries when he wriggles the plug out, groaning, and replaces it with two wet, blunt fingertips. Three. They stuff her fuller than the plug had and have her wheezing for oxygen to mingle with the scorch that permeates her veins. 

Her knees shuffle over the sheets, she squirms when he drills into her again and again and again, and he grapples at a love handle to keep her tight in place, “You asked for this— and you’re gonna take it, baby.”

Y/N does. There’s not any alternative when he hammers into her and burrows half-moons into her flesh with the ends of his short nails, but she doesn’t want there to be. She scrapes at the side of his palm with crooked fingers — the one that cuffs her wrists together and pants into the sheets. 

She’s seen Tiger fuck. She’s watched the videos — a little redhead clawing at the stair-railing with wet eyes as he coiled her hair tight over his knuckles from behind, or a brunette keening under his frame as he tucked her calves over his shoulders, pounding in from the tip to the hilt and all the way back out. The ones with a curvy blonde clawing at the sheets, whimpering as he pummeled between her thighs, and the one where the woman with the pixie juddered helplessly over his lap, crying out as he stippled a slick trail of open-mouthed kisses up her jugular and manually bounced her over his cock with a firm grip at her hips that dwarfed her size. Y/N has seen so much of the impact in screen captures — slobbered chins, streaming eyes with mucked kohl and smudged liner. Tips of noses hued cerise or pinky and lips swollen and sloppy with spit. Still, she’s somewhat surprised to feel mirrored evidence over her own face as tears drip in rivulets over the apples of her cheeks, as she gnaws at her bottom lip and drools onto his expensive mattress. It’s not the aftermath yet, and Y/N is sure she’s going to be a disheveled mess by the time the camera on the dresser shuts off. 

His cock spits ribbon after ribbon into her with little warning. He pounds into her, something cruel and brutal, husking growls. A groan slides up from the depths of his chest, and he slurs a string of curses, fingers twitching in her other hole when he empties into her pulsing cunt. Y/N absolutely milks him through it. Her slick walls spasm over his cock, and she whines like the same effects curdle her bloodstream and erupt across neurons. 

When Harry pulls out, fisting at the base and gruffing a hum, he thumbs a bead of cum that leaks out to coat her clit. She absolutely sings, at that. 

He lets go of her wrists. Twisting his fingers gently from between her cheeks, Harry blows out a breath and—

Y/N keens like he’s slapped her when Tiger splays his palms over the globes of her ass, spreads, and spits where he’d been fingering her apart. It’s glorious. Harry presses his cockhead to the glob of saliva smearing, still manhandling apart one cheek, and tells her, “Spread,” voice worn and mottled with pants like his heartbeat is thundering ichor in his ears. 

She does. Her own heart hammers behind the caging of her ribs when he makes a lewd sound, breathy and awed as he smacks over her asshole with the head. He slides against her perineum when she jolts, spine zagging, and hums. 

“Is it gonna fit?” Y/N beckons. Her cheek smushes to the wet spot she’s made against the sheets. It’s the most gloriously humiliating revelation.

He winds around the room to the nightstand, where, through tear smeared peripherals (like a bleary windshield coated with condensation), she watches him cull a bottle of lube. The cap clicks. Harry sets a knee up, and the bed creaks, meshing with a sound of amusement and a slick hand working lubricant over his shaft. Her lashes flutter as Tiger works two wet fingers into her, to the hilt, unceremoniously, scissoring. He pulls them out. 

“F’course—“

Y/N gnaws into the smooth, slicky flesh beside her molars. 

Tiger grunts. She’s forced to arch at the palm over the dimples at the base of her spine. As if to test the theory, the slippery head of his cock nudges to the puckering seam. 

“…We’ll make it fit.” 

Taking anal from Tiger, Y/N learns, is a feat. 

A pornographically debauched sort of rite of passage. She’s seen the pictures, too. The teasers he’ll post on X with only the pink tip of his cock in frame, a ringed, vibrantly lacquered hand cradling the back of his partner’s thigh to tuck up and showcase an asshole oozing cum. And the videos; the ones where the girls rake their nails into his tri’s, knuckles bleached, necks strained as garbled moans climb up their throats as he burrows in. They’re always blissed out, after; their visages melty and the lines where their foreheads and hair meet teemed with sweat. She has to wonder, though, as he prods in, how they quite make it fit. 

A high sound and a tight squeeze part-way over the tip has him petting his fingertips over the metacarpals spiking through the skin at the back of her hand. 

“Just breathe for me, baby,” Harry tells her, soft unlike the seat of his jawbone and the grit of his ivory teeth, after, “I’ll go— slow.”

Y/N inhales. It’s stolen from her lungs in the form of a long, low groan when he stuffs the tip past and the rim rides over the ridge. 

“Is that too much, baby? Yeah?” 

She suckles a bit of the sheet between her teeth when he mends the stretch of his sloppy, wet cockhead with a thumb that swipes from her leaky slit and meshes cum against his cock and the taut rim of her other hole.

“…That’s okay, we’ll get you there,” Harry coos, “That’s the hard bit all done, yeah?”

It’s all hard. Hard, vascular flesh like a rock spearing her open, sinking in, sedate and measured. Viciously careful and slick, accompanied by a vicious stretch, despite the lengthy preparation. He’s measured in the way he stuffs in, nearly centimeter by centimeter, pausing along the way down his shaft. Even still, it’s an ache that settles deep the further he sheathes — the kind she feels down to the marrow in the little bones constructing her spine, her pelvis, her ribs when they refuse to expand for her lungs. 

“Relax, sweetheart, relax. Squeezing me so snug.”

It’s just advice, but it’s strained; filthy. It makes her cunt twitch. 

“Push out a little for me. It’ll— yeah, slide in nice an’ easy if you do,” Harry coaxes, pausing the leisure roll forward of his hips. Her hole flutters over him. He makes it another inch.

“Just like that, little bird.”

She’s been holding her breath for twenty-three seconds by the time Harry pats at one of her hands and instructs, “Play with your pretty clit.”

It’s sore, but not in the way that it aches as he presses into her. The pads of her fingers brush milky cum that’s managed to seep out with the flex of her muscles, and they draw a circle over the sensitively overstimulated bud that droplets have leaked over. Her lips pry apart that way her fingertips pry bliss into the outstretched palms of her neurons, grappling for pleasure. 

“Oh.”

“S’it sore?” 

“Mm-Mhm.”

“But it feels good,” Harry states. 

It’s just that — a statement, no inquiry to the borderline prideful cadence of his words when he sinks in three-quarters of the way. It’s enough to have her breathlessly wheezing over her noises, digits stuttering in their shapes as she pinches at the hood. 

“Breathe,” Tiger chastises. 

For the first time, his voice is whetted, like the edge of a cutlass, and she imagines his dark eyebrows creasing. The tattoo of a ruddy handprint — a smack — gleans a loud cry enmeshed from the sheer sting of it and the way Y/N jolts, bouncing forward and back on unanticipated inches. It’s cruel. Mean with his peal of laughter.

He’s soft again. Mirthy. “You did that, not me.” 

“You startled me,” she argues. Her chortles flux into another, blunt, “Oh,” when Harry rocks out a little and back in, cooing in feigned ruth. 

“Oh, did I?” Harry murmurs, trailing a wide palm up the indent of her arched spine with shallow plunges, “Poor baby.”

She squirms when his fingertips wind to the vale of her waist, scrabbling up the ladder of her ribcage lightly. It’s only for a split second, but it draws a squawk and a string of giggles; in turn, a low hiss from him. 

“Fuck,” Harry grapples onto her hips, craning his neck, a grin lining his syllables when he admits, “Every time you laugh, s’like, squeezing me.” 

It’s devious — the way his palm scopes the cinched flesh in the same area it had the first time, reveling in the squeal the wriggling pads pry. Her jaw clinches and she nearly bites through her tongue when her teeth latch together. Despite the stretch, her hips lurch forward on their own volition and her knees shamber towards the headboard, the circles over her clit all but forgotten as her arms outstretch for freedom. It only gives him a wider canvas. 

A soft huff seeps from his nostrils, like the view of her hectically sprawling is entertainment. He pins her bones in place by the hips and lugs her back, sharply enough for her to groan at the pump into her. 

“No,” Harry scolds, tacking an ankle with his hand. He bends one of her knees back and keeps a grip over a love handle on the opposite side. “Where d’you think you’re going? I wasn’t done.” 

He’s polite enough to cease the tickle torture. Considerate, on his part, she supposes, since he’s got the sole of her foot aimed to the Rough sawn oak beamed ceiling. The gunge of kindling lust spumes, and it clogs the sharp anticipation of his thumb pressing to the tender spot between her heel and the ball of her foot, like cruor. Instead, Tiger hones on jabbing into her fluttery asshole, drawing a slew of progressively humiliating sounds. Her top teeth seal over the sheet and she gnaws the fabric in between her incisors like a feral dog. 

She doesn’t really get it until his balls are slapping against her flesh with the fervor of his tempo; what it’s like to be used and abused by Tiger. Mostly, it entails being glazed with cum, inside and out; utilizing the same loads to swipe over her clit that leaks from her sloppy cunt as he pounds into her ass with little mercy. No intent to give. And still, he gives plenty. She feels him deep, spearing somewhere between the knobs of her spine and the soft flesh sheathing her tummy. She can’t recall a time she’s felt so full, vena thrumming something sanguine mottled by him. The ache spurs the bliss building at her pulsing clit, and she retires to chew at the back of her free hand, tucked under her wet face. 

Just up until the point when he yanks at her hair from behind, spiking tingles at the crown of her head, and directs through husky breaths, “Sit up. Up. On your hands.” 

Y/N clambers. An inky forearm hitches over the column of her throat from behind. A sharper arch, a muscular bind over her neck, a palm that dwarfs the knob of her shoulder, and hammering at her backside with no remorse. His nails claw into her love handle, and in turn, Y/N scrapes at the tits of his mermaid, her flowy tendrils, her tail. 

“You really— are a little anal whore, aren’t you, little bird?” 

She slobbers over his forearm, “Yes, Sir— oh— shit, oh, fuck,” so he spiles her mouth with a couple of his fingers. She nips at his knuckles, and he digs green into her deltoid. 

“Fhuh—“ Y/N slurs around the digits. 

He strokes a stuttery whimper from her taste buds. 

She keens, shrill, when Tiger slips his fingers out and smears her own spit over her cheek, “Oh, fuck— you’re so deep—“

Her eyes are screwed, and even still she feels the pant of his grin against the opposite cheek. The way his lips ghost and graze her skin wetly with a low murmur, “Fuck, yeah.” 

He twists his head and siphons the same fingers to his own mouth, gets them wetter, and bats the hand between her legs away to pinch at her clit. To fuse saliva, and cum, and desperation, working ardent over her bud. 

“Such a fucking mess. S’leaking all over my balls, you know that?” Harry purrs, nipping at her earlobe when she whines, trembling, “M’gonna fuck it back into you, after.”

Y/N erupts. It spalls into flinders with sharp borders, somewhere between his cockhead burrowing deep in her tummy, the stretch around him, the pads swiping at her clit, and the filth he muzzles into her hair. She shakes like a waving bract, torn apart in his palms, spewing cries. The tight spasm over his cock has Harry chasing his own release, shuddering behind her and doubling down in a brutal tempo that draws soft whimpers from her mouth. The sharpest one comes when his chest rumbles flush with her back on a long groan, and he twitches in her as he presses deep and empties every bit that he can manage. 

Rough sex, even with a borderline stranger, merits a soft touch to meld the jagged edges of the shards back together. When he seeps out, hissing softly and bobbing, slicked with cum and lubricant, Y/N crumples into the sheets like the junctions of her joints have unfused, slipping from their sockets to melt away into a puddle. It provides an optimal view of her abused holes, one puckering at the air and dripping fresh cum. Just as he’d promised, Harry spoons a rill that trickles out with the pad of his thumb and brushes it back over the slick hole he’d just been tucked into. Feeds it back in to coax a mewl.

“Two for two,” Tiger parrots, dragging the backs of his knuckles up her thigh. It’s an obvious reference to two orgasms each, now, and wears a smile. 

If Y/N wasn’t so melty, she’d probably snort. She manages something like a grunt with her face planted to the mattress. She’s probably losing brain cells. The bed doesn’t feel breathable. 

Harry nudges at her hips until her pelvis sinks flush against the sheets and her feet dangle over the edge of the mattress. Then, he crawls up over her, cock brushing her clean skin soiled along the way. She rolls over against her will. Gets bracketed by his arms as he looms over, mussed, damp coils of his hair pendulous. 

“Hello.” 

She swallows. Her ass is going to absolutely ache tomorrow. Y/N finds she doesn’t mind. 

“…Hello.”   

“You took that well,” Harry tells her, head cocked and talc glinting. 

The boundaries of his ruddy mouth tick upwards into a lax smile, and even still, there’s an eagerly …awake mien to his composition. She wonders how, after that, and how his cock hasn’t gone down, a plurry in shade and sloppily oiled. It prods against the bone at the side of her pelvis. 

“You …gave it well,” she responds, forming the words despite the way they feel garbled in her mouth, between her parted teeth, off her lips like the crevices of her gums have been numbed with lidocaine. 

He ducks his chin and laughs. 

Y/N ends up lodged by his armpit, tangled by the firm muscle of his arms, thighs flush together, with her cheek squished to the plush of his pec; a cushion over where his heartbeat is clattering. 

“I’m all sticky.” 

“You like it,” Tiger sighs, raking a palm back through his tendrils, off his forehead, and musses the tousled curls there further. 

It feels nice when his fingertips graze up her nape, sliding into the forestry of her roots. They tug lightly at the follicles at the back of her skull in a way that makes euphoria seep down her nape. It settles in the first knob of her spine and slink through to the next. She rolls her shoulders. 

“D’you wanna shower? I’ve got one of those rain showerheads on the ceiling.”

If her inner thighs weren’t crusting over, the suggestion would probably feel like a much more intimate dyadic. Especially because she’s well aware he’ll slide in alongside her, slippery. Soapy froth sluicing down his abdomen, sudsy palms cupping at her backside, trailing between her thighs, and rinsing the evidence of their collaboration down the drain. It tastes like another sex tape altogether. 

Harry has grapefruit musk body wash and a citrusy shampoo in his shower. They’re the same ones she’ll lather into her own matted bird’s nest. 

He notes, from the sink, twisting the silvery band and thumbing over the center, where a tetragonal, incarnadine stone is seated, “You got my rings all sticky.” 

Y/N stretches her arms over her head. There’s semen spilling down the insides of her legs. She twists her head and meets him in the mirror just in time to see his eyes crest, his mouth purse and carve into a simper. 

“D’you wanna polish them off with your tongue?” 

[igotanidea]

Childlike behaviour: Jason Todd x reader

Aka: the one when Jason understand family can be found.

might be read as part 2 to Childlike honesty.

***

The house was a mess.

Toys splattered everywhere, dirty pans and dishes in the sink.

Piles and piles of laundry in the bathroom.

And everything was too much and she felt helpless and like crying.

Theo was sick and Y/N could barely handle everything by herself.

Those were the times when being a mom, a single mom was turning into a living nightmare.

Having to handle a crying kid, an apartment that was slowly turning into a den and work calls.

“Mommy….”

Y/N sighed internally, holding back her emotional crisis, running hands through her hair and face, gathering all the strength she had left to not lush at the poor, innocent soul holding onto her leg.

“Yes, honey?”

“my tummy hurts…”

“I know, baby, I know.” She picked him from the floor, rubbing soothing circles on little stomach.

“I don’t like it…”

“I know that too…” truly, her mother's heart was breaking seeing the pain etched on the boy's little face.

“When will it stop?”

“Listen, how about we get you to bed and – “

“I don’t want to go to bed-“

“Mhm. But you want to feel good again, right? Go play with the kids in the kindergarten right?”

“I don’t like them.” Theo pouted and despite everything it was adorable. Sickness was making him exceptionally grumpy, hating everyone and everything.

“We both know that’s not true.” Y/N bopped his nose and kissed his cheek. “You like that girl right? That – what was her name, again?”

“Mom!” little fist landed on her shoulder and he hid face in her chest

“What? It’s okay, you know.”

“I don’t like her!”

“Of course not, of course not… Now come on, you’re gonna get some sleep and take that raspberry syrup and – “

“I don’t want to!”

“Theo-“

“I don’t like it!”

Y/N sighed again. She was fighting her own flesh and bone since the very morning and it clearly was a mix of a sick three year old alongside with a three year old rebellion.

“Can you be a good boy for mommy?” Despite his protests she carried him to bed, forcing to lay down and putting cover up to his chin, sitting right next to him “ please?”

“mhmmhmh…”

“Look, hon, we only got each other, ok? How about trying a little support?”

“su- support? What’s that?”

Of course he didn’t know.

“Support is when I’m here for you and you’re here for me…”

“But I am here-“ Theo tilted his head in confusion.

“Yeah, but – “ how was she supposed to explain it to a kid? How was she supposed to get into details of how she was struggling and not explode? “You know what? You’ll understand it when you’re older.” It was physically painful to use that hated sentence, she herself heard so many times before.  Even in her 20s some people were still treating her like a kid. “Get some rest now, ok? You need it and – “

“Mom?”

“Yeah, honey?” she brushed hair out of his forehead in an affectionate gesture.

“My tummy –” he said again, but before she could even attempt to answer, Theo vomited and unluckily, she was just within the scope of its reach.

***

It took two hours to finally soothe her son enough so he fell into the restless state of almost-sleep. Finally giving her a chance to drag herself to the bathroom, hoping against hope that the stains on her favorite hoodie would come off.

Being a woman, capable of multitasking despite tiredness, anger, and an urgent feeling of despair, she set the laundry and moved to the kitchen to finally wash the dishes, bottles, and other stuff that threatened to flood the space.

“Five minutes for myself ….”

“Mommy….” Something was tugging at her leg

Oh god….

“Theo? What’s wrong?”

“My tummy—”

“Does it hurt again?” instinctively she grabbed the first vessel that got into her hands and put it in front of the kid, who only looked at her incredulously.

“That’s a pancake bowl.”

“Yeah… Yeah, that’s a pancake bowl.” She admitted, mentally punching herself. Truly, the whole situation was turning into a meme.  

“Are we making pancakes?” Theo asked softly, with hope in his voice and sparkles in her eyes.

And she was gone, unable to deny this sweet little angel that crumb of happiness.

***

The house was a mess.

Toys splattered everywhere, dirty pans and dishes in the sink.

Piles and piles of laundry in the bathroom.

Only now, it was far worse.

Theo was sitting by the table, munching on the chocolate chip pancake while Y/N was desperately trying to fix the leaky faucet that was extremely stubborn and uncooperative.

“Fuck!”

Great, now she was swearing in front of the kid.

A kid that was so engrossed in his comfort food that barely noticed her struggle let alone her words.

Thank god for that, but she couldn’t put her luck to risk, cause obviously with the little disaster on her hands, fucks and shits were bound to happen again. Therefore acting like an irresponsible mother and walking the line of least resistance, she resorted to the easiest way of remedying the problem.

“Hey, Theo, what do you think about some Paw Patrol?”

***

“Of for fucks’ sake! Do I look like a fucking plumber?!”

The more she tried to stop the leak the worse it got. She was all sweaty, face red, hair wild and fuzzy, fingers reddened and one bleeding excessively from the untrained use of the French key. Of course she could call the specialist, but it didn’t even cross her mind.

“Fuck!”

Kicking the cupboard did not bring her even the slightest amount of peace, especially when the immediate effect of a spontaneous action resulted in pulsing foot and its door creaking and falling off the hinges.

“FUCK! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

“Mommy?”

“AGH!” she roared before holding back, obviously causing her kid not only the emotional damage but also starting a waterwork. “God! Theo, baby, I am so sorry – so sorry – please, come here…”

“Mommy… I think something is wrong in the bathroom—”

“Something wrong?” in the back of her distressed, tired mind she was already imagining monsters hiding in the shower. Clearly, adjusting to the way of thinking of a three year old was easier than expected. “What’s wrong, Theo? Come on, tell mommy.”

“Noises.”

“Noises?”

“From the bathroom.”

Oh, okay.

“I’ll go check it then.” Reluctantly she abandoned the kitchen, making a mental note to take a break and a deep breath before cursing again, grabbing Theo’s hand and tiptoeing to the other place. “I’m sure nothing wrong is – OH MY GOD!”

Right. There was nothing wrong with the washing machine shaking like it was about to explode and smoke hovering over it like a storm cloud. In the last flash of clear thinking she grabbed the plug and almost ripped it out of the contact.

And then –

Lights flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Before it all turned into darkness.

This was too much and she couldn’t handle it anymore.

Falling onto her knees, starting to shake and sob, deprived of all strength, drained of the remnants of positive thinking, exhausted.

“Mommy?” upturned, shaking lip, trembling chin and teary voice was enough of a symptom of what was coming. Soon enough, two people were crying in the bathroom, hardly hearing the doorbell, that got more and more insistent.

“Go away….” She muttered weakly, leaning on the bathroom wall, grabbing Theo and pulling him on her knees, holding close. “Just – just go away…”

“Y/N?”

“Jason!” Theo instinctively recognized the voice and jumped out of her reach, rushing to the hall on his little legs. “Jason!’

“Hey kiddo. Where’s your mom, huh? And what’s all this darkness about? Were you playing hide and seek or something?”

“No.” Theo shook his head, grabbing Jason’s hand “mommy’s in the bathroom. She’s crying – “

“Crying?” the older guy became concerned and worried “why is she crying, Theo? What happened?”

“The sink. And then it went poof in the bathroom.’

“Poof?”

“Poof! And then it was dark, but I don’t know why-“

“All right. Up we go.” Theo was placed securely on Jason’s arms “Y/N?! Y/N?”

“Bathroom…”

A moment later, a familiar 6ft tall silhouette appeared in the door, taking in the almost apocalyptic landscape.

“Jay…” she sobbed

“Mommy, don’t cry…” the kid squirmed in Jason’s arms, wanting nothing more but to hug and comfort and Jason let him do just that, before sitting next to her on the floor and putting an arm around her, allowing her to cry on his shoulder, rubbing her side without a word.

And if felt safe.

And it felt like she could finally allow herself to be weak, cause she wasn’t alone.

As cliché as it may sound, she had the proverbial big, strong man to take care of her.

To make her feel like she didn’t have to carry it all by herself.

Cause in the end, a woman has to feel like she has someone to rely on.

And Jason was just that.

***

Within the next two hours, he managed to fix the electricity and leaky faucet and the cupboard door without a single word of complaint. If anything, he was smiling under his nose all the time, repeatedly throwing glances at her, perfectly content seeing her relaxed and opening enough to be vulnerable. 

All while Y/N was properly comforted, wrapped in a blanket and served with a chamomile tea and Theo miraculously put to bed with a new book Jason brought him as a gift.

“feeling better, princess?

“incomparably… thank you.”

“Of course.” He placed a soft kiss to the top of her head “anytime. You could have just called me, you know, I’d come running in a heartbeat.”

“And make it all okay?”

“And make it all okay. Now come here.”

As he opened his arms she dived into them with a soft sigh of relief. He was her safe space and she was his peace of mind. And even if he didn’t say it out loud, having someone to do those every day, mundane, housework for, felt like home.

Felt like love.

“Will you read to me?” Theo appeared in the doorframe holding the new book in his little hands with a shy yet disarming smile.

“Sure thing, fella. Come here.”

One arm wrapped around Y/N, Theo’s back to his chest, book opened, lost in their own bubble of three.  

A truly family-like picture.  

He could get used to this.

@gl1tchgr3mlin @mara-moon @gone-batty-fics @tristrip @madness1999sworld @enchantedreader

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Back a Ways Part Two

Part One | Part Three

Notes: I lied it's going to be three parts but part three is also getting posted tonight so y'all don't have to wait

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x Surgeon!Reader

Length: 3.7K

Rating: M

Warnings: Fluff; angst; yearning; cursing; slow burn

Summary: "Why would Jack disapprove? Matter of fact—” Everett folds his arms on the table, “Why would Jack care?” 

What the hell can you tell Everett? That it’s just a feeling, a hunch? That the way Jack eyed you when you were talking to Dana had been nearly as intimidating as the only time you went against his direct orders when you were a resident? 

u can come over

It’s as close as your brother gets to issuing invitations these days. From what you can gather, Everett only sees people a couple of times a week—your parents, and Jack, and a few of the friends he made at the academy. He’s never been the most outgoing guy, but he’d grown more and more reclusive since he’d been honorably discharged. The traumatic brain injury that he’d sustained while serving had only made the scope of who he dealt with on a daily basis even more narrow.

Everett has never tried to explain to you what had happened while he was on active duty. Jack has only made you privy to a thing or two, but you know that he doesn’t want to betray your brother’s confidences. 

Pulling up to Everett’s house and seeing Jack’s car in the driveway almost makes you drive away. You haven’t seen him since Dana ratted you out about Wilkins in the ER; haven’t spoken to or texted him since then, either. You consider it as the car idles, your hands twisting on the steering wheel. It’s possible that neither of the guys know you’re out there. Everett likes to have visitors out on his back patio when they come over—having too many people in his house makes him feel ‘penned in.’ 

But, this is the first time in months that Everett has given you the green light to see him. 

You grudgingly pull your car into the parking space in front of his house. You use the spare key to get into the house, kicking your shoes off as you look around. The living room is neat as a pin—mail is stacked on the living room table, sorted into two piles; the couch looks like it hasn’t been sat on for weeks; there’s not a speck of dust in sight. 

You look down at your shoes, considering putting them properly on the rack with the others…And then leave them on the floor by the door. It’s a minor show of protest in the face of Everett’s near-compulsive need for order. He’d always been an oddly neat kid, and his time in the military had cemented a hatred for any hint of mess. You reach out, pushing one of the pillows over on the couch before you head into the kitchen.

The coffee pot is nearly empty, and looking into his cabinet, you see two of his mugs missing. You begin to brew a fresh pot before you turn, walking down the hall to the back patio. You peer through the window, catching sight of the back of your brother’s head, and Jack sitting across from him. 

You know that the movement has caught his attention when Jack’s focus flickers to you. His gaze doesn’t hold for long as he meets Everett’s eye again, reaching for his mug. You consider going out, but hell—you’ve had a long night, and you don’t think you can face your brother without coffee in your system…Maybe something stronger. If you remember rightly, Everett tends to keep whiskey in the cabinet. 

-- 

“You gonna hide in here all morning?” 

You roll your eyes at the question, not bothering to turn as Jack sidles up to you at the counter. 

“It’s been five minutes—and I was making more coffee.”

Jack grunts, bracing his hands on the cool formica. You let your eyes sweep over his hands, savoring the heat of him next to you. 

“...He doing okay?” 

“The same.” 

“Mm,” You nod.

“A little better, maybe.”

“Oh?”

“Sure.” Jack turns, tucking his hands into his pockets as he props his hips against the counter. “You know he’s dating someone?” 

It surprises the hell out of you, and you don’t bother to hide it.

“Really?” 

“Mhm. Something else the two of you seem to have in common these days.” 

It’s a fact, but it feels like an accusation. A hundred answers sit on your tongue—David is a nice guy, someone who understands what you do (but so is Jack); you haven’t been out with anyone for a while, you’re just shaking the dust off (when was the last time Jack went on a date?); you can’t just twiddle your thumbs and wait for a man that will never see you that way—

“Jeez, Queenie—The hell did you do?” 

His tired question snaps you out of your spiral, and before you can ask what he’s talking about, he’s stepping out of the kitchen and neatening the nudged pillow. You watch, amused, as he reaches down, putting your shoes away properly. 

“Everett needs some mess in his life," You insist. "It’d be good for him.” 

Jack grunts as he straightens. “Last thing I need is the two of you at each other’s throats all morning.” 

“All morning is a stretch. I’m probably not staying long.” 

“No?” His hands tuck back into his pockets as he joins you again. You eye the counter as he faces away from it, picturing his hands pressed there just a moment ago. You’ve thought of those hands a lot of other places—on your hips, sliding under your shirt—

“Night shift getting to you?” He plies.

He doesn’t realize he’s offered you an easy out. You nod, raising a hand and scrubbing it across your eyes for emphasis. Jack grunts in sympathy. 

“How’s it been?” 

“You know how it is.” 

“...Yeah.” Jack nods, shifts beside you again. “You ever regret it?” 

“Regret what?” 

“Switching to surgery.” 

Your brow furrows, a frown pulling at your lips. It’s the first time Jack has spoken to you about your decision, years since you’d sat him down and told him that you’d be switching to a surgical residency and needed his support. 

“No. Not once. I…” You trail off, trying to nail your thoughts down as you turn to lean back against the counter. “Being in the ER isn’t for me, Jack. I never got my footing.”

“You kidding me?” 

“No, I’m not, and I wasn’t—”

“Queenie—” 

“No, Jack. I don’t want you to bullshit me. Not about this.” 

Jack is quiet for a moment. You can see the steady waggle of his head as he shakes it, hear him draw in a deep breath. 

“I liked it better when you were down where I could keep an eye on you.” 

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you can’t stop your rush to get a better look at him. Jack’s head is bowed slightly, lips pursed into a thin line. He doesn’t look at you as he adds:

“When you came to the Pitt, I promised your brother I’d look out for you.”

You just manage to stifle a deprecating, humorless laugh, staring blankly at the cabinet across from you. Of course. 

 “You’ve made too many promises to that man, Jack. Hell, he’s my brother, I don't even heed him like that.” 

“....It’s different.” 

And you can’t argue with that. You have a love-hate relationship with your brother, give the man shit, but he and Jack went through hell together. The worst that you had to face with Everett was a united front when he’d broken one of your mother’s favorite vases, and you’d recognized the abject terror on his face (you’d been able to convince her that it had been the dog; Everett had bought your silence with three months’ worth of his allowance money). 

“Yeah,” You nod, “It is.” You nudge his arm with yours. “If you’re really that worried, you could come up and see how I’m doing sometime.” 

“Right, with the mountain of free time I have.” 

“You take bathroom breaks occasionally, right? Come take one upstairs. They can do without you for a couple of minutes.”

“Maybe you come back down, see how you do.”

“What’d I just say about the ER?” 

“That was before. You were a resident back then, Queenie. Your instincts are different now, your knowledge is stronger, your reflexes are faster.” 

Your mouth works wordlessly for a moment before you shake your head, pushing out a disbelieving laugh. 

“Why won’t you let this go?” 

“Because it drives me nuts that you don’t see what I see.” 

“And what’s that.” 

“A brilliant, capable doctor—and a badass.” 

His gaze sears yours and you freeze, caught in the intensity that he watches you with. You don’t blink; you’re not entirely sure that you’re even breathing. Jack shifts, and your heart thuds as he turns to face you more fully. He takes one step, and then another, until he’s so close that you can feel the heat radiating off of his body, smell the crisp scent of his body wash.

“You’ve always had it, Queenie,” He murmurs, “But you never gave yourself any goddamn grace.” 

Your mouth works wordlessly as you flounder for a reply, stunned heat creeping up your neck and sweeping across your face. Jack’s eyes seem to flicker in focus between your eyes and your mouth, and in the split-second that you’re certain you’ve caught him looking, the world goes still, and quiet.

And then you hear the click of Everett’s back door closing, snapping you out of your fantasy and spurring you to whirl away. You take the coffee pot up with an imperceptibly shaking hand, curling the other tightly around your mug. You laser-focus on it as you pour, forcing yourself to hone in on it—not on your brother’s footsteps, or in the way that Jack is still watching you. 

“Thought I heard your voice,” Everett comments. You hum, non-committal, and lift the coffee pot.

“Figured I’d make a fresh pot before coming to say hello. Want some?” 

Everett nods, setting his mug down beside yours. He waits patiently as you fill it, stands still as a stone, and huffs a curse when a dribble of coffee lands on the counter as you lift the pot back up a little too quickly. You take a step back, biting back a bratty chuckle as he rips a paper towel off of the roll to swipe it up.

You glance toward Jack, expecting to find a gentle, chastising smile—but Jack’s expression is closed off, jaw set as he watches Everett clean up. He can’t be mad at you for that, can he? It was barely three drops worth—Everett will be over it by the time he swipes it up. 

“C’mon,” Everett urges. “Let’s go outside. Less for you to mess up out there.”

You push off of the counter, grumbling, “Don’t bet on it,” As you stride out ahead of them. 

--  

As visits with Everett go, this one is far more stilted than usual. Typically, if both you and Jack are there, it’s an easy enough go around—smooth slides between talking about the Pitt, Everett complaining about his neighbors, Jack ribbing him about some op that went well when they served together—round and round you go.

But this time, neither you nor Jack are making much of an effort to engage with one another. Everett is left to act as the conversational conduit, and for a man with a penchant for keeping his mouth shut, the morning crawls by at a snail’s pace. Jack heads out before you do—stands and shakes Everett’s hand, promises to see him next week, to call sooner.

When his gaze flickers to you, you force yourself to study the bottom of your coffee cup, turning it from side to side and eyeing the few drops left.

“…See you at the Pitt.”

“Yeah.” It’s all you can muster. You can’t even bring yourself to meet his eye and give him a small smile as you say it. Jack’s footsteps retreat; the door opens, closes behind him. And after a few minutes of silence, Everett lets out the weariest fucking sigh you’ve ever heard.

“Alright, what’d he say.”

You look up then, frowning at the question. Everett’s brows tip up as he waits for your answer. You flounder, shaking your head.

“What do you mean?”

“I haven’t seen you so closed off around the guy since you decided to change your residency—and even that wasn’t as bad as whatever the hell this was.”

You slouch down in your seat, setting the coffee cup back down. 

“Jack didn’t say anything.” Except rattle the hell out of you and trick you into thinking he was staring at your mouth. “I’m just in my head about something. Sorry, Ev.”

He grunts, leans back in his seat. “...Wanna talk about it?”

It’s your turn for your brows to lift in surprise. 

“Wow, I didn’t realize I was that off.”

“Yes or no,” Everett presses. You consider for a moment before you shake your head. 

“It’s not…I have a date with a surgeon that I work with.”

“Okay,” He shifts in his seat as his brow furrows. “What’s that got to do with Jack?” 

“Just got the sense that he doesn’t approve.”

“That bothers you?” Disbelief is rife in Everett’s tone, and you can’t blame him. You haven’t put so much stock in his opinion—but it’s not the same. “What’s the guy like?”

“David? He’s—” You flounder. “Nice, I guess. Smart, quick…He’s got really nice eyes—”

“I don’t need that level of detail.”

“He’s a good guy.” 

“Then why would Jack disapprove? Matter of fact—” Everett folds his arms on the table, “Why would Jack care?” 

You let your eyes lower to the table, your hands wringing in your lap. What the hell can you tell Everett? That it’s just a feeling, a hunch? That the way he eyed you when you were talking to Dana had been nearly as intimidating as the only time you went against his direct orders when you were a resident? 

“He probably doesn’t. Guess I’m just reading into things.” 

“Well whatever it is, talk to him—and soon. Two’a you will put me off having visitors over again.”

“Except for your new girlfriend?”

It’s Everett’s turn to go quiet, and your smile widens. It’s so rare that you’ve been able to catch him out. 

“You gonna tell me about her?” You prod. 

“...Next time,” He musters, adding, “It’s early,” Before you can argue. You purse your lips, considering.

“Don’t wanna jinx it?” 

“Something like that.”

“I respect that.” 

“Good. Now get the hell outta my house before you spill any more coffee on my countertop.”

-- 

It’s in the spirit of air-clearing. In a quiet moment at the top of your fifth night shift, you grab a Twix from a vending machine and head down to the ER. You expect a quick word, a drop off, maybe a smile to send you on your way with reassurance. 

You don’t expect to get roped into two cases in a row—an arm fractured in a car accident, and a stab wound. Any hope of ducking out after the first case is dashed when Jack just nudges your arm and directs, “Let’s go.”

You don’t even have to think. Following him is automatic. And as the two of you run through routine questions, diagnoses, criteria, you realize that you forgot how good this feels—not the rush of the ER, but Jack’s steadiness; his closeness; his encouragement. 

As you peel off your gloves and leave Shen to stitch up the patient, you find Jack giving you an approving nod. 

“Well handled, Queenie.”

“Thank you.”

“You come down here just to prove my point?”

You can’t help your eye roll as the two of you pump hand sanitizer into your palms and work it in. 

“No,” You lean on the denial as you follow him to his desk. “I came to give you this.” You fish into your pocket for the Twix, holding it out. Jack’s lips quirk with a smile. 

“You tryin’ to butter me up for somethin’?”

You were trying to cover off for the foul mood you managed to put Jack in while you were both at Everett’s, but the cloud that had hung over his head during that visit seems to have dissipated. 

“Nope,” You pop the ‘p’, “Just figured I’d take a minute to pop down and annoy you.” 

“Well,” He rips the packet open, drawing one of the Twixes out, “You only managed half.”

“Excuse me?”

“You came down, but you haven’t managed to annoy me. The opposite, actually.” 

“Really.” 

“Really.” Jack holds up one of the Twix in range of you, and waits, his eyes steady on yours. You can’t help the wicked little thrill that runs through you as you lean in, taking a bite of it. His smile widens as you chew, and as he raises the Twix to take a bite for himself. 

“Hey, there you are!” 

The sound of David’s voice makes you straighten u, turning to spot him just a few feet away. 

“Oh, hey,” You greet, swiping a bit of missed caramel off of your lower lip. “What are you doing down here?” 

“I’m heading out, but Princess said she saw you heading down here.”

“And…Here I am.” 

“Yeah.” David’s gaze darts to Jack before he met your eye again. “We still on for tomorrow morning?” 

“Mhm,” You nod.

“Sweet. I’ll be here at 7:30.” 

“Cool.” 

David nods again, seeming to meet Jack’s eye and give him a small wave before leaving. You turn back to face Jack, folding your arms on the desk as you try to meet his eye—but Jack seems laser-focused on the computer in front of him. The Twix is gone—shoved to the side, behind his keyboard. 

“I should head back up,” You manage after a moment, straightening up. “Try not to have too much fun down here without me.” 

Jack gives a soft hum, a nod, a murmur of, “Will do.” 

You let yourself linger for just a second longer before heading to the elevator, stomach twisting with the feeling that you had somehow managed to annoy him after all. 

-- 

Going back down near the end of your shift feels like kicking the hornet’s nest, but whatever it is that annoyed him, Jack’s surely had a chance to sufficiently cool off, right? 

You duck into the restroom once you’ve changed out of your scrubs, giving yourself a quick once-over. You’d promised to meet David downstairs for your breakfast date, but truth be told, you're beginning to regret agreeing to seeing him that morning. Not because of the way Jack had acted (at least, not completely), but you are tired as hell. You should’ve held off until you had a day off. 

You glance back at the sound of the door opening, offering Dana a weak smile. 

“Clocking in?” 

“Mhm,” She hums. “Clocking out?” 

“Yep.” You take up your bag, patting her shoulder. “Have a good shift, lady.” 

“Go get some rest. You look like hell.” 

You chuckle softly, teasing, “Always the charmer.” 

The ER is bustling as busily as ever as you step out onto the floor, looking around for Jack. You spot him coming out of North Two, and damn yourself for hesitating when he catches sight of you in his sweeping gaze. You meet him in the middle, tucking your hands into your pockets as you fight the urge to reach out and pick a piece of lint off of his shirt. 

“Doing alright?” 

He nods, casting his gaze over your shoulder. You turn your head, following his gaze, and see David waiting for you by one of the exits. You swallow thickly, turning back to face Jack. 

“I have to go.” 

"Have to?" There's a sharp lean to the way he asks, a resolute tension tightening his handsome features. It's harsh; new to you in a way that's rattling. The judgement in his tone catches you off-guard, and your hands curl into fists in your pockets. 

“I’m going to.” 

“Well, that’s something different, isn’t it.” 

Your mouth works wordlessly as your mind races. You raise a hand to signal David to give you another minute when he calls out to you, unable to draw yourself away from Jack when he looks so goddamn disappointed in you. 

“What has crawled up your ass lately?” You hiss. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You’ve been so—” You wave a hand toward him, “You keep shutting me out—”

“You shouldn’t keep Wilkins waiting.” 

Your head jerks back like the man’s just slapped you, and Jack’s jaw tightens as he averts his gaze. You push out a stunned, affronted laugh, shaking your head as you step back.

“Wow—”

“Queenie—”

“No. No, you’re right.” You turn away from Jack without another word, forcing a smile onto your face when you make eye contact with David. 

“Sorry about that.” 

“Nah, s’okay. You, uh—” His eyes dart over your shoulder to where you left Abbot. “You ready to go?” 

“Yep!” You chirp. You refuse to turn around, to see if Jack is still standing there. For once, you don’t try to shut the rest out, to check if he’s watching. You just move forward. And when David’s hand settles on your lower back to guide you outside, you resolve yourself to have a good time. 

--  

You have never been on a more awkward date in your life. 

The conversation just doesn’t flow. When you and David are working together, there’s banter, there’s ease, but when you’re alone and there’s no one between you on a table, it’s like there’s this…block. 

You chalk it up to the fact that you’re so tired you could cry, that your sleep schedule is all out of whack. And sure, that’s a factor, but you just can’t get Jack out of your fucking mind. You know that the stilted nature of your conversation with David isn’t helped by the few times that you’d checked your phone. But Jack has hardly texted in months, so why should today be any different? 

The date ends with knowing smiles, teasing, “See you at work”s before you get into your cars. You buckle in, wave at David as he drives off, and then just sink back in your seat, staring at your steering wheel.

When the tears prickle your eyes, you tell yourself that you’re just overtired—that you need a nap, and some good coffee (because the coffee from the bad cart was watery and flavorless). You push the tears back, shaking your head. Nothing about the date was worth crying over. You’re still in the parking lot at work for christ’s sake. 

Just get yourself home. You can have a nice cry in a hot shower. 

Last Part

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