#I knew that seeing him again would make me emotional

[erikawrites13]

"Through the Storm"

So you know- "English is not my first language. I have dyslexia. Let me know what you think about it, please."

Charles Leclerc x Reader Romance, Hurt/Comfort, fluff

The Monaco skies had turned a dull grey by the time Charles got back home. Rain tapped rhythmically against the windows, the kind of soft drizzle that felt more emotional than meteorological. Y/N sat quietly on the couch, legs tucked under her, thumbing through the pages of a book she wasn’t really reading. She was wearing his red Ferrari hoodie—the one she always stole after race days—because it still smelled like him, even when he wasn’t there.

The front door opened slowly. She didn’t have to look up to know it was Charles. The soft shuffle of his trainers, the pause as he set his keys down on the marble counter—it was all familiar. Comforting, even now, when everything else felt just slightly off.

“Hey,” she called softly.

There was a beat of silence before he answered, “Hey.”

He looked exhausted. The kind of tired that went beyond the physical toll of racing. His eyes were dark under the brim of his cap, and his shoulders were tense, like he was carrying the entire weight of the Grand Prix on his back. He didn’t need to say anything. She already knew.

“You didn’t have to come back right away,” she said gently, closing her book. “I figured you'd be with the team.”

He shook his head, finally toeing off his shoes and walking over to her. “I couldn’t. I needed to see you.”

That was all it took. She opened her arms, and he sank into them immediately—like a man finally allowing himself to break. He buried his face in her neck and exhaled a shaky breath. She held him there, grounding him, fingers weaving through the damp curls at the nape of his neck.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered.

“I should’ve done better,” he murmured into her skin.

Y/N pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “Charles, stop. You gave it everything. Everyone saw that.”

He looked away. “But it wasn’t enough. Again. In Monaco of all places.”

Y/N bit her lip, her heart aching for him. She knew what this place meant to him—not just as a driver, but as a boy who grew up just around the corner, dreaming of making it big, dreaming of standing on that podium while the whole city watched.

“You don’t have to win here for people to know how good you are,” she said softly. “You don’t have to prove yourself—not to the world, and definitely not to me.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then, almost brokenly: “But I want to. For you. For Maman. For Jules.”

That last name hit the air like a held breath. Y/N’s hands stilled in his hair.

“I know,” she whispered. “And they would be proud of you. I am, Charles. Every single race. No matter the result.”

He nodded slowly, eyes glassy. “I just… I get in my head. All the pressure. All the noise. And I don’t know how to silence it sometimes.”

Y/N leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Then let me help you.”

He gave a soft laugh, the first real one she’d heard all day. “What would I do without you?”

“Lose your keys at least once a week. Eat way too many protein bars. And probably wear the same hoodie for three days straight.”

Charles smirked. “So basically, still be me.”

“Exactly. But a slightly more disorganized version.”

He let himself melt into her then, their limbs tangled together on the couch as the storm outside picked up, wind howling faintly down the Monaco streets. The glow from the kitchen light warmed the room, casting soft shadows over the walls.

After a long silence, Charles spoke again, voice quieter this time.

“I hate that I feel like this after every race that doesn’t go right.”

“You’re not a robot,” Y/N said. “You’re allowed to feel. That’s what makes you you, Charles. You care. You care so much.”

He turned his head, his nose brushing against her collarbone. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it.”

Y/N’s heart clenched. She gently tilted his face up to hers.

“Hey. Don’t say that. You were born to do this. I’ve never seen anyone fight like you do. You inspire people—me included. But you don’t have to carry it all on your own.”

Their eyes locked. She saw the storm inside him—every crash, every close call, every podium that slipped away. But she also saw the boy who once watched this same rain from his bedroom window and dreamed of driving through it one day.

“I love you,” she whispered, brushing her thumb against his cheek.

“I love you more,” he said, and this time, his voice didn’t break.

[corseque]

I keep thinking about the interview with the motion capture actor who played both Gustave and Verso, and how brilliant it was that the director wanted the same person to play both characters. I think it worked even better because the actor who played them (Maxence Cazorla) seems like he has an enormous and empathetic and kind heart, and listening to him talk about how it was to play both of these characters over a year of work made me realize some more things about the story.

My favorite thing in stories, even above wizards, is when the story can make you feel empathy for anyone and everyone in the story. The story can allow you to see from every angle and understand it completely. The most dissatisfying thing to me in a story is coming away from it feeling as if I didn't quite understand why someone was acting the way they were, or if a story seems to discard an entire viewpoint or person as evil or not worth exploring. I dislike it when especially fantasy stories invent and introduce a faction as pure evil, it just seems very pointless or masturbatory to me. I understand that a lot of people enjoy those kinds of stories, but I'm personally not out there exploring alternate worlds trying to encounter an enemy that just makes me feel righteous. I just want to Understand Everything. I want to understand things that are not understandable and things I will never experience. I want to understand the full spectrum of human experience.

And so the way this actor described his experience of playing both of these characters is fascinating to me.

Clair Obscur spoilers

Aspects I find fascinating and keep turning over in my head:

the fact that Maxence simply played HIMSELF as Gustave, how Gustave moves just like Maxence, how he simply played Gustave as he would play himself. How he didn't have to study or prepare in any way for Gustave because he simply played himself as he would, and leaned into being surprised by what was coming in the way that Gustave did in the story. Gustave's lovability and gentleness just came straight from this actor's open heart and his personality.

that Maxence knew from the very beginning that Verso allowed Gustave to die. How Maxence struggled deeply when he had to say goodbye to Gustave and how he resented Verso extremely for letting him die, feeling the same feelings that the audience felt (and probably on an even deeper level than we can understand).

that Maxence had to study and prepare and grill the directors about Verso's motivations because he's always lying all the time. So he played Gustave so naturally and so easily, but he had to put so much work into doing justice to Verso and understanding him

The way that Maxence's gentleness and kindness and caring still came out through Verso, giving him this wonderful depth. You get this feeling that Verso is a truly good person underneath, a feeling that I had playing that was so strong that I literally ignored all the foreshadowing (and only realized the true extent of his actions like long after the game was over) because I felt so strongly that in his heart he was good and that he cared. I think this was a combo of Maxence and Ben Starr's incredible delivery of the lines, but I don't think that it would have been nearly as successful without Maxence's generosity of heart.

So my favorite thing in the world, when you have to understand your enemy and learn what drives them, when you have to become the one who kills you and learn to feel their feelings, the actor actually embodied this. That he actually struggled and did his best and even at the end Gustave is STILL his favorite, but he came to understand and feel for Verso enough to portray him so honestly, and put himself into Verso and Gustave as the emotional core of the entire game.

And then the director also made him play Renoir in the epilogue scene as well, to borrow again from his subtle, expressive body language to portray Renoir's love and mourning to close off the story the way it began with Gustave's love and mourning.

It also helped so much to draw the parallels between the characters, since Gustave obviously dies to allow the audience to experience the loss of Verso in a visceral way, so we can actually understand what it's like to have that loss so we're all on the same page. And the ideas that the story has of bringing the dead back but it not feeling quite right because they're not the same, to see Verso's body language changed from Gustave but played by the same man is so brilliant. I want to watch Clair Obscur as a stage play where one actor plays both Gustave and Verso (and Renoir in the epilogue).

I truly think that this actor and his large heart was a huge key in the success of this game and the success of the storytelling. The way that he played Verso so honestly and put his soul into his eyes after feeling betrayed by Verso and feeling like Verso killed Gustave, who was a part of him is so wonderful to me. And then to do the same thing for Renoir, who killed Gustave and Sophie. Idk it's so hard to explain, but this contrast and coming to terms and understanding and drawing very deliberate parallels is my favorite thing in the entire world.

So yeah this knowledge of how the actor felt playing both characters is so key to my understanding of the story now and I'm always thinking about Maxence now when I'm watching any of these cutscenes.

[rivwritesiguess]

Lost and Found - Chapter 2: Hawk

Word Count: 11.5k Still just angst, gonna be like this for quite a bit Poly!141 x gn!omega!reader Summary: The mission must go on despite reunions. The 141 is realizing just how different you've become. Warnings: Killing, reader is a meanie, military inaccuracies, bad attempts at European accents Notes: The POV changes so much in the last part, I'm moving between Price, Gaz, and reader too often lol my bad. Reader is referred to with they/them pronouns and will continue to be throughout the series. I know reader is a bitch but I promise it's for a reason, bro went through it the past year. I've been spending so much time establishing exactly what happened to them and I still don't have it fully thought out so there might be some inconsistencies I have to fix in the future when I write future chapters but that's a future me type of thing to deal with so I'm just gonna keep having fun typing away on my laptop. Made the banner with Canva and the dividers with Photopea Navigation Series Masterlist Also on AO3 previous - next

  Johnny stared ahead. He couldn’t look away from you. You were here. You were standing in the same room as him. That was you. How the hell was that you? He knew you had died. He watched you close the window. He heard the bullets fire. He saw your blood on the ground. You were dead. You were supposed to be dead. And yet, here you were.

  You had your face covered. Why? Was it simply to hide from enemies? Something you got used to wearing on the field that you stopped taking it off? Or was it to hide from them? Had you known you’d be seeing them today? You had to have, you weren’t confused and lost like the rest of them. Maybe you were wearing the mask with the hope that they wouldn’t recognize you. But how could that ever happen? You were you, of course they’d recognize you. Or maybe there were other reasons that Johnny couldn’t think of. Johnny doesn’t know exactly what it might be, but he does know that he wants to storm over there and rip the mask off your face. He wants to see your face again. He wants you to smile at him. He wants to feet his heart skip a beat when you do, and he wants to watch you tell them that everything is fine. You were fine.

  Kyle’s jaw was slacked. There’s no way. This isn’t real. No way. It’s impossible. It didn’t make any sense. This couldn’t be happening. It’d been a whole year, if you’d been alive you would’ve come to see them. You would’ve. You definitely would’ve. Maybe it isn’t even you. Maybe their minds are just playing a horrible, evil trick on them.

  Your scent wasn’t in the air. You had always sucked at hiding your scent, the act of suppressing it giving you a strong headache. During missions, you needed full gear in order to hide your scent. Even with that full gear, your scent would seep through when your emotions were really high. But you didn’t seem to have any of that gear on right now. You were wearing normal clothes. No gear. He couldn’t see any patches covering the scent glands on your neck. There’s no way you would’ve been able to hide your scent from them without patches. This couldn’t be you. Right?

  Simon was unnaturally calm. He sat completely still, looking at you. His eyes dug into yours. He knew it was you. But it wasn’t his you. You weren’t the same. He could already tell. You were no longer their Ace, you were a Hawk. Whatever happened from when you walked away from them to now had changed you, and he could see that in your eyes. The playfulness that he had always found looking back at him was gone, replaced by something he saw in his own eyes when he looked in the mirror. Something that had started to fade away when you had come along, only to come back once you had died. 

  Seeing that look in your eyes made him angry. It made him enraged. He wanted to hunt down whoever caused you to have that look. Whoever took away the hope that you always had. Whoever made you think you had to wear a mask. Whoever made it so he couldn’t smell your scent. He wanted to make them pay. He needed to make them pay.

  “What… what’s going on? How- how…” Price couldn’t even think of anything to say. He looked between you and Laswell as he asked the question, not wanting to take his eyes fully off you. If he did, you might disappear. You might leave. Again. Just like last time. You would shut the door and leave them there. Alone. Without you. 

  What… what were you doing back? How were you back? How were you standing in the room with them? And why were you so… different?

  “It’s a complicated situation, John-”

  “That’s fer damn sure,” Johnny interrupted, looking at Laswell. His anger was seeping into the room. 

  A beta’s anger was never a good thing. It was infectious. Betas’ scents were meant to be used to calm, so when their scent gets more negatively intense, it can make others in the room start to feel that anger. Simon wasn’t arguing against it, his anger starting to seep into the air as well. Price was ignoring it, trying to understand the situation. And Kyle…

  Kyle was looking at you still. He thought back to before. You always hated it whenever one of them got angry. You’d project your scent, trying to get people to calm down. You’d end up tired, the process of projecting your scent taking a lot out of you. But you did it anyway. You’d want to help them. Now, you just sat there. You were simply looking at them. You hadn’t moved since you took down your hood. You hadn’t moved an inch.

  “This can all be explained-”

  “Like bloody hell it can!” Johnny shot up in his seat, hands slamming on the table. “What the actual fuck?!”

  “There’s no need to get aggressive. You need to calm down.” Kyle shook his head.

  “You can’t be telling him to calm down when you thought this would be a good idea.” He stood up next, leaning forward on the table. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s a long story and it would do you both better to calm down. Everyone in the room will benefit if you just-”

  “Oh, can it, Laswell, you knew damn well that wisnae how this would go, didnae start wi’ this bullshit!”

  “Johnny.” Price said. It was said in the way he’d normally use to scold one of his pack members, but his tone showed he wasn’t entirely feeling it. There was definitely a part of him that wanted to watch Johnny tear Laswell and this Colonel a new one. How long had they known? How long had Laswell known? How long did she keep their omega away from them? Had she known this past year? How did she allow them to nearly tear themselves apart? How could she put them into therapy knowing the real solution was alive and well?

  “Ye better tell us what the hell is gaun on before we-”

  “Johnny.” A bit more authoritative than before. Threatening wouldn’t get them anywhere. 

  The scents in the room were mixed. Hurt, anger, confusion. 

  And yet, with all these scents, all these high emotions, Simon noticed one that was still missing. Yours.

  “Look, Laswell, if this… if this is some kinda sick joke, it ain’t funny, alright? They’re scent- it- it’s not even here, you havin’ people who look like Ace showin’ up to mess with our heads?” Kyle said, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself more than trying to call this out as some trick even though he knew it wasn’t. Laswell wasn’t cruel. And he knew that was you, even without your scent. Your eyes were enough to tell him that.

  Laswell shook her head.

  “It isn’t a joke. That’s them. That’s Ace. I know you are all confused and angry, but if you don’t calm down-”

  “Quit telling us to calm doon, god dammit! How long have ye known?! How long have they been alive?! Did ye ever even think tae tell us this?!” The Colonel spoke up now, turning to Johnny.

  “Sergeant, you need to sit down and stop yelling. This isn’t-” 

  Price didn’t like that. This alpha that he didn’t know taking a tone with his pack member? His beta? After hiding one of their pack members from them? Who the hell does he think he is?

  “Don’t you start tellin’ one of my men what to do, not after this.”

  “Maybe if you’d control your Sergeant then it wouldn’t be needed.”

  That was something Kyle didn’t like. This other alpha was getting to be too much. His tone was not one Kyle liked hearing directed toward one of his alphas. This guy asked them for their help and then chose to reveal you to them this way. He can’t be mad at them for their reaction. He should be glad they have yet to tear him a new one. 

  “Oi, watch it. You don’t get to mouth off at us when you’re the one that asked for our help.”

  “I asked for your help as soldiers. I didn’t ask for you all to scream at us over something like this.”

  “Like this?! Like this?!”Johnny slammed his hands on the table once again. “There’s nothin’ fucking like this! This shouldnae even be a thing!”

  There wasn’t much that could stop it now. The screaming started, shouting back and forth. 

  You and Simon were the only ones who hadn’t said anything. You both stayed quiet and still. Simon kept his eyes on you while you had brought your gaze back to the ground. You didn’t seem to be affected by this situation. You weren’t reacting at all. 

  Simon stared at you, trying to get some idea of what you were feeling. You used to be so easy for him to read. One look and he could tell exactly how you were doing, what you wanted, what you needed. Now? He couldn’t pick up a single thing. You were a true soldier, not letting your emotions show. Not letting your scent show. Is that what you’ve been doing this past year? Training? Away from them? Without them? Why?

  Colonel Green seemed to know you. He’d called you ‘kid’ like the two of you were close. Why did he get the right to see you but Simon and the others didn’t? Why had you stayed away from them? Did you think they’d be mad? Were you scared? What had happened in that building after you left them? Did you get knocked out? Were you captured? Were you forced to run? Have you been recovering for the past year? Maybe you were in a coma?

  Or worse, did you leave them voluntarily? Had you stayed away from them for the past year all in your own will? Did you not want to see them?

  “Screaming isn’t fixing anything!”

  “Maybe if you’d actually bothered to think this through, there wouldn’t be screaming!”

  “Maybe if you’d be an actual professional, there wouldn’t be screaming!”

  “Professional?! Ye want us tae be professional?! A member o’ our pack died! They died! They were dead! We watched them die!”

  “No.”

  The room went silent. The attention was back to you in an instant when you spoke your first words. You looked back up once again, looking between everyone in the room. 

  Your voice was different. Painfully different. It was different in the same way your eyes were. This wasn’t the voice that traded playful remarks with Johnny over comms. This wasn’t the voice that asked Kyle genuine questions about the games he was watching, trying to engage in what he enjoyed. This wasn’t the voice that coaxed John out of his office to make him take a break. This wasn’t the voice that reassured Simon that he was safe and that you loved them. 

  And yet, they still found their hearts skipping a beat when you spoke. It’d been so long since they heard you in real life. Sure, they heard your voice when they watched back videos. Those stupid videos you always insisted on making to ‘capture the moment’. You laughed from behind the camera, explaining what was going on as you all ate dinner, or explaining what you had all decided to do for vacation, or talking about what it is that Johnny had made the group watch. 

  You always had a way of bringing them back to the moment. Even after being gone for a year, you could still do it without even trying to.

  “...what d’ye mean, ‘no’?” Johnny asked. He had nearly forgotten you were in the room. You were so quiet. You were never so quiet. 

  You sighed, uncrossing your arms and pushing yourself off the wall.

  “I mean ‘no’. You didn’t ‘watch me die’. You were locked in a room.”

  “That- That ain’t- We heard-”

  “Well, you heard wrong.” 

  Your tone was so flat. You still showed no true emotion. You’d interrupted Johnny. Interrupted him. You had never interrupted him. You always let him talk. You always let him get his thoughts out. 

  For only the second time in his life, Johnny was speechless. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to react. He couldn’t shout. Not at you. He wanted to shout. He wanted to scream. He wanted to break shit. But not around you. He couldn’t around you.

  “You heard wrong, and I didn’t die. I’m here, and there’s a job to do, a pretty damn important one. So, we could either sit around here and keep screaming at each other like a bunch of babbling idiots, or we could get our shit together and focus on the task at hand. It’s up to you.” 

  You’d walked forward, standing next to the Colonel on the other side of the table. Away from them. On the opposite side as them. You stood there stiff. You stared at them with nothing in your eyes. No adoration. No love. Just business. That’s what you were now. You were just business. Focused.

  Simon remembered a time when he was like that. Even after joining the pack, he was still like that. It wasn’t until you had come along that he finally felt like he could fully relax. He had an omega, and he could keep them safe. They were safe. He could let himself rest at night with you in his arms.

  Seeing a past version of him reflected on you hurt more than he could ever describe. How had this happened? Where did they go wrong? Who hurt you so badly that this was who you now were? Why didn’t you come to them to heal instead of closing yourself off? Had they ever done anything to make you think they couldn’t? He couldn’t think of anything they’d done. 

  He doesn’t understand you, and it kills him. He always understood you. He always knew you. He knew that you always crunched your face up when you didn’t like something but quickly stopped when you realized you were doing it because you didn’t want to insult anyone. He knew that when you were standing around doing nothing you would feel a need to move around somehow because you couldn’t be doing nothing for too long. He knew that you pulled them to bed at night not just to make them rest, but also because you hated sleeping unless at least one of them was next to you.

  He can’t see this ‘new you’ doing any of that. This you isn’t his, and he doesn’t know if you ever will be again. You might be alive, but you’re not back.

  “Ace… how could you-” Kyle had started, his heart currently shattered in two. This wasn’t you. You wouldn’t be focused on work right now, no, you’d be happy. You’d be smiling at them, enthusiastically pulling them into tight hugs and reassuring them that you’d never leave again. That’s what you always did when this happened in his dreams. That’s how this scene was supposed to play out. Not whatever this is. 

  “That’s enough.”

  John didn’t know what had happened to you. He didn’t know how you’d survived. He didn’t know when Laswell had known you were alive. He didn’t know how you managed to stay away from them for so long. 

  But he did know that you were right. There was a mission to do. You weren’t supposed to be the one reminding them that. He was supposed to. He was supposed to be telling you and the others to stop goofing off. To focus. And yet you had reminded them. 

  You were different. Price didn’t know why. But he knew that standing around here and screaming at each other wasn’t going to change whatever had happened. They needed to do this mission. Price needed to see you in action. See if you were as skilled as your file and the Colonel made you out to be. Maybe, just maybe, that could explain something.

  And then, maybe, you’d talk to them. Once this was all done. Maybe.

  John took a deep breath. He had to focus. Get back to the mission.

  “When we leavin’?”

  “You should be ready to leave by 2000. You will wait in the car until we get confirmation from Lieutenant Evans and his men that the man we are looking for is going to the safe house. Once we have it, you will leave. You should get there about thirty minutes after Stone does. Then, you will take the walk. By the time you get in, he should be sleeping.”

  “Understood. Is there anything else?”

  “Price, we cannae just-”

  “Not now, Johnny.” It wasn’t the time. John didn’t look back at Johnny as he shut him down, keeping his gaze on Colonel Green.

  “No, Captain. That is all. As of now, everyone in this room is dismissed.”

  There wasn’t even time to say anything before you started moving, heading straight for the door. No one made a move to stop you.

  You left the room without a glance back at them.

  The car ride to the safehouse was deadly silent. You could hear a pin drop. Soap had tried talking to you a few times, but you ignored him. You didn’t have time for this. There was a mission to focus on, and it needed your full attention. Catching up on past relationships wasn’t important right now. 

  Soap stopped when you had allowed your scent to seep into the air ever so slightly, allowing those in the car to sense your annoyance. They knew you’d done it on purpose, but it worked nonetheless. Soap stopped bothering you, and you ran over the plan in your head a few more times before the car was pulling to a stop.

  You double-checked your gear for the fifth time since leaving before getting out of the car. You checked that the radio was working, responding curtly to Green when he asked if you and the 141 had arrived.

  You took a few steps away from the car before looking back at the group. They were whispering something. You probably should’ve tried to pick up on it, but you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to hear their voices any more than you had to.

  You had to focus on the mission. The mission is what is important. Growing close again would throw you off your groove, affect future missions. You couldn’t let that happen. 

  “I’ll stay with the car.” Ghost voice ended the small argument they seemed to be having. He didn’t wait for a response before he got back in the car. It probably wasn’t the best idea. You remembered his driving. He was… he could drive, with the basic meaning of the word. Best way to describe his driving was reckless. He would get from point A to point B, not being quite safe while doing it, but still getting it done.

  But that wasn’t for you to focus on. It was his job in the mission, he could do it how he seemed fit. 

  The other three turned to you. Price nodded, signaling for you to lead the way.

  You knew these woods better than all of them. You’d been surveying out here for the past five weeks, keeping track of everything that happened. You knew when the predators hunted, you knew when the prey scrounged for food. You knew when the animals slept. You knew when the birds sang, where the fish would swim. You knew everything about this area of the woods.

  You also knew everything about that damn house. It’d been your main target. Green had sent you out here after you figured out the organization was hiding out around here. You stalked, hiding high in the trees or low on the ground. You memorized the schedule of everyone in the building. You eavesdropped on as many conversations as you could. You kept them asleep by projecting a calming scent as you snuck through the house, gathering information. 

  You’d set up microphones in the walls the third time you managed to get into the house, which definitely made your job a bit easier. The only time you went in after that was mainly to see if they’d changed the layout or to move around the microphones. 

  The most recent time, however, you had broken the lock on a window in the back of the house. The hallway it was in led straight to the basement. You had lubricated the hinges of the door to make sure it wouldn’t creak. You’d hidden a lockpick so you’d be able to unlock the door in the basement that led outside next time you came around. You had prepared so much for this mission, and you weren’t planning on letting it fail.

  You’d hoped the walk to the halfway point would be silent. However, Soap and 15 minutes of silence could never possibly mix.

  “So, ‘Hawk’, what’s yer life like? Got a special pack?” There was a hint of venom in his voice, but you ignored it. You ignored him. You weren’t here for small talk or arguments. You were here for the mission.

  “Sergeant…” There was Price, that same warning tone as always. It always made you feel guilty before. When it was directed at you, it was normally because you and Soap were hogging comms with meaningless chatter. 

  There was no chatter now though, despite Soap’s ongoing attempt. You saw no need. Before, you had needed it to keep yourself calm. Hearing Soap’s voice helped you get through your part of the mission. Hearing any of their voices helped you get through your part of the mission. Now, however, you didn’t need that. You didn’t need to hear them. In fact, you didn’t even want to hear them. It would only distract. You didn’t need to be distracted.

  “What, Captain? Ah just want tae know more aboot this ‘Hawk’ fella we’re s’possed tae be workin’ wi’.” 

  Soap definitely wasn’t taking all this well. You had never met a beta like him before. Even in the past year away from them, no beta ever reminded you of Soap. For a beta, he was very hot-headed when the time came. Sure, he was soft and kind most of the time (or at least that’s how you remembered him), but when something really pissed him off, it pissed him off. He could probably even be mistaken for an alpha if his scent didn’t give him away. 

  “Especially since, by the looks o’ it, we’ve never met them before. Or at least that’s how they’re treatin’ us.”

  You noticed how Gaz stayed quiet. He hadn’t said anything to you. The last time you heard him talk was in the briefing when he was arguing with Laswell and Green. Ghost was silent as well, but Gaz’s silence was different. With Ghost, you couldn’t quite pinpoint where his silence was coming from. With Gaz, on the other hand, you sensed confusion. Hurt. Pain. He wanted answers, but you weren’t willing to give them.

  You had smelled their scents before they put their blockers on. Price was trying to stay professional, but you could sense the hurt underneath. Soap was just pissed off. Ghost was hiding his scent, suppressing it just like you’ve been doing. Gaz, on the other hand, was all hurt. So confused. You knew he wanted to hold you, but you didn’t let him. The mission needed your focus. 

  “Soap, knock it off.” Price demanded. Soap huffed. Before he could possibly argue, you recognized the marking on the top of the tree.

  “We’re halfway.” You stopped walking, turning back to the group. They froze for a moment. It was the first words they’d heard from you directed towards them since the briefing. “One of you stays here and goes over to watch the road. Stay on the lookout for any cars. There shouldn’t be anyone coming this way at this time.”

  “What about other cars from the organization?” Price asked. You shook your head.

  “No. Not unless something happens. They like their sleep.”

  “What aboot ye, Hawk, ye like yer sleep? How dae ye sleep? Yer bed comfortable? Mebbe a bit empty?” 

  Soap couldn’t come with. He was too upset to take the mission seriously.

  “Stop it, Mactavish, that’s enough.” Soap turned his head to Price, about to argue.

  “You should stay back.” Soap’s head whipped back to you, the confusion on his face evident. “If you can’t be professional, you shouldn’t come to the house. It’ll only slow us down.”

  “Ye think ah cannae remain professional? What’s professional aboot not talkin’ to yer team members? What's professional aboot projectin’ yer scent to shut ‘em up? Think it's professional tae-”

  “I said that’s enough, Sergeant.” Price was angry now, but not at you. His anger seemed to be directed at Soap. Maybe he thought Soap was doing too much. That he might hurt your feelings. Or maybe he wanted Soap to stop out of fear of ruining chances of reconciliation. That wouldn’t be happening, even if all four of them wanted it. You weren’t planning on building a bond again.

  Maybe he was trying to focus on the mission. That’s what needed to happen. You all needed to focus, and petty arguments weren’t going to help.

  “You’ll stay back, just like they said.” Soap seemed like he wanted to argue, similar to how that one Sergeant had been during the briefing after hearing what his team’s job was. However, just like the Sergeant, Soap didn’t argue. Soap wasn’t going to argue with Price. You could tell he wanted to keep being petty, but he knew they still had a mission to get through. 

  Soap gave a curt nod to Price, unsuccessfully trying to hide the small glare creeping onto his face before turning and walking in the direction of the road, preparing to do the job you had described. 

  With that, you turned and kept walking, not wanting to waste any more time. 

  Price and Gaz didn’t try to start conversation with you in the 15-minute walk. They didn’t even talk to each other. Before, you would’ve felt awkward about the silence. You would’ve filled it with your own talking, ranting about whatever you could think of. Now, however, you kept your mouth shut. Talking wasn’t needed to complete the mission right now. Even if it had felt awkward, you wouldn’t have talked. Not to them. You couldn’t. 

  It wasn’t allowed.

  Soon enough, you were at the treeline near the house. You looked ahead, seeing the window you were planning on sneaking in. You focused for a minute, trying to catch the scent in the air. 

  It was coming from the rooftop. You looked up to see two men quietly talking. They weren’t really paying attention, but you didn’t want to risk it. You didn’t make a move until you saw them move to the other side of the house. 

  You shook your head with a scoff under your breath. The organization was far too confident. They thought they had nothing to worry about, so they didn’t take their security seriously. Those two on the roof were meant to be lookouts, but they were just chatting away and not even actually checking when they were looking out. It was foolish, but it did make your job a bit easier. Not that you would treat it as if it were any easier.

  You took a deep breath before quietly moving and taking off your gun, handing it over to the closest person to you, which happened to be Price. He looked at you confused.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I need to be silent. Having that on won’t help me.”

  “You can’t go in there without a weapon. It’s not safe.”

  “Give it to me when I let you in.”

  “You need a weapon.”

  “I have one.” 

  You didn’t leave room for any more argument before you were quickly moving out into the open, forcing Price to stop his argument so he wouldn’t draw attention to you. There wasn’t time to argue about something so stupid. You’d done this tons of times, you weren’t going to stop just because Price was worried. This wasn’t the time to be worried, not when there was a mission to get through.

  You moved quickly and quietly to the side of the house. Once there, you pushed your back against the wall and squatted down, slowly moving over to the window. You lifted your hand only slightly, grabbing the very edge of the window to avoid your hand being seen from the inside. You listened intently for a moment before slowly opening the window ever so slightly. 

  You then focused on scent, trying to recognize if there was anyone in the hallway you were about to go into. You didn’t smell anyone, so you slowly opened the window a bit more. You heard a few footsteps on the roof and paused, glancing up. You were covered by the overhang of the roof, you’d be fine. However, you didn’t want to risk them hearing you climb in, so you waited until the footsteps stopped on a different side of the house before opening the window even wider and sliding in.

  John and Kyle watched you from the treeline. John held your gun, still not liking the idea of you going in there without it. Sure, you had your combat knife and a pistol, but the weapon he’s holding is the one that you can do the real damage with. The Colonel did mention you’d get them through without needing to fire a shot, but what if something went wrong? What if you got caught? What if you got cornered and a pistol wasn’t enough? Would he and Kyle be able to get there in time before you were hurt? He couldn’t let you get hurt. Not you.

  John knew you were different. He didn’t know why, but he knew you were. Even just from the briefing, he knew you’d changed drastically. And watching you sneak into the house right now further proved it. You never would’ve been able to do that before. 

  Or maybe you could’ve. Maybe the only reason he thought that was because he didn’t see you trying. He didn’t see you trying because he never let you do this kind of thing. Was that why you’d stayed away this past year? Did you think he and the others held you back? Did you stay away from them so you could build your skills? Did you leave them for the past year so you wouldn’t have to deal with them trying to protect you? Did you hate them for that?

  “They’re good,” Kyle whispered to John, snapping John from his thoughts.

  John nodded.

  “They definitely are.”

  He watched you pause and smell for scents before going in. You were so… professional. That was the best way to describe it. You knew what you were doing, and you moved with a purpose. You did everything with a purpose. You hadn’t spoken a word to them when it wasn’t needed. You didn’t fill the walk with pointless talk like you would’ve in the past. You spoke when you had to in order to complete the mission. 

   John knew Johnny wasn’t taking this well. In the few hours before leaving, the beta had been storming around the pack house before Kyle managed to calm him down. Johnny was not happy about all of this. He wasn’t happy with John either, not appreciating how his alpha refused to let him try and get answers. He didn’t seem happy with you. You had shot him down at every turn whenever he tried to bond with you. It was as if you didn’t care about the bond you and the pack ever had in the past.

  But John knew that wasn’t the case. And he knew that Johnny knew deep down it wasn’t the case as well. But Johnny was still going to be angry. The petty comments would continue, and John would have to keep shutting them down, or you’d end up projecting your scent again.

  That was definitely a new skill of yours. Sure, you’d projected your scent in the past, but only in private. And you were only ever able to do it very softly before it took too much out of you. You’d done it a few times to try and calm people down, and John had seen how it affected you. He shut it down, telling you not to do it anymore out of fear of what it was doing to your body. 

  Now, however, you did it so easily. You’d projected your annoyance to the group without breaking a sweat, and it definitely worked. Johnny was too uncomfortable with the feeling of making an omega annoyed, so he shut up, and if he hadn’t, the others would’ve shut him up in an attempt to get rid of the smell in the air. How many times have you used your scent like that in the past year? You had to get good at it somehow, and you’ve obviously been on a lot of missions in the past year. You had to have been in order to build up a file as good as yours. Had you used your scent to your advantage in those missions? Did it exhaust you in the beginning? Why’d you start doing it? How’d you start doing it? 

  You were an omega. Omegas were never seen as threats. They normally stayed away from the military. If they did join, they didn’t get far before leaving to join a pack or pursue a different career. When omegas left, it was no big deal. No one expected them to get very far in the first place. John had only met a few omegas who stuck with the military, and they normally were in the medical field. Nurses or medics. 

  You were different. The first time John met you was on a mission. He had smelled omega in the air before you put on your scent blockers. It was a mission where he was put in charge of about 10 other soldiers. He had thought you were just a medic tagging along, but when you got fully geared up, he realized he was wrong. You were great with a gun, it was the only thing you used throughout the mission. Not an expert like him or the other members of the Task Force, but still pretty great. You stayed at the back during fights, which some people saw as being cowardly. However, with the way you continuously popped up from behind your cover to try and help the unit, Price knew what the others thought wasn’t the case.

  You also didn’t let things get to you. Throughout that mission, John heard a few of the other soldiers shit-talking you in regards to you being an omega. You had simply ignored them. Then, later that day when it was time for dinner, you had shared some of your food with one of them as if nothing happened. You’d done it with a smile on your face.

  That was when John knew that he needed you on his team. Not because of your shooting, or your smarts, or your combat. It was your smile. The way you smiled at a man who said such rude things about you despite having heard every word. He couldn’t let you go. Not when you could be going to another team that would say things just as rude purely due to your designation. Not when he wanted you to stay near him, not so he could force you into his pack and get you to retire, but so he could give you an environment where you could thrive at your work and not be dealing with alphas and betas who refused to take you seriously.

  John started working on getting you on his team the second he got back. He couldn’t exactly tell command he wanted you on his team because you smiled, so he told them the team could use someone different. He also told them that you had potential, which was true. He spent about an hour or two trying to convince them. Someone accused him of just wanting you to be his pack’s omega and he shot that down. He didn’t want you because of that, it was your ability to face someone cruel and still choose to be good. He needed someone like that on the team.

  Of course, now, a few years after that, John realizes he did want you to join the team with hopes of you joining his pack. Then, he couldn’t admit that to himself. But now? He knows that was the case and wouldn’t be able to deny it if he tried.

  Laswell probably knew at the time, even if he didn’t realize it. When he was talking to her and explaining the situation, she was looking at him with a ‘do you think I’m stupid’ type of look. He had ignored it, telling her the same reasons he told everyone else. Despite probably knowing, Laswell didn’t say anything. She read over your file, commenting how she didn’t see anything that made you stand out for the Task Force. There was nothing that qualified you to be considered. However, she must’ve known John’s unconfessed intentions, because she pulled strings on her end to get you on the team.

  John remembers feeling so relieved. He didn’t know why he was relieved, but he was. He lied to himself, saying he was just relieved because another person would make missions easier to complete. But deep down, even then, a part of him knew it was more than that. A part of him was relieved to have an omega around him. His alpha was relieved at the thought that he’d be able to protect this omega. 

  But he’d failed at that. He failed at protecting you, and for the past year, he thought you were dead. You had to have gone through so much in the past year, and that was his fault. He was to blame. He didn’t keep you safe. The omega he pulled onto his team, let into his life, and swore to himself to protect. He failed you. And now… you were different. 

  “Open.” Your voice came over comms. When John looked up, he saw the cellar doors open ever so slightly before shutting. 

  “They in, doors’re unlocked,” Kyle said. 

  John could hear the relief they both felt in Kyle’s voice. Sure, John had read through your file. He saw how skilled you were, but it was still strange and confusing to him that the file was talking about you. 

  He remembered how your file looked when he first got you on the team. It didn’t have much on it aside from test scores and a few missions. Your current file, however, was filed with field experience and a long list of classified missions. How have you done all that in the past year?

  “Followin’ your lead, Captain,” Kyle said, his voice going back to his usual tone when they were on missions.   John nodded, carefully putting your weapon on his back. He glanced up, checking for the lookouts. When he didn’t see them, he nodded to Kyle and the two quickly moved forward to the cellar door. John opened it quietly as Kyle climbed in. John followed right behind, shutting the cellar doors behind him.

  You came up behind Price once they were both in and put the lock back around the handles. You didn’t actually lock it, but you made it look like it was locked, holding it still for a moment before slowly pulling away to make sure it didn’t fall off. 

  Price handed you your weapon and you swung it on your back, not giving it much mind. Instead, you pulled out your combat knife from the pocket on your chest. You couldn’t use the gun in this house. The second you did, your presence would be made known. The knife was your best bet to keep this mission going well. You pulled out your pistol, double-checking that it was still loaded in the case where you’d need to use it. After doing so, you put it back in its holster before nodding towards Gaz and Price, motioning for them to follow you as you walked forward.

  You saw the small moment where Price wanted to protest as you got to the basement door. He didn’t want to let you go first. You didn’t give him the chance to speak before you opened the door quietly and poked your head out. 

  You took in the smell of the air, trying to pinpoint where people were in the building. There seemed to be about three people in the living room, which was towards the front of the house. Luckily, the stairs that you needed to take to get to the Stone’s room were closer to the back. 

  You’d argued about doing the mission on your own with Colonel Green. You probably would’ve been able to. You would’ve been able to carry the Stone out and simply avoid the other people in the house, but Green had said he didn’t want to risk it. So, you begrudgingly agreed to being on a team with people.

  When Laswell called you and told you that she wanted you to work with the 141, you were not willing. You didn’t want to see them again. They’d distract you. And then there’d be all the questions, all the talking. All the feelings. It wasn’t something you wanted to do. You’d argued for about an hour before Laswell finally put her foot down.

  You were even more upset when Laswell and Green told you you’d have to show your face. That wasn’t something you’d agree to at all. You covered your face for a reason. The deep scar that stretched across the bottom half of your face was something you didn’t want to ever acknowledge again. You didn’t even look at your face. You avoided mirrors. You hated your reflection and what looked back at you whenever you weren’t wearing your stupid face mask. It was a reminder of your weakness, something you never planned on showing again.

  You didn’t want to show the task force your face. You didn’t want them to question. You didn’t want them to react. Would they pity you? Would they be angry? Would they be unable to look? Would they think you were ugly? Would their memory of you be scorned? Would they hate you?

  A part of you knew you shouldn’t care. They weren’t part of you anymore. Who cares if they hated you? That wasn’t your problem. It’s not like they’re still your pack or anything. You don’t need them anyway. You don’t need a pack. 

  And no one in the world got to see your face. Not anymore. And that includes your old pack.

  So you had stormed out of the room, never once agreeing with Laswell or Green to lower the mask. You didn’t want them to know it was you. They’d want to talk. To bond. However, when Laswell had used that tone, you knew she was done with you refusing. You didn’t want to get into any disciplinary trouble, so you had reluctantly taken off your hood.

  They recognized you. A part of you had hoped they wouldn’t. That would’ve made the mission much easier. You could get through, not say a word. The mission would be over and they’d be none the wiser, still under the impression that you were dead and buried. The way you wanted them to think. You obviously didn’t get what you wanted.

  A part of you, the part you’d been keeping buried for so long, thought about doing things differently. Thought about running up to them the minute they walked into the room. Their scents were overwhelming, so familiar and yet so unknown. You stood still and focused on them while Green had talked, taking in every little thing you’d spent the past year missing. 

  But you weren’t allowed to miss them. You were a soldier. You had to focus on the mission.

  Right. The mission.

  You took yourself out of your thoughts, realizing you were actively walking and leading Price and Gaz down the hallway. Taking a left, you ducked down as you guys crept through the kitchen, making sure you all wouldn’t be seen through the back door. 

  It was going well until you smelled a scent approaching. You quickly held up your hand, stopping the crawl through the kitchen on one side of the island. You’d contemplated going back the way you came, but you wouldn’t have gotten out of the kitchen in time. So, you stayed still, keeping your hand raised to tell the two to stay quiet. 

  Someone came down the stairs and walked into the room. An alpha. They smelled like tires and coal with a hint of gasoline. They were relaxed, casually walking on the other side of the island to get to the fridge with no knowledge of the three intruders in the kitchen, the scent suppressors that Price and Gaz were wearing working wonders.

  You didn’t have one. The control you had over your scent made it so you could suppress it automatically. If you did wear one, then you’d lose your advantage of projecting your scent to make your enemies vulnerable. Which is what you are doing right now.

  Very lightly, you let out the scent of fear. You heard the alpha freeze. Nobody liked the scent of an omega fear, especially an alpha. They’d want the scent gone. Some would comfort, others would try and stomp it out.

  This one wouldn’t live long enough for you to find out what type he was.

  The alpha started approaching the island slowly, now having a hint of curiosity and concern in his scent. You saw Price and Gaz tense up, ready for a fight. They raised their guns, not looking much at you as they started to move forward. 

  You rolled your eyes slightly. They fire those things and the whole operation is a bust. You shook your head at them, motioning for them to get back against the island. Price didn’t seem entirely willing to listen, but Gaz did when he saw the look on your face.

  Price started to stand up. You were running out of time before Price would give away your position. You stopped letting out your fear, worrying that it was messing with him and clouding his judgment. You could handle this. You knew what you were doing. You wouldn’t lure him over here if you thought a gunfight was going to need to happen. 

  You replaced the fear with a sort of pleading. This made Price pause. 

  Then, you were able to take your shot. 

  The alpha started to turn around the island and you quickly stood up, combat knife in hand as you threw your hand over his mouth and stabbed him in the neck. You moved too quickly for the alpha to react. His eyes widened as he tried to call out for help with his voice but your hand stopped him. 

  You pulled the knife out and quickly stabbed him on both sides of his neck where his scent glands were, stopping him from projecting his scent and alerting the others in the house about the danger. Then, life drained from his eyes and he started to slump forward. You allowed this, sitting down as you held his body, quickly taking the cover of the island to hide from the back door once again.

  You quickly pulled the alpha’s jacket off, wrapping it around his neck to try and stifle the heavy scent of blood in the air. You wiped your hands off on the jacket as well so the blood wouldn’t be smelled as the three of you kept going through the house. Now, you just had to hide the body for at least ten minutes.

  You glanced around and your eyes landed on the pantry. You nodded to yourself before looking over to the two next to you, motioning for Price to grab the alpha’s legs and for Gaz to open the pantry door.

  Kyle didn’t know if he was horrified or turned on. He’d seen death before, obviously. He’d been the cause of death before. And he’s seen you shoot people before, but that was always from afar. He had never before seen you with blood on your hands. On missions, you always stood back and fought with a gun. Sure, it was your best weapon, but Kyle knew there was more to it. He knew it was so you didn’t have to get anywhere near the actual person. So you didn’t have to feel their blood splattering onto you like blood typically did in close combat. He understood a part of you hated blood, never willing to touch any of the pack when they had blood on their clothes.

  And yet… here you were. You acted so… efficiently. Like you’d done this hundreds of times before. How many people have you done that to this past year? How many other alphas have you gotten rid of? It had to be a lot. You did it so effortlessly. The only thing you seemed to stress about was if he and John would act.

  A part of Kyle wishes he did. He wishes he had blown the mission. Then, he wouldn’t have had to see you do that. He wouldn’t have had to have the image of your innocence killed so brutally. You hit that alpha’s scent glands with the precision of an expert. You wrapped his jacket around his neck without any hesitation. You moved with a purpose, and everything you did had a reason. It was so different from how he once knew you. You’re an expert now, unlike before when Kyle had gotten used to having to help you learn.

  When you looked back at him and John, his heart stopped for a moment. You made solid, full eye contact with him. You hadn’t done that yet. Sure, your eyes would meet his in quick glances, but you looking at him for over a second? That hadn’t happened yet. He hadn’t seen that in a year.

  And sure, there was no look of care like there might’ve been before. There was no love in that look. Obviously there wouldn’t be, you’d just killed a guy and you were trying to get help with hiding the body. But you still looked at him. You looked at him.

  When John started moving, Kyle did as well. As John grabbed the man’s legs and helped you quietly carry the man to the pantry, Kyle opened it and moved things around to make some room. 

  You walked backward into the pantry, maneuvering the man so his back was against the wall before letting him sink to the ground. Then, you stepped over his legs to exit. You turned around, wiping your knife on his pants leg to get rid of some of the blood.

  Kyle and John squatted down again as you did, taking a quick glance at the backdoor and feeling lucky that the guard out back wasn’t really trying to actually guard. He hadn’t seen a thing.

  When you turned back, you had a bit of blood on your neck from when you’d stabbed his scent glands. Your mask hid the blood that had splattered there well due to its black color, but there were still small specks of blood on your face.

  Kyle wanted nothing more than to reach forward and wipe the blood off. However, you didn’t let him think on that thought twice before shutting the pantry and continuing to move through the house.

  Kyle and John followed behind you as you kept moving like you hadn’t just killed someone. In the past, you’d have needed a second before continuing. That’s why John didn’t let you come on missions where enemy interaction was unavoidable. He’d tell you to stay back while they went ahead. Help them out over comms by guiding them through the building they were in or letting them know if enemies were approaching.

  Kyle knew that was only part of the reason John had you stay back. He told command it was what you were best at. You’d do more once you had more training. 

  The main reason, however, was concern for your safety. It was always out of concern for your safety. After all, you were their omega, it was only natural for him to want to keep you safe. 

  Every other military pack whose omegas were also in the military did it. They’d give their omegas the safest job on a mission, even if their omega was better qualified for something else. Sure, it wasn’t ‘technically’ allowed, but no one said anything. Command accepted the excuses that were made, even though they knew the real reason. They wouldn’t tell a pack what to do with their omega. Most of command was fine with omegas staying back, still having the stereotypical belief that omegas were too weak for the more dangerous aspects of the job. 

  None of the team ever held this belief. They knew you were strong, but they still wanted to keep you safe. They didn’t want you to have to use your strength. Not when there were moments where you flinched at unexpected gunfire. Not when you always hesitated to pull the trigger till the last second. Making you use your strength didn’t keep you safe. They had to keep you safe. At least until you could handle yourself better on the field.

  What was hitting John was the fact that you truly didn’t need them to keep you safe right now. You were able to handle yourself perfectly fine. Better than fine. You had just taken that alpha down without any help. You’d been trying to stop them from helping, and you did. When he recognized the pleading scent in the air, he froze. That was vulnerability directed towards him. It wasn’t like the fake fear you were putting in the air to lure the alpha. It was meant for him. Even if it was fake, you still did it for him. He’d gone so long without having your scent being there for him, so when he finally had it again, he froze. An experienced military captain like him froze. Sure, it was only for a split second, but it still happened. No one had ever managed to make him do that. And yet you did. And you had meant to.

  The second he froze, you took action. You only needed that split second. You’d stopped him from attacking the alpha and giving away the position, so you had pulled back your scent entirely. And then you attacked. And John could only sit and watch as you did something he could never have seen you doing.

  And then you kept moving after it. And now you were all approaching the bedroom that you say the man is in. You turn back to them.

  “Stay out here. If you hear someone starting to come up, come in and do it silently.” 

  You didn’t elaborate before opening the door. The target was lying on the bed, passed out. His scent was in the air. It was similar to the earlier alpha, sharing that same scent of tire. He had a smell of gasoline as well, but it was much heavier. There was also smoke. He smelled… dangerous. And you knew he was.

  Christopher Stone. He had been responsible for several attacks on military personnel across the country. He wasn’t the head of this organization, but he was definitely an important part of it. Taking him back and questioning him could finally reveal the reason for everything the organization had been doing. What their true motive was. 

  Why they did everything they did to you.

  You projected a calming scent before taking another step towards him. It would keep him asleep. It was in an alpha’s nature to feel more relaxed when an omega was calm. So, if the floor were to creak, it’s less likely he’d wake up. 

  Of course, you watched your steps very carefully, so no creaks would be happening. Whenever you stepped on a floorboard that felt a bit too wrong, you moved to another. Soon enough, you were right next to the bed.

  Here’s where keeping him relaxed really helped. He didn’t wake up when he heard the quiet sound of something unzipping. He didn’t wake up when he felt the bed shift. He only woke up when you were on top of him, but by that point, it was too late. You already had the syringe going into his neck. You were already injecting the fast-acting paralyzing agent. You already had your hand covering his mouth and had a towel across his neck, covering his scent glands and stopping him from projecting his scent for help. 

  You injected the drug in less than half a second before tossing the syringe to the other side of the bed. You moved your free hand to his neck, pushing down to keep the towel there. He lifted his waist in an attempt to sit up, but you put all your strength into pushing him down. He tried kicking his legs and swinging his arms to get you off, but you took the hits without a flinch. He tried peeling your hand off his mouth, but you were stronger. He tried pulling off the towel, but you were still stronger.

  After about three seconds, the drug was already kicking in. His movements slowed rapidly, and after another five seconds, he was limp. His eyes stared up at you, a glare set on them as you lifted yourself slightly, removing your hand from his mouth. 

  His glare didn’t affect you. You kept moving, pulling out another syringe with a drug to knock him out. You saw his eyes widen before you pushed the new syringe into the other side of his neck. He couldn’t do anything but watch as you injected the drug and then got off of him, grabbing the other syringe and pulling the needle off of both of them. You put the needles inside a tiny plastic case, something they wouldn’t be able to stab through when you put them back into the small bag on your hip. You put the syringes in a plastic bag together before putting them back in the bag as well. 

  As Stone passed out, you quietly went back to the door, opening it and motioning for Price and Gaz to come in. 

  Kyle was surprised at how quickly you had managed to knock out the target. When he heard the door open, he was half expecting to see the target there and you in the background, dead on the ground. 

  Luckily, that didn’t happen. You opened the door and stepped aside so he and John could go inside. They quickly did so, looking to the bed. There was the target, passed out. You’d done it, and you hadn’t even needed their help. 

  Kyle was a bit confused as to why they were here in the first place. You’d gotten through the house without trouble. You’d killed that alpha downstairs without trouble. You knocked out the target without trouble. You didn’t need them. If anything, them coming along puts you at more risk of being caught. It was easier to notice three people sneaking around the house instead of one. 

  “One of you grab him and then follow a few seconds behind me. I’m going to make sure they still don’t know we’re here.”

  “I’m going to make sure they don’t stop thinking it’s only someone.”

  Kyle hated that. He hated hearing those words ‘I’m going to make sure’. Anytime anyone at the time had said it the past year he’d stop them from doing whatever they were doing, even if it was just something as simple as making sure the food wasn’t burning. It was an automatic response at this point. He had to stop them because he hadn’t been able to stop you.

  He quickly stepped out, grabbing your arm.

  “I got it, Ace, you don’t have to.”

  It was an accident. He hadn’t meant to let your old code name slip, but he did. When he’d thought of the sentence in his head, he used ‘Hawk’. But that felt so wrong. It felt beyond wrong. You weren’t a hawk. You weren’t some haunting predator. You were their Ace. Their lucky Ace, always getting them through their missions and making them come out on top. Not a hawk.

  But you didn’t like it. Kyle saw that from the flash of bitterness on your face when he said it. He didn’t understand why it was there. You never hated when they called you Ace before. You smiled when they called you the name outside of missions. You laughed when they’d tease you with it, and blush when they reminded you of the reasoning. 

  There was none of that now. You pulled your arm out of Kyle’s grip. You didn’t do it harshly, but just the action of pulling away from him made Kyle feel like someone had just stabbed him in the gut. His hand now felt empty, having held you for only a moment before you were ripped away from him.

  “No. One of you needs to watch the other’s back.” 

  Once again, you left no room for argument, moving out of the room before Kyle could say anything. He stared at the open doorway as you moved out of his sight, frozen. 

  You had pulled away from him. You hadn’t listened to him. You left him. 

  It was exactly what you did to the others the day he lost you.

  He couldn’t move, feeling as lost as he did that day. He felt such regret over that day, knowing he was the only one who didn’t say anything to you. He didn’t try to stop you. He didn’t get to say goodbye. He’d been frozen, just like he was now. He only talked when you were gone. How could he do that? How could he not say a thing to you? Did you leave thinking he didn’t care? How could he let you think that? How could he just sit there and not try anything? How could he only talk once you were gone? What kind of packmate was he?

  The only thing that unfroze him was the feeling of John’s hand on his shoulder. He was pulled back to the present as he looked over, feeling so hurt and confused.

  Kyle’s face showed his hurt and confusion. It made John want to hold him. Reassure him everything was alright. You’d come back around.

  But now wasn’t the time. There was still the mission, and you didn’t seem like you were willing to let them take a quick mental health break. They didn’t have time.

  “Pick him up, Gaz, I’ll watch your six,” John instructed, lightly pushing Kyle towards the bed. He watched as his beta stood still for a moment more before managing to get out of his own head, walking over to the bed, and throwing the target over his shoulders.

  A part of John wanted to be relieved that Kyle was moving. Kyle had been frozen like that lots of times in the past year, stuck in his head as he thought about the final moments they had with you. He brought up his self-doubt a few times in the most recent group therapy sessions. The group had fully accepted your death about four months ago. About a month after that, their group therapist suggested that they all talk about how they felt when it happened. Most of the talk had been about how they were feeling towards each other, but the therapist thought their acceptance would be a good time to change the talk and address other issues.

  John remembers the anger he felt when Kyle had first called himself a bad beta. How could he possibly think that? How could John have let Kyle think that for so long without realizing what was going through his head?

  He knew Simon was upset at himself as well. So was Johnny. They were all upset with themselves. How could any of them have been so selfish to not realize what the others were going through? To focus only on themselves while the others were suffering so greatly?

  John finally understood why Kyle was freezing up at times during that session. It was because he was playing the scene of you leaving them back in his head, imagining all the different things he could’ve done. John always did his best to snap him back to the present. Luckily, he’d done that pretty easily this time.

  Despite how easily he did it, he couldn’t feel the relief he wanted to. Not when he could tell that Kyle was still shaken. Not when he no longer had eyes on you.

  The second Kyle was by the door, John was ready to move. To get you in his sights again. However, when they stepped outside, you weren’t there.

  John and Kyle felt an intense sense of panic when they didn’t see you in the hallway waiting for them. They couldn’t smell you either. They didn’t hear anything. You hadn’t been killing another alpha. You hadn’t been in a fight. What if you were caught? Were you hurt? Were you dead? Not again, you couldn’t be dead again. That wouldn’t be fair, they just found you again. They still needed to work on winning you back.

  Their fears were put on hold when you poked your head around the corner, giving them a small gesture to tell them it was safe to move forward. They were pulled back to the mission and quickly listened to what you had said, moving forward and following behind you as you made sure the path was clear. 

  John kept looking behind, not wanting someone to sneak up on the group while Kyle was busy carrying the target. They’d be vulnerable, more vulnerable than they already were by being in enemy territory. It wouldn’t end well, especially since whoever it was would be able to alert everyone else in the base before Price or you would be able to take them down. 

  Luckily, they didn’t need to worry about any of that. You got them through the house with ease, using the scents in the air to tell when it would be safe to move forward and when it wouldn’t be. After about two minutes, the three of you, with the target on Kyle’s shoulders, got back to the basement.

  John knew you were planning on leaving first. He didn’t try to say anything to stop you this time. Instead, he quickly moved forward past you, getting to the exit before you and opening it quietly. He stuck his head out first, forcing you to fall back and wait for his signal that told you and Kyle it was good to move forward.

  John didn’t have as strong of a sense of smell as you. You were always more sensitive when it came to that thing, something the guys tried to accommodate for you. They’d spritz themselves with a bit of scent blocker, not fully blocking their scent but making it less intense so you weren’t constantly scrunching up your nose whenever one of them started to feel a bit more passionately. It was another reason John had you stay behind on missions, not wanting you to feel uncomfortable due to the intense smells that would be wherever they were going.

  Your sense of smell was why you’d been going first throughout all of this. You had the easiest way to check if the coast was clear, especially since no one in this building was holding their scent due to their guard being up. The people in this building thought they were safe. They’d been foolish.

  Due to not having a sense of smell like yours, John mainly relied on his hearing. He listened for the talking of the two men on the rooftop. He listened for their footsteps. When he heard their talking move further away along with their footsteps, he took it as the chance to act. He motioned to you and Kyle before quickly climbing out. 

  John stood by the door as you and Kyle pushed the target up to him. John took the target and picked him up, throwing him over one of his shoulders as he ushered you and Kyle out of the basement. You shut the doors behind the three of you before you all quickly moved for the cover of the trees. 

  Once back in the trees, John went to his radio. 

  “Ghost, start driving towards Soap.”

  With the mission being almost over, the pack could now redirect their focus to you. 

  Now came the hard part.

[m3chanical-s0ul]

TRIGGER WARNING MECHANICAL GORE!!!

@noti-mportant @lame-zany you two wanted to see the wip but...this is the full thing

Idk what to title it but yeah random fanfic based on my favorite mind headcanon

It was quiet. Too quiet. Soul narrowed his eyes as he paraded the halls, his boots thumping against the very stable wooden stairs. He was faced with three rooms. One to his left, untouched. The middle one was his, but he barely used it. The one on the right was plastered with stickers and signs, one he could make out reading "Hearts room! No Minds allowed!"

Soul shook his head. How childish, he scolded in his head. How unnecessary. He could hear a faint humming coming from Heart's room to his right. He wasn't surprised by this. What he was surprised by was the lack of fighting.

He gently knocked on Heart's door, careful not to knock any signs down. He knew Heart didn't like unexpected intruders. "Hold on-" he heard, muffled from inside the room.

He watched the door open to Heart's cozy room. He could barely see inside due to the dim lighting, the curtains blocking out the sun from outside and most of the lights turned off. "It's me," Soul announced, staring down at Heart. He watched a few emotions cross Hearts face- happiness (from the fact that it wasn't Mind), fear (from how scary Soul could be), before ending on a particularly blank face, not showing any emotion yet speaking a thousand words by masking.

"What do you want?" The bitterness in his voice didn't go unnoticed by Soul, who scoffed. "Just wanted to ask if you've seen Mind. It's quiet."

"No, I haven't seen him." Heart crossed his arms, looking to the side suspiciously. But Soul knew this was Heart's normal state. The suspicious tone of voice, the small guilt in his face. "He's probably in his room doing Harmonia-knows-what," He added, gesturing with his hands towards Mind's door...or at least the general direction of it.

"That's the place I was going to check next, yes," Soul murmured back, his head turning towards the eerily quiet hall. "Did he do anything before...presumably entering his room?"

"Why?"

"Just wanting to know what I'm dealing with here." Soul rolled his eyes at Heart's stubbornness. "Just a simple yes or no answer. I'm not going to punish you."

"Again," was muttered under the other's breath, but he sighed and gave in. "He seemed pretty...annoyed. Like any little thing could make him explode like a living bomb." He raised an eyebrow. "Can he explode? That would be nice."

How childish. "He's not gonna explode." Soul pushed himself off the doorframe, shaking his head. "Whatever. You can go back to whatever you were doing, I guess."

"Hmph."

I swear to Harmonia if it's this bullshit again...

He gently tapped his knuckles against Mind’s door. “Mind? Are you there?” There was no answer. He tried the pristine, golden colored handle- it was locked. It was only locked if Mind had something to hide, or if he was about to make a particularly dumb decision. “I know you’re in there, Apollo,” he scoffed. “Unlock the door.” Soul waited a few seconds before scoffing and digging out the barely touched keys in his pocket. Due to being, well, him...he had keys to every room in this house. Magically.

The keys were rusted and different colors. The three that stood out were gold, silver, and a dark metal he never identified. Each of them had unique engravings for the doors they unlocked. The first one had random perfectly straight lines that ran with a hint of blue across the shimmering surface, the second one had blotches of pure black that reflected his own eyes, and the third had carefully constructed curls that reminded him of vines, and shone a midnight purple. He plucked the golden one out, slowly jamming it into the keyhole in front of him and turning it quickly.

He had no patience left.

He pushed open the door with his foot, the black leather forcing it open once it was unlocked. The lights were blaringly light, the sun just outside the window parallel to the door. Mind’s room was neat, with a workshop desk pushed against the left wall, and his extravagant bed laid in the middle. Soul had no time to study his room as he noticed a lump of white and blue on the bed.

God damn it.

Soul let out a tired, long drawn out sigh as he approached the figure on the bed. He was met with leaden eyes staring back at him, the absence of pupils as chilling as ever. He was also met with quite the mess.

Mind was in a pool of oil, his chest piece ripped out forcefully. Screws and wires were all over the place, thrown about and mixed together. A lot of wires seemed to be hot red at the tip, as if somebody had tried melding them together, or melting them apart. The sheets underneath Mind were stained black by the oil. He glanced around for Mind’s chest piece, finding it on the floor a few feet away from the bed. He picked it up, inspecting a few of the dents.

He placed the sheet of metal down on the desk, walking up closer to Mind. Peering inside the open chest cavity, it was even more of a mess inside than outside. Wires were ripped apart from each other, in tangles or just outright missing. The faux heart that Mind had, the thing that kept him alive, had scratch marks and it looked as if someone was trying to rip it out forcefully.

He sat on the bed, careful to avoid the puddles of oil.

“Again, huh?”

Soul made a popping noise with his mouth to fill the silent response Mind gave him. That was all Mind could give right now. He messed with his gloves and sleeves, barely sparing the lump of a barely alive Mind a glance.

“I really thought you were better,” he added in a quiet murmur, shaking his head shamefully. “This has happened one too many times. Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one?” He leaned over, pressing a pale finger to Mind’s nose and clicking his tongue. “Mister ‘My logic is the absolute’.” He let Mind sit- or lay- with his words for a minute or so before reaching over. He knew those words would get into Mind’s head. He was predictable, after all.

“Alright. Let’s get you up and fixed, big guy.”

He lifted Mind with relative ease, carrying him to the workbench and laying him on it.

“I’m not cleaning up that mess,” He pointedly gestured towards Mind’s bed as if he could respond. “Just so you know.” He pulled the tools out of the drawer, feeling the weight of the metallic tools in his hands before putting them down slowly and carefully. It was now quiet with Soul focusing on working.

He ripped out some of the already damaged wires, causing the automaton to jolt. A thought crossed Soul’s mind at the first reaction. Maybe I should turn off his nervous system. He thought for a second, before shrugging physically. Nah. Teach him a little lesson. He grabbed the replacement wires, carefully inserting them.

Next, he worked on the lost oil. It was basically the substitute of blood in this case. He grabbed the can on the side of the desk. It was almost empty- he’d have to bug Mind to get some more, or else he would have to stay like this next time, if he did this again.

When he did this again.

It took Soul a good few hours, working until the sun went down to at least get Mind working again. He sat back, content but annoyed to be wasting time, the same time Mind sat up. He flexed his fingers, one of his hands going to clutch his chest. “Don’t do that-” Soul interjected, swatting Mind’s hand away from the open cavity. “It’s not finished yet, you’ll make it worse.”

Mind glared at him. “I know what I’m doing,” his deep, mechanical voice rang out. “I’m not an idiot.”

“You are sometimes.”

“Fuck off.”

Soul crossed his arms. He was expecting a different set of two words, preferably of gratitude. Mind mimicked him, crossing his arms as well. They were staring at each other, waiting for the other to either give in or give up.

“Fine,” Mind scoffed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

[krispdreemurr]

ok we're into the "ill post things behind read mores" phase of the spoiler policy. starting with some more coherent(?) thoughts on the whole thing

as you may have guessed from the two posts I couldn't resist making before the embargo ended, I am like... captivated by the whole carol and kris situation in the worst way. apologies to the Carol truthers who i doubted, but I don't think anyone called Kris being manipulated by her into trying to kidnap their mom and a cop, so,

it's just like. so. i had truly thought our presence in Kris' life was the worst thing, but it turns out we're the much more manageable source of overwhelming control.

(sidenote: hey remember all the reasons we already knew spamton triggered Kris? well now consider that spamton was being given phone calls by a mysterious entity w unknown orders and then when it got sick of him he was left to die,)

my current theory on what's up with all the Existentially Dubious Kris things and such btw is that to make room for the soul Kris' dark world self was deliberately killed or deleted or something, leaving a living body and mind that would need an external motivating force. kris can't go to the dark world without us because they don't exist there any more without us to form a dark self. this of course puts them in a worrying situation regarding the prophecy and someone possibly needing to die

but speaking of the prophecy and its ending um. susie. dear God Susie. emotional fucking Heart of the game. her being confronted with the horror aspects of deltarune over and over and every time being like Fuck You I Have My Friends was just beautiful. her relationship with notGerson was incredible. the healing arc and the piano arc and how those intersected in her learning it's ok for her to try and improve and get better even if someone else is better already... (did like Everyone pick the "if Susie plays too" option btw bc I haven't seen anyone say anything else fjkgkgk)

and god of course the Kris and Susie friendship. everything in church. them saving each other again and again tower climbing. the Susie award. kris leaping in against notnotGerson. sitting by the lake together after a long night. wuah

i also did warm up a lot to ralsei, yeah. it turning out that he was so smiley and benign and overprotective because he wanted every moment before the horror to be Nice for the two made him a lot more understandable to me. he's just fucking going through it. im glad kris hugs him willingly

the secrets this time... well. ch3 being "not applicable, but" because you do the whole weird route again but in video game form was pretty fucking ominous. the fact that freedom is now being even more strongly tied to the capacity to break things and do violence isn't ideal. i liked Susie coming in at the end and if Kris says they didn't have fun she's just like "so stop playing?" message to all weird route players: you don't gotta.

(and having seen the ch4 weird scenes I. may not. gotta)

also both the egg rooms were worrying in different ways. kris art therapy moments real

i'm just... so excited to see where things go from here. we already fought a fucking titan and won, what is even left to escalate. is kris going to be okay. is Susie gonna be okay.

and thank God I have only a year to wait!!!

[starkglory]

Sweet lies | Dean Winchesters × reader

Summery: You thought it was you and Dean against the world. That nothing could tear you apart. You believed you could save him. But it was all a lie…

Warnings: Moc!Dean, ANGST, Violence, kinda an asshole Dean, major character's death, no happy ending

It Was All a Lie

Two people—poisoned with the unfair drug of burden, injected since they were kids—meet and realize they aren’t alone in this gray, cruel world. They fall in love like they never have before, so deeply that their hearts beat to a rhythm only the other’s smile can play.

Together, they heal. They paint the gray world in rainbow hues and replace the stench of cruelty with the heavenly scent of eternal love.

If the stories were true, our “happily ever after” should’ve come by now. A lifetime ago.

After all the salty tears and songful laughter, we shouldn’t be looking at each other like this.

He shouldn’t be looking at me like he wants to carve out my heart with his bare hands.

And I shouldn’t be looking at him like it’s my last night on Earth—my final breath waiting to be taken in his arms.

I’m not afraid of him.

No matter how many monsters we’ve faced, no one—no one—is more afraid of Dean Winchester than he is of himself.

He fears his own emerald eyes because they’ve seen too much evil—so much that no light of hope shines in them anymore.

He fears them because, unlike with everyone else, he can’t read them.

He fears his own mind, filled with nothing but a relentless hunger for revenge.

He fears his bruised heart, which no longer recognizes the flavor of sympathy.

He fears the burning mark on his arm, the one that glows gold whenever it senses a certain kind of emotion.

But he doesn’t fear the power running through him.

Because it makes him stronger. Confident.

And what is a fearless body without a fearless soul?

This mark carries both misery and pride.

The Mark of Cain.

Everyone fears it, even if they don’t admit it—afraid of what it does, of what it means, of how someone could be bold—or broken—enough to carry it.

Many call it a curse.

Others, a blessing.

I call it a revelation.

Cain himself said the mark carries a great burden.

And though I fear its consequences, I could never fear the man who bears it—

A selfless man who made the sun shine in my darkest nights.

But I could fear the shell he’s become.

A furious, hollowed-out thing.

Because that man is not Dean Winchester. Not the one I knew.

Not Dean, the hunter who would sacrifice himself for his family in a heartbeat.

Not Dean, the love of my life who made me see color again.

Not Dean, who held me when I broke and taught me how to stand again.

Now, I wonder—how can someone so familiar become a stranger in such a short time?

⸻

“Where’s the blade, Y/N?” he asked, fury lacing his voice, his eyes sharp as daggers.

“Dean… you’re getting out of control. I can’t give it to you,” I answered—barely a whisper.

“Out of control?” His voice rose. “Those sons of bitches should get what they deserve after what they did to her.”

“Dean, I know how much Charlie’s death hurt you, but—”

“Don’t. Just don’t say her name.” His voice cracked with rage. “You and Sam brought her into this—into something she should’ve never been a part of. It’s your fault she’s gone, so don’t talk to me like you know what her death meant to me. You don’t.”

His words hit me harder than any blade could.

I had known involving Charlie was a mistake. But the damage was done. She was gone.

“Dean, I’m so sorry—”

“I don’t need your apology!” he shouted, his voice deeper, more dangerous.

“I was the one who carried her out of that bathroom, holding her guts in my hands. I wrapped her in that sheet. I set her body on fire. You don’t get to be sorry.”

“We were just trying to help you—”

“I don’t want your fucking help. Leave me the fuck alone. When will you finally understand? I don’t need you in my life!”

He grabbed my shoulders, shoving me back against a bookshelf. Books crashed to the ground.

“That’s a lie. You need me just like I need you,” I said, meeting his faded green eyes.

“Oh sweetheart,” he sneered. “Maybe you’re that pathetic. But I’m not. I. Don’t. Need. You.”

Sweetheart.

That name used to hold my fondest memories. Now, it cuts like glass.

“Hello sweetheart, I’m Dean Winchester. What’s your name?”

“Thanks for saving our asses back there , sweetheart.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here now.”

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“You make me the happiest, sweetheart.”

Meeting Dean Winchester changed my life.

I was a homeless hunter with no one. Then suddenly, I had the most unique, broken family imaginable.

No matter how twisted our lives got, I was grateful.

We faced everything—together.

We’ll fix this too. I know it.

“You don’t even have to tell me where the blade is. I know my idiot brother well enough to guess where he hid it.”

He released me and turned to leave, but I stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You know I can’t let you do this. We’re worried about you. The mark is taking over. Killing the Stynes won’t help—it’ll only make things worse.”

He turned slowly, but I didn’t move my hand.

“Trust me. Killing them will make me feel better. That’s what they deserve.”

“You really want to go after them?”

He raised his brows—confirmation enough.

“Then you’ll have to go through me. I can’t let you leave, Dean.”

I cupped his cheek, silently begging him to stay.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. For a moment, he seemed almost… at peace.

Almost.

But then he pulled away and turned again. I grabbed his arm—right where the mark glowed.

He looked down, then into my eyes.

And for the first time in six years, I didn’t recognize him.

I’d seen Dean broken, reckless, furious… but I always found my Dean in there somewhere.

This time, he was gone.

But I would bring him back. I had to.

“You’re making a mistake,” he warned, his voice low.

“Then saving you will be my greatest mistake,” I replied with a soft smile.

“You can’t save me.”

“I know I will.”

We stared at each other for what felt like forever. Then he grabbed the arm I had on his, twisting it behind my back. He pulled me tight against his chest, one arm around my neck.

“Don’t make me do this, Y/N.”

“You’re not doing this. The mark is. You have to fight it, Dean. Don’t let it win.”

“You’re wrong,” he whispered into my ear, and a chill ran through me.

“It’s all me.”

“I tried to warn you—”

He released my arm, reaching for the silver knife I always carried.

“—but when do you ever listen?”

The moment he touched the blade, I slammed my head back, catching him in the nose. He staggered, but didn’t drop the knife.

I ran for the bunker’s lockdown controls.

But he caught me by the hair, yanking me back and throwing me to the floor.

“You started this,” he said calmly, as if none of this mattered.

“And I’m going to finish it.”

His fist flew. I rolled away and scrambled to my feet.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Dean,” I pleaded, backing into the wall.

“That won’t be a problem.”

He hit me. Again. Again. Blood filled my mouth.

He kneed me in the stomach, then hurled me into a bookshelf. Books exploded across the floor.

I staggered up again, barely breathing.

But then—I stopped.

I saw it. I saw it before I felt it.

The tip of my own silver blade…

protruding from my chest.

“I didn’t want to do this.”

That was the last thing I ever heard from Dean Winchester.

His voice was quiet. Like a child who broke a plate but couldn’t say sorry. Almost regretful.

I exhaled one last trembling breath and collapsed.

My final thought: I failed to save him.

And with that, I was swallowed by the sweet taste of darkness.

⸻

That’s how you unknowingly ended our story.

When you came back to your senses and turned the page to read the rest of our book, you were met with silence. Blank pages.

You didn’t remember tearing the rest out.

And in that moment, all the colors we painted together vanished.

The scent of love disappeared.

And once again, you were injected with burden.

But it’s okay.

Because—

It was all a lie, remember?

[aryaryxoxo]

07 — [⏮] [masterlist]

I'm fucked, aren't I? #soshiro hoshina x lara jean coded!reader ⤷ Sure, why not add accidentally losing the love letters you wrote for your VICE CAPTAIN to the list of the dumb shit you did this year...Why did I even write it in the first place, you pondered. You knew why…writing helps you let loose your overflowing feelings for the vice-captain. But maybe—pray to God. Whoever has the used—to—be—chocolate—now—letter storage tin threw it in the trash you wished DING!

Of course not, I’m fucked—aren’t I?

...

You were standing in his office again. The silence was thick, heavier than before, but this time… it wasn’t from fear.

Your mind raced, still trying to piece everything together. After the attack on your village, after the fight, after the Honju fell—you had carried your sister through the rubble and rain, arms aching, heart full. You returned her to your mother’s arms with trembling hands and gave back the sword your father left behind. The same sword your sister had clutched with such fierce belief in you.

She believed in you. She saw you.

And maybe that’s why something inside you stirred now, restless and raw. It was time. Time to come clean. To stop hiding behind ranks and roles and duty. If being honest meant losing your position as an officer, so be it. You were tired of the half-truths. The secrecy. The letters. The silence between you and him.

Because you knew—your sister saw who you were. Not just the soldier. But you.

“You made a show there, Officer Amamiya,” he said, the words clipped and impersonal as he sank into his chair. He didn’t even look at you. Just that title—"Officer"—still stung like a blade to the ribs.

A day had passed since the chaos. Since your village burned. Since your sword sang. You had returned your sister to your mother with trembling arms and tear-stained cheeks. And now, as promised, you stood before him.

Vice Captain Soshiro Hoshina. Not Soshiro. Not the man who used to train with you in the quiet hours of dusk. Not the one you once imagined—hoped—might see you as more than just a fellow soldier.

“If it meant saving my sister, then yes, sir. I would make a show again,” you said, voice low but resolute. The room fell silent, the weight of your words hanging heavy between you.

He stood up slowly, the sound of his footsteps echoing on the cold floor making your heart race. He stopped just in front of you, his expression unreadable but intense as he reached into his pocket and handed you a folded piece of paper.

Your fingers shook as you unfolded it, eyes scanning the neat handwriting. The words struck you like a thunderclap, and your breath hitched.

Dear Soshiro, I realize where Ami came from haha, it’s from my last name. My sister is so clever. Sincerely, Ami

You looked up, searching his face for a reaction.

“Ami… Amamiya,” he murmured, voice low, almost pained.

“I’m so sorry, Sir,” you started, voice trembling slightly. “I’m sorry for deceiving you, for lying. Trust me, it was never my intention. I panicked because I thought if you found out it was me, I’d be kicked out. Coming in last place and having those love letters... confessing my love and admiration for you…I thought that would be the final nail in the coffin.”

You were trembling now, emotions spilling over—the fear, the shame, the desperate hope all tangled inside you.

“Love?” His voice softened, surprise clear in his tone.

That caught you off guard, and you swallowed hard, eyes searching his face. “Yes, sir. I don’t even know when it started. At first, it was just a crush... but then, seeing how you care for your subordinates, how you lead... I couldn’t help myself. But sir, please believe me—I’m not trying to deceive you anymore.”

He remained silent for a long moment, his gaze distant yet intense. Then, without a word, he reached into the drawer of his desk and pulled out a worn, leather-bound notebook. The edges were frayed, the pages thick with careful writing.

“Sir, what is this?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer. Instead, you slowly opened the notebook. The first thing you saw were dates — neatly written at the top of each page. Then your eyes caught the familiar handwriting, each entry beginning with “Dear Ami.”

Your heart skipped. You began to read, and with every word, it was as if time slowed down.

Dear Ami, I don’t know how I pulled off a bowl cut, I just do. Sincerely, Soshiro

A small, almost playful note, and yet it carried the warmth of someone trying to connect.

Dear Ami, Yes, me and my brother fought—more times than I can count, actually. We’re different in too many ways, and sometimes he says things that get under my skin faster than any Kaiju ever could. But still… I idolize him. Regardless of everything. Sincerely, Soshiro

A glimpse of vulnerability. You kept turning pages, your breath catching as the letters grew more personal, more revealing.

Dear Ami, I think… I knew who you are. Or at least, I started to suspect. There were little things—your handwriting, the way you speak, even how your words in the letters felt like how you carry yourself when you think no one’s looking. But deep down, I wanted it to be you. Sincerely, Soshiro

The words stabbed at your heart, the fear, the hope, the honesty.

Your hands trembled slightly as you closed the notebook. You looked up, meeting his eyes for the first time in what felt like forever.

In that quiet moment, the weight of your secret lifted, replaced by a fragile, blooming understanding.

“I want it to be you,” he said, barely louder than a whisper.

Six words.

In six words, your entire world shifted—and somehow, finally, felt whole again.

“How did you know sir–”

“Soshiro,” he cut in gently. “Call me Soshiro.”

You blinked. “Soshiro… I don’t understand.”

He let out a soft breath, running a hand through his hair as if trying to slow the rush of everything he’d held in.

“Reading your letters—each one of them gave me joy,” he said quietly. “It felt like… I was being seen again. Not as a Vice Captain, not as a soldier. Just me.”

You watched his expression soften, the hard lines around his eyes easing with every word.

“And little by little, I started falling for the person who wrote them,” he continued. “The way you noticed small things, the way you wrote like you were afraid and brave at the same time. I kept those letters like they were something sacred.”

Your breath caught, throat tightening.

“I’ll admit…” Soshiro began, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the side like he wasn’t proud of what he was about to say. “You never came to mind as a possibility for being the writer.”

Ouch. That stung. You tried not to let it show, but the slight twitch in your jaw betrayed you.

“But then Mina mentioned you’d been placing last,” he continued, more serious now. “And I started paying closer attention.”

He looked at you, really looked, like he was seeing the version of you he hadn’t dared to before.

“The way you smile and joke around with your fellow officers. How you patch them up, even when your own hands are trembling. I was… intrigued. How someone so warm, so full of life, could be struggling so silently.”

“I was planning to talk to you personally,” he admitted. “But then you beat me to it.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, confused.

“That day,” he said, voice softer, “you handed me your handkerchief after you spilled water on me. You came into my office to retrieve it, all clumsy, flustered… honestly? You were being cute.”

Your face burned.

“Then you laughed at one of my stupid joke,” he went on, smiling faintly at the memory. “And something clicked. That laugh—it reminded me of one of the letters.”

He stepped closer, voice low.

“And from that moment,” he said, voice low, “I had a feeling it was you.”

You tilted your head slightly. “So why did you accept my offer to help you figure out who wrote the letters? Or the fact that you ignored me for days after your brother said something about you?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Honestly? Just to mess with you… and see if you’d slip up.”

Your eyes widened. “You were testing me?”

“Not in a bad way,” he said, chuckling. “Every time I trained you, you always managed to surprise me. How you’d switch from being adorably clumsy to suddenly… sharp. Focused—even when you didn’t realize it.”

He hesitated for a moment, then admitted, “The ignoring part… that was because my brother mentioned you hold a gun like it’s a sword. And that pretty much confirmed it. It had to be you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “That’s why you ignore me?!”

“My heart was beating so hard I couldn’t breathe,” he said quietly. “And I was scared I might say or do something stupid. Something I couldn’t take back. I needed to gather my thoughts first.”

“You could’ve said something.”

“And risk you pulling away from me?” he replied, voice barely above a whisper.

You looked away, your chest tightening as your heart pounded in your ears.

“And that patrol,” he added softly, “what you said to me… the way you looked at me. You never left my mind after that.”

He stepped closer now, slow and sure, closing the space between you with all the gentleness of someone approaching something fragile and precious.

“From that moment on, every time I thought about Ami, I thought of you. And when I thought of you…” he paused, breath shaky but smile steady, “I started hoping you were Ami.”

His gaze met yours—unshielded, raw, honest. There was no rank here. No distance. No formality.

Just Soshiro.

And he was looking at you like you were everything he’d been waiting for.

“I fell in love with you twice, [Your Name] Amamiya,” he said, voice low and unwavering. “First, through the letters—through the words that made me feel seen for the first time in a long while. And then again, without even realizing it… through you. The way you laugh even when you’re hurting. The way you carry everyone else’s pain like it’s your own. I didn’t know it was the same person at first, but when I did… everything just made sense.”

His hand hovered near yours, not quite touching, but close—close enough for you to feel the warmth. “I fell in love with Ami. But I stayed in love because she was you.”

...

07 — [⏮] [masterlist]

...

a/n: thank you so much everyone for reading my first ever series! so sorry It took me weeks to update but I hope you enjoy as much I enjoy writing this <33 more series to come!

taglist: @vaida-talks-about-everything , @madiexuberant @kokoiinuts @skylar896 @su1210 @tsukimoon-chan @mellowdiy

warnings: grammatical errors; timeline is weird, pls ignore it.

[phantombegruvia]

Falling

[What I think happened between The Final Baker Of Baker Street and The Mystery Of The Midnight Circus]

[contains brief descriptions of violence and minor character death]

"We thank him for the bread we eat, and the friends we keep. Amen-mentary, my dear Watson."

The words echoed in Watson's mind. They hadn't stopped repeating really, not since the funeral. Sherlock's funeral, to be exact.

Sherlock was dead.

But that was impossible, Sherlock was there! He was right next to Watson, slouched over the Bible, reciting its words. He was there, but then he was gone again.

Sure, it would've taken a miracle to survive being crushed thousands of kilograms of dough (Watson would know, he was a doctor after all), but Sherlock was a miracle worker. He had once fallen hundreds of feet, and lived.

Now Watson sits on the floor of his country home, a small cottage just on the edge of Oxford, surrounded by past journal entries (both his own and Sherlock's) to see if he could piece together a clue on where Sherlock had disappeared to.

"John?" Mary sighed from behind him, "what are you doing?"

Watson turned around, his wife cradled their six-month old daughter in her arms. Rosie lay asleep on her mother's chest and Watson could barely hear the sounds of her quite snores.

"Finding Sherlock," was the simple answer that Watson gave, before turning back to face the papers sprawled all over the floor.

Mary's eyes bored into the back of his skull. "John," she sounded too tired, "he's gone."

"No," Watson shook his head with a little to much vigour, he made himself dizzy, "no, no. He was there. He was! I heard him.. I saw him! He was there, Mary, I swear."

"Every night, for the last six months, you've been like this, chasing a ghost," she gently placed Rosie onto the armchair, "I'm tired of it." She knelt down in front of Watson.

"He's alive, Mary, I know he is."

"You're not well."

Watson was taken aback by that small comment, "I'm the most fine I've been in a while, Mary."

Mary's face portrayed no emotion (maybe it showed a tidbit of resentment, but Watson would rather look over that), "I've had to look after Rosie by myself."

"That's not true."

"How am I going to tell her, when she's old enough, that her own father chose a dead man over her?"

"He's not dead."

"He is. He's gone, John. And if you can't see that, well, I guess you will lose us too." She stood up, and immediately turned her back on him.

"I'm sorry?"

Mary picked up Rosie again, "I'm taking a carriage back to London first thing tomorrow. Me and Rosie will be staying with a friend of mine."

Watson stood up with speed, and the dizziness returned, "you made your insane choice, John. Now it's my time to make mine."

She retreated to the master bedroom, locking the door behind her.

Watson stared at the door for a little while longer, a small twinge of guilt nagging at his heart. He reached his arm out, about to knock on the door and ask his wife to reconsider-

"Amen-mentary, my dear Watson."

His arm fell, he had much bigger priorities to worry about.

Mary and Rosie were just a small price to pay to get Sherlock back. A giggle slipped out of his lips.

-

Two months later, Watson found himself back in the streets of London. Somebody had told him they knew of Sherlock's whereabouts, but they wanted something for the knowledge; the keys to the cottage. So, reasonably, Watson gave up his home. It was a trick, of course, what else would it have been?

He was also released of his job at the hospital. And Watson had no idea as to why exactly. He overheard his supervisor say something about "illness" and "insanity", but he figured it must've been about a patient.

So now, he was finding shelter wherever he could. He found a hotel, just a few roads from Baker Street. The staff didn't have to know of his presence, did they?

He whistled as he walked down the stone road of Baker Street, his hands in his pockets. He had come down this way everyday for the past month, stopping in front of the now very vandalised 10 Baker Street.

It was a sore sight for Watson, but he knew that once he found Sherlock, they would be able to fix it together.

He was brought out of his fantasy when he heard the smash of glass. A group of four dirtied boys stepped out of one of Sherlock's windows, the one they had just broke, and began to hurry down a nearby alley.

Watson didn't give himself time to think, before he chased after them. They hadn't noticed him, until he grabbed the one closest to him by the arm, and pulling him backwards. The other three still hadn't noticed, and they continued running down the alley.

"What are you-"

The criminal didn't get chance to finish his sentence before Watson punched him with enough force to knock him to the ground. Watson didn't hesitate to straddle the hoodlum.

Watson punched him.

And punched him.

And punched him.

And punched him.

And again. And again. And again-

Watson realised he wasn't breathing anymore.

Watson stood up from the bloodied body.

(The kid barely looked over eighteen, he was so young. So, so young. And Watson stopped him from growing up. He broke the Hippocratic Oath. He was a monster. Monster. Monster.)

The recognisable tune of Entry Of The Gladiators began to play down Baker Street.

Watson figured that a circus was in town. He thought he might go, he is rather fond of clowns.

-

Watson did his daily walk down Baker Street, humming to the tune of one of those fun circus-esque songs.

He stopped at his usual place - just across the road from Sherlock's place. He imagined Sherlock and him playing chess by one of the windows, they wouldn't be boarded up so the whole world could see them. Sherlock would always call checkmate first, of course, it was his thing.

He registered a presence next to him, but he didn't let it drag him out of his fantasy.

However Watson's company's voice did force him back to reality, with rather a lot of force. "Ah, hello there, could you help me?"

Watson turned and there he was. He looked slightly older, more frail. He was confused, too, which was never a good look for Sherlock Holmes. Watson's mouth fell agape.

"Sherlock?" Watson breathed out, the other man barely acknowledged it.

"I feel as though I should be here, it feels right. And so does speaking to you, for some strange reason," Sherlock shook his head, "you see, I've got a small problem, I don't remember much as to who I am."

Watson's heart sank a little.

"I think it may be from an accident I was in quite a while ago, not that I can recall much of it. I was hoping you could help me? You feel.. familiar to me."

"Of course I can," Watson plastered a smile onto his face, one that bordered between joyous (Sherlock was alive!) and between despair (Sherlock doesn't even know who Sherlock is), "I'm John Watson. Your name is Sherlock Holmes, you are the best detective London has ever seen..."

Yes, Sherlock Holmes was a real life miracle worker. But for every good thing, there must also be a bad thing - there always needs to be balance.

You can't create miracles without consequences.

But maybe Watson could be the consequence to Sherlock's miracles.

[belladonnadawn]

A Game For Two

You decided to test Isaac's patience, and he made sure to turn it into a lesson you will not forget. Isaac x Reader  (MDNI! NSFW)

Masterlist

Patient, unwavering, and composed.

Isaac Rhoades prides himself on those traits. Years and years of experience and lessons from his grandfather taught him how to be a refined man. And it succeeded.

The longer you stay in his manor, the more you observe him. You saw how he said the right words, knew the right time, and did everything with perfection and precision. How he was able to have such self-control lingered in your thoughts for so long. So much so that you wondered what it would take for him to lose it.

It started with small things: sending the files minutes late, forgetting to do a small chore, and even making a mess in his office. Even so, he only approached the situation with understanding and patience. With a sigh, you accepted that your actions were futile.

“I have something to address,” Isaac spoke as you both prepared for bed.

“What is it?” You tilted your head.

“Are you alright? I noticed that these past few days you seem out of it. Are the tasks too overwhelming? We can take a break,” He looked at you with concern. Of course, he'd ask, nothing gets past him.

You looked at him, ashamed of how you acted around him during those days as you conducted a trial on him that only you knew. It was unfair, you found yourself in a predicament that you put yourself into. Embarrassing.

“You can tell me anything,” He held your hand, unaware of the emotions swirling in your stomach.

With a sigh, you decided to come clean, “It was nothing. I just want to see you… you know, wearing another emotion…”

His eyes squinted in confusion, “So you wanted to get a rise out of me?”

Your eyes widened, seeing the implication, “No! I mean, I just want to see you outside of that Isaac Rhoades, like let loose. I don't want to push you like that.”

“By being clumsy? It will take more than that,” He chuckled, poking your nose.

“What would it take then?”

“You seem eager, why do you want to see me lose my composure?”

“Can't I be curious?”

“Fine,” He laughed, “If you were able to do that, I'll grant you one wish. You can have anything that you want.”

“Anything?” Your voice is skeptical.

“Anything,” He held his hand out, “Deal?”

With a newfound determination, you shook his hand, “Deal.”

The air felt thick around you as if the heat would swallow you whole. Sounds of bated breaths and soft rustling of clothes fill the room. You felt lightheaded as you sat on his lap, your skin sensitive and hot.

Everything felt overwhelming and raw as if every single one of your senses was heightened.

Despite that, you relished in it. How can you not when he's buried deep inside you?

Biting your lip, you tried to adjust your position. Isaac is a big man, and so is his cock, having him inside you for such an amount of time helped you adjust to him but it was never enough.

As you moved, you felt his tip nudge against your spot, causing your body to react to him. Isaac was not immune to that as you saw him tighten his grip on the folder.

You sat on his lap properly, kissing his neck while moving your hips slowly. “Too busy to pay attention?” You spoke in between kisses.

“I am. What an observation,” he nodded, not even sparing you a glance.

A small pout formed on your lips as you realized that your actions were not working. Determined to win the prize, you decided to amp it up.

Isaac watched as you changed your tactics. Once you straddled him, you slowly lowered yourself once again, feeling his cock deep inside you once more. This time, Isaac closed his eyes, stifling a moan.

"Are you gonna give up, Mr. Rhoades?" You teased, voice low as you whispered to his ear.

"You wish." He grunted, diverting his focus on his laptop, keeping up the facade of a sharp and unwavering man.

You chuckle at his denial. You didn't need his words, his body already gave you an answer as you felt his cock twitch inside you.

His hand gripped your thigh, giving you a glare– a warning not to move. A small smirk formed on your lips, relishing at the power that you currently have over him.

Wrapping your arms around him, you began to move. The sounds of skin slapping filled the room as his cock dragged in and out of you. It was scandalous, salacious, and lewd.

You made sure to give him a show, eyes rolling back, hands touching yourself, and letting out those sweet moans that Isaac always wanted to hear. All his paperwork was gone and forgotten as he watched you with awe, like something from his daydreams finally came to life.

As you continued to bounce on his dick, you began to be more aware of his girth and length. You bit your lip as you tightened around him, feeling yourself get closer and closer.

“I-Isaac! Ah!” You tugged his hair, head buried on his shoulder, “My god, I'm gonna cum!”

Isaac groaned, holding your hips as he assisted you. He nuzzled against your neck, leaving hot kisses as he thrust up into you. You were both lost in the sensation, the deal long forgotten as you both reached your highs.

"F-Fuck, just like that,” He let out a choked moan as you both found your rhythm. You felt a tight coil in your stomach intensifying every second.

Finally, you let go.

Your eyes shut close as you tightened around his cock, everything in your body felt hot and sensitive as if you were sent to heaven and back. The pleasure increased as Isaac came inside you, filling you up with his hot cum.

“Isaac,” You let out a soft whine. He cupped your cheek, moving so he could capture your soft lips in a kiss. His hands roamed around your body as his lips moved gently. You let out a soft moan, deepening the kiss— a gesture that he indulged in.

Your eyes snapped open as you felt him carry you. Pulling away from the kiss, you looked at your lover with confusion.

“I'm just helping you out,” He smirked, carrying you to the sofa while he was still inside you.

Isaac lays you down slowly, removing his shirt and revealing his refined body. What a view.

In one swift move, he discarded your clothes before he grabbed your hips, pulling you to him. You almost screamed at the sudden sensation, you were full of him once again. Before you can speak, he kissed you, his hands intertwined with yours as he began to move.

Everything felt too much. You can feel everything: how he twitched inside you, how he stretched you out, his breaths, his moans, his cock. Him.

“Isn't this– ah– Isn't this what you want?” He continued to pound you, the sound of sex filling the room.

“You won. You did,” He chuckled, leaving kisses all over your body. “So let me congratulate you,” He deepens himself inside you, and you both groan at the feeling.

Isaac captured your lips in a kiss once again, muffling any moans and screams that you might let out on how hard he was fucking you. This is what you wanted— a version of him that does not hold back. Unfiltered, raw, and impure. Yours and yours only.

“I'm cumming again. I know you'll take it,” He moved your legs to his shoulder, allowing him to hit your spot further. You arched your back, gripping his arms as you lost yourself to sensations.

The coil began to build up once again, this time it was stronger than before. “Ah! Ah! Isaac! Oh god!”

He looked at you, face filled with pleasure. You could hear him mutter a few curses before he gripped your thigh tightly.

“Cum with me.” He commanded, movements more desperate than ever. He began to fuck deeper and faster, the room filled with sounds of desperation and pleasure.

With a few thrusts, you both came. Breaths heavy as your minds filled with ecstasy after such debauchery.

You tried to catch your breath as he let go of your thighs just to settle between your legs. Your fingers ran through his hair as he softly kissed the marks that he left on your neck.

“So anything I want?”

Note: Okay, this is my first time writing smut. Let me know your feedback!

Divider: Cafekitsune

[bragginball-z]

Hi guys, this is an excerpt from one of my current WIPs! The basic premise of this fic is that Cas was given a journal by the Winchesters in order to have something to help him keep busy while they sleep. Each one of his entries gives a deeper look into his views on some of my favorite destiel scenes. This entry in particular takes place after the events of “Goodbye Stranger” in which Castiel nearly kills Dean due to Naomi’s mind control. I had so much fun writing this, I hope you enjoy reading it! >:D

A Love Letter to Humanity

———————————————————————

March 27th, 2013

I almost killed Dean. I felt his flesh tensing and giving as my knuckles met his supple skin. I felt the fibers of his body I so tenderly knitted back together split and ooze blood beneath my hands. In my mind I heard Naomi’s words, frantic and demanding as she ordered for me to just do it. I felt the cold metal of my blade rest securely in my palm as I readied myself to deliver the finishing blow. And then I heard him. Dean. I heard his voice. Not the crude imitation Naomi conjured thousands of times. She never could get his cadence right. The deep timbre in his voice overly done or completely vacant. No, the moment I heard him I knew it was actually him

Dean asked me what broke the connection, what snapped me out of my Naomi induced mind control. At the time I said I didn't know. I alluded to the possibility of the angel tablet being responsible for my mental clarity. But now, as I channel my thoughts and I write, reliving every second of that moment, I know exactly what broke the connection. Dean did. The upset in his voice as he stubbornly encouraged my violence turned into a somber tone at his realization that I wasn’t in control of what I was doing. The helplessness, the fear in his voice grounding me and yanking Naomi's hooks from where they had been deeply implanted into my mind. “This isn't you, Cas,” he had said so confidently. So saddened and sure that the Castiel he knows would never hurt him like this. That I would never cause him so much pain and suffering. Even after all the times I have wronged him, disappointed and lied to him, he still believed with the utmost certainty that I would never kill him of my own volition. That I would never betray myself him in such a way. Not if I was of a sound mind. As I hurt him I felt at war with myself. I was aware of what my vessel was doing but I had no say in the matter. Each time I tried to resist Naomi pulled the reins tighter, my control over my vessel slipping from my grasp at each rough yank. Through this entire struggle Dean spoke to me. He called me part of his family, said they all needed me. The way my name sounded coming from his bloodied and broken mouth haunts me. Like a vengeful spirit it surrounds me and makes me feel cold and on-edge. It reminds me of how many times he said it, how each time he sounded more fearful and defeated. I was not in control, no matter how much I wanted to be. Then he said he needed me. Not Sam, not Kevin, Not the world. Just him. Dean. And just as quickly as those words penetrated my ears I was back in control. As simply as that.

“I need you, Cas.”

I need you. In all my billions upon billions of years alive I have never felt things- emotions, as strongly as when those words pierced my true ears. I need you. Suddenly, terrifyingly, I was aware. It was as if a haze had been lifted from my mind. I could see again with painful clarity. I could see Dean before me, on his knees and pleading, one arm raised in a look of surrender or acceptance. He has never been a man of faith, not like Sam, but seeing him like that reminded me of a most pious man helplessly praying to a cruel god. I have never seen Dean like that. Yes, I've seen him beaten, bloody, defeated, and helpless, but I’ve never seen him so desperate.

His father molded him into a thing to be wielded, an instrument only meant to cause harm; (something I vehemently disagree with but I digress) so why didn't he try and kill me? Yes, I am stronger than him, there is no question about that, but time and time again I have watched Dean fight beings far more powerful than me and walk away victorious. I do believe we have a more profound bond but I feel it’s probably one sided. He has changed me, just in the few years I’ve known him. But I don’t believe I have changed him. Even as I did something as foreignly intimate as rebuilding him and mending his soul, I took care to not change a single thing about him. My higher ups instructed me to do some “minor tweaking” as I rebuilt him. Originally, I had planned to. Truly, I had. But then I touched his soul and I saw him in all his glory. The righteous man. Dean Winchester. My grace swelled and surged all around me, within me, through Dean, and the result was my handprint forever seared into the very essence of his soul. Perhaps I did change him. Physically, without meaning to. I never intended to brand him, to leave a mark of proof that it was me who saved him. But I did. My finely honed powers that never once acted erratically were instantly and overwhelmingly out of my control the moment I laid a hand on him. And from there I only spun more out of control. The worst thing that could happen to an angel started happening to me so gently and unobtrusively that I didn’t notice until it was far too late. I started to feel.

I felt when he said it. I felt so much.

I need you.

Never in my existence have I ever been made so keenly aware of someone's longing. Dean always has a constant feeling of yearning to his soul. Even as I write this I can sense it. A quiet and aching pining that brushes against my grace like a gentle hum of a motor or the purr of a cat. In that moment, however, it was utterly overwhelming. It felt like my grace was aflame. The moment those words fell from his bloodied mouth it was like a dam broke. An eruption of even more emotions and feelings, some I can recognize and others I can’t seem to place engulfed me whole. It was like I was submerged in water and roughly breaching the surface simultaneously. I felt my blade slip from my fingers as the weight of the situation, of Dean’s words, of Naomi’s tampering, finally dawned on me.

Naomi asked me, “Us, or them?” but I know what she was implying. It was the same question countless of my other brothers and sisters asked; “Are we worth giving up for him?”

Yes, you are. Anything is.

Perhaps if I was braver, or maybe slightly more stupid, that’s what I would have said. I act as if saying it is what makes it true. My actions speak loudly enough, they confirm every suspicion and accusation my siblings have about me. It has been proven time and time again, no matter the circumstances, I will always choose him. I know it will be my downfall but I just can't seem to stop myself. No other being matters when I know he’s there. He will always be my priority.

As I sit here and write this I realize Meg is gone. I was too caught up in my selfish musings to take a moment to reflect on that fact. I was quite fond of the demon, for some reason. Maybe it was her charm; sharp tongued and quick witted like someone else that’s disastrously dear to me. Her vessel was attractive as well, from an aesthetics viewpoint. She had nice hair, a vindictive and cocky smile, and a presence that was uniquely her. I think my memories of her will always remain mostly fond. Although, when I think of her an odd feeling settles in my stomach sometimes. I think of the way she indulged me, let me kiss her on a whim, and always had suggestive remarks that made me feel oddly flattered. But when I think of her death… It doesn't sadden me nearly as much as it should. I enjoyed her company, in a nontraditional sort of way, but I don’t grieve her. It is odd knowing I will never see her again, but her death won’t haunt me. I’ll be able to go on with my life, the world will keep turning, more people will die. I just can’t seem to bring myself to miss her. Selfishly, when I think back to that night, when memories surface and I’m overtaken by reliving the past I only see one thing; Dean. I feel cruel and biased but it’s the truth. He is on my mind constantly often. I hope that by writing this out it will help me “work through my feelings” as Sam once put it. Though what there is to “work through” I’m not entirely sure. What I did was unforgivable. What I almost did to the man I Dean, is a sin of no equal. Yes, I was able to heal him with my grace. His contusions taken away and broken bones mended as if he was never hurt to begin with. But I know the truth. Dean knows the truth. Even though he has no physical blemishes or wounds to remind him of what happened, the true damage I’ve done rests far below the surface. Bone deep and embedded into his very being, the hurt I inflicted resides within him. Fractured, shaken, and betrayed. An open wound far beyond what I’m capable of healing. All I can hope for is that even if it lingers it doesn’t fester. That it doesn’t feed on the familial feelings of friendship Dean holds for me. That the wound doesn’t gape so wide open that it swallows whole all of the care I have for him. Now that I know Dean, consider him my friend, my family, it’s hard to imagine what I would do with my time if he wasn’t in my life. I rebelled for him, died for him, killed my own kin just to ensure his well being. In these past years my actions have been reliant on the effect they’d have on Dean. This isn’t to say all of these actions have worked out in the ways I've wanted. No, most of them have failed quite terribly. Regardless, a selfish part of me still hopes Dean can see the reasons behind my actions, see that my intentions are always well meaning.

“I need you, Cas.” Dean had said so earnestly, so full of meaninging, so achingly human. Through his humanity he gave me a gift I never knew I wanted; purpose. I feel like my existence has meaning when I’m around him, when I’m able to help his cause. Slowly, through observing Dean’s actions and hearing his opinions, I feel more for the world around me than I ever have before. Feelings that make me gaze more appreciatively at the humans that live on this little planet. With him, I feel what I imagine it is like to be human. Now that I know what feeling is like, I’m afraid I’ll never be the same. I’m afraid of what I’d feel if I knew Dean hated me.

I don’t know what else to say, I have too much on my mind and I can’t pick out any more cohesive sentences from my jumbled thoughts. When Sam and Dean first gave me this journal they told me that when I ran out of things to say, that was the signal it was time to stop writing. I guess the fact I’m an ancient being with an insurmountable amount of knowledge and experiences doesn't quite register with them. Either way, these journal entries have to end somewhere, lest I run out of space, and an inability to articulate my countless thoughts is probably my “cue” to “wrap things up”. The last thing I’ll say is what has been repeating in my mind, silencing my other thoughts with the sheer amount of feeling behind it ever since the words failed to escape my lips:

I need you too, Dean.

[yuma-mukami-garden-god]

how the diaboys feel / react to the situation where they're faced with the fact that since their SO would die eventually. And no one wants that. After a while they know they have to turn her she can still be with them as a vampire. That time has come and the transformation has made her moody and anxious while dealing with thirst and heightened senses. Are they worried about her changing? Are they ok with this? So the fear she may regret this etc

Shu Sakamaki

Shu always knew this day would come—but that doesn’t make it easier. Despite his usual apathy, he dreaded the idea of watching you wither away. He agreed to turn you, but now that you're changed and struggling, he grows quiet. He doesn’t like seeing you so on edge—it tugs at his heart more than he’ll admit. He stays close, letting you rest against him even when you're overwhelmed, murmuring, “I’m still here. You’re still you.” Deep down, he fears you’ll resent him for not stopping it… or worse, that you’ll lose the softness he fell for. But he never leaves.

Reiji Sakamaki

Reiji took the decision seriously, weighing logic and emotion in equal parts. He couldn’t bear to lose you, but he also knew turning you would change you. Now that you're anxious and unpredictable, he tries to help you stabilize—crafting blood tonics, calming teas, and carefully monitoring your behavior. He hides his own fear behind strict order. “You will adapt,” he says, but late at night, he watches you tremble and wonders if he made the right choice. If you regret this, would you also regret him?

Ayato Sakamaki

Ayato fought the idea at first—he’s Ore-sama, and you were his fragile little human. But when faced with your mortality, he panicked and bit you himself, declaring it would “solve everything.” Now you’re moody, jumpy, and craving blood constantly. He tries to act cool, but it scares him. “Oi, don’t look at me like that…” he says when your eyes flash with thirst. He's worried—deeply—but doesn’t know how to voice it. He clings tighter, making stupid jokes to hide how badly he needs you to be okay. If you regret it, it’ll break him.

Kanato Sakamaki

Kanato didn’t ask. He demanded you be turned. The idea of you dying—leaving him alone—was unthinkable. “You can’t go where I can’t follow!” he’d screamed. But now that you’re a fledgling vampire, shaky and on edge, he’s possessive and unsure. When you flinch or cry from sensory overload, he growls, “Don’t push me away!” not out of anger, but fear. He panics at the idea that this change may have stolen you from him emotionally. If you say you regret it even once, he might break down and refuse to let you out of his sight again.

Laito Sakamaki

Laito masked the situation with laughter. “Ne, Little Bitch, why die when you can play with me forever?” But the moment you turned, and began to unravel—frustrated, overstimulated, frightened—he dropped the act. “You’re overwhelmed, huh?” he whispers one night while holding you as you cry. He gets it, more than you think. He’s terrified you’ll stop loving him now that you’ve changed. Laito becomes unexpectedly tender, grounding you with touch, humor, and low whispers to remind you you’re not alone. The idea that you could regret it gnaws at him—so he stays gentle, for once.

Subaru Sakamaki

Subaru was tortured over the choice. He wanted you to live—but feared he’d be cursing you. He resisted for as long as he could until your time was close, then did it through tears. Now you’re adjusting badly, pacing, snapping, nearly feral with bloodlust. It breaks him. “I did this… I made you this monster…” he mutters, guilt swallowing him whole. But even as you lash out or crumble, he stays. He holds your shaking form, lets you bite him when you need to. “If you hate me, fine. Just stay. Stay alive.”

Ruki Mukami

Ruki understood from the start—mortality is weakness, and love can’t survive death. So he planned the transformation meticulously. But watching you struggle now, filled with fear and thirst, shatters his careful mask. He stays calm outwardly, but he watches you closely. “You must accept your new nature,” he says, but you can see the worry in his eyes. He wonders if this was selfish of him. He’s afraid he’s turned you into a creature like him—one that suffers. He won't admit it, but he’s scared you’ll resent him for it… and leave.

Kou Mukami

Kou made the choice fast and emotionally. “I can’t lose you—I won’t,” he cried, biting you with trembling hands. But now you’re on edge, overwhelmed, avoiding mirrors and flinching at sounds. His cheery mask cracks. He’s desperate to help but doesn’t know how. “Smile for me, M Neko-chan… please…” he whispers, brushing your hair back. He puts on a show, but he’s terrified you’ll end up hating this life—and him. He spirals at the idea that saving you might’ve hurt you worse. He clings harder, always afraid you’ll disappear emotionally even if you never die.

Yuma Mukami

Yuma hated thinking about your mortality. “I ain’t lettin’ you die on me,” he growled. But after turning you and watching you unravel under the weight of your senses and thirst, he blames himself. He tries to ground you—holding your hands, letting you scream if you need. “Bite me, I can take it,” he says, even as you cry. He’s afraid this life is too cruel for you, and worse, that you’ll hate him for dragging you into it. But he never once regrets saving you—he just fears you’ll regret loving him in return.

Azusa Mukami

Azusa was terrified to turn you. He worried he’d break you. But he also couldn’t let you die—“No… not you…” Now that you’ve changed and you’re anxious, overwhelmed, and emotionally erratic, he doesn’t leave your side. “I’ll… feel it with you,” he whispers, offering his blood, his presence—anything. He’s so gentle it hurts. He worries you’ll hate yourself, hate what he is, and by extension, hate him. But he stays, even as you tremble, whispering over and over, “You’re still… you…”

Carla Tsukinami

Carla is a man of foresight—he always knew this day would come. But knowing it didn’t ease the pain when the moment arrived. Turning you was his greatest fear and his greatest necessity. “I cannot allow you to fade like the others,” he had whispered before biting. Now that you’re struggling—pacing with sharp hunger, snapping at shadows—he feels a gnawing guilt he’s not used to. He tries to remain calm, offering logic and structure to help you manage your heightened senses. But he watches you constantly. He is deeply afraid you’ll one day look at him and say: “You ruined me.” That, he would not recover from.

Shin Tsukinami

Shin didn’t think twice—he refused to lose you. “You’re mine, and I’m not letting you rot like a human,” he snapped before forcing the bite through tears he wouldn’t let you see. Now you’re volatile, anxious, and so unlike the version of you he knew. It terrifies him. He gets angry, but not at you—at himself. “Tch, this isn’t how it was supposed to go,” he growls, gripping his own arms when you flinch away. He’s rough around the edges but will do anything to keep you with him. The idea of you regretting it—regretting him—is something he can’t process. It'd break his pride and his heart.

Kino

Kino played it cool. “Well, better a bloodsucker than a corpse, right?” he’d joked before biting you. But inside, he was terrified. Now that you’re changed, suffering through blood cravings, snappy mood swings, and fear, he doesn’t know what to do. He jokes less now. “Oi… are you okay? No, really,” he mumbles at 3 a.m., watching you tremble with your head in your hands. He was selfish, and he knows it. He didn’t think long-term.

Karlheinz

Karlheinz knew your fate the moment he loved you. Mortality meant nothing to him—except when it applied to you. He watched you wither day by day, never letting you see his pain. Turning you was methodical… almost ritualistic. He made it elegant, painless. But now that you’re unstable, filled with hunger, fear, and mood swings, he grows quiet. He offers no regret, but you notice how he watches you like a puzzle that might shatter. He worries—silently—that this act may have stolen something irreplaceable from you. And worse, he wonders if his own love tainted the soul he was so drawn to.

Richter

Richter was bitter about it—resentful of time, of fate, of your fragile body. “You’re mine—I won’t bury you like a human plaything,” he hissed as he bit into you, trembling. Now that you’re changed and chaotic, he swings between guilt and defensiveness. “I saved you. You should be grateful,” he says… but his hands shake when you cry in his arms. He fears you’ll regret the eternity he gave you—and it crushes his ego. Still, he holds you through the worst of it, quietly whispering, “You’re not alone, not now, not ever.” He’d tear the world apart before losing you—but he can’t silence that dread in his chest.

[sinsxo]

03. the price of silence.

navigation. profile. masterlist. part 1. part 2.

synopsis. not wanting anyone else to see you at your lowest again, you avoided that place, hoping that he kept his silence. who knew the price of silence could be paid off with just yoghurt gummies?

cw. emotional vulnerability, mild physical injury, playful banter, cussing.

wc. 1.5k words, not proofread.

“i don’t want anyone to know, making tomorrow more difficult.” —run, dosii.

spring break passed with you cooped up in your room, buried in textbooks and silence. you ate late, long after everyone else had gone to bed. not because you wanted peace, but because facing the table again felt unbearable.

you hadn’t gone back to the convenience store. not once. not after what happened. you told yourself it was because you didn’t need anything. but deep down, you were afraid. of being seen again like that, of someone else catching you mid-breakdown. not everyone would stay quiet the way he did.

at school, nothing had changed since the last school year. rin passed by you in the hallway as if both of you had never had that exchange, and you were thankful for it. no glances. no smirks. no words. seems like he hadn’t told anyone since you hadn’t heard anyone mention a single word about you crying at a convenience store.

and maybe that counted for something. because a week into the new term, you found itoshi rin at the same convenience store again. this time, you both were fighting over the last pack of yoghurt gummies.

“itoshi rin,” you said flatly, still holding the edge of the packaging.

he didn’t flinch. “i reached it first.”

“you sure about that?”

“positive. and besides—” his gaze flicked to you. “you owe me.”

you sighed, reluctantly letting go. “you looked like you needed it more anyway.”

he didn’t argue. just dropped it on the counter — right on top of your snacks.

“ring this up too,” he said casually.

you blinked. “you’re paying?”

“no,” he said, monotone. “you are.”

you stared at him.

“i said that you owe me,” he added.

“that’s not how it works. i already gave up the yoghurt gummies,” you grumbled, dragging out the words as you paid anyway. “you’re such an asshole.”

“but a silent one,” he said as you both left the store. “so technically, you earned something from it, no?”

“whatever,” you muttered, clearly annoyed. “we’re even now, right? no more debts or whatever.”

he shrugged, annoyingly nonchalant. “i guess.”

he turned the corner first, walking off without a second glance. and you watched him disappear into the distance before walking off in the other direction.

it was supposed to be over — a weird coincidence, paid off with a pack of gummies and silence. but the next day at school, rin nodded at you. he acknowledged you.

just once. barely perceptible. you hoped that you were overthinking it.

a subtle tilt of his head when you passed each other in the hallway. it was unnecessary and out of character. he was the one people bowed to, not the other way around.

and it stayed in your mind longer than you liked.

weird.

you didn’t realise how distracted you were until you found yourself walking the long way past the school’s field, which was not the fastest route to the library, and didn’t even notice the loud thunk of cleats against a ball.

you heard someone shout, “watch out!”

but it was too late.

the ball smacked into your shoulder with a solid thud, knocking your bag off and nearly making you stumble. the sting bloomed instantly, your breath hitching in annoyance more than pain.

“shit, sorry!”

a pair of voices — hurried and panicked — echoed across the field. a couple of second-years scrambled towards you, both still wearing their pinnies from practice.

you crouched to grab your bag, barely looking at them.

“are you okay?” one asked, his expression apologetic.

“what the hell does it look like?” you snapped, shooting them a glare sharp enough to cut. “do you kick balls at everyone who walks past?”

“no! we were aiming for each other, it was just— uh, wind?” one offered, shrinking back.

“don’t give me excuses,” you muttered, dusting off your uniform. “why do you play football if you can’t aim?”

they looked properly chastised, eyes wide, unsure whether to apologise again or back away.

you didn’t wait to find out. and when you turned to leave, you saw him.

itoshi rin was standing a few feet behind them, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with unreadable eyes. he wasn’t part of it — his hands were clean, his posture relaxed. he didn’t even pretend to look sorry.

your eyes met for a second.

he blinked.

and you scoffed and walked off.

typical.

you didn’t know what you expected. maybe for him to say something? perhaps for him to check on you, even briefly? no, you both didn’t have that kind of relationship.

and you weren’t someone people checked in on anyway.

your shoulder ached — a dull, annoying throb that flared every time you moved too suddenly. it wasn’t unbearable, just irritating enough to throw off your focus. and after two hours of trying to study through the throbbing pain, you finally gave up, stuffing your notes into your bag with a frustrated sigh.

you stepped out of the library into the cool evening air, passing by the field again on your way out of the school grounds. it was quieter now — the echo of shouting and whistles had long faded. the floodlights buzzed softly overhead, illuminating a mostly empty field.

the sky had already begun to darken, painted in muted shades of blue and orange, but there was still someone out there under the buzz of the floodlights.

itoshi rin. again.

he was alone, juggling the ball lazily, as if waiting for something. or someone.

he looked up the second you appeared — almost like he’d been watching for you — and without a word, he picked up his water bottle and duffel bag from the side. by the time you were halfway past the field, he was already walking towards you.

“what?” you asked warily, eyeing his packed-up gear. “…were you waiting?”

“yeah,” he replied flatly. “you took forever.”

“yeah? well, i was trying to salvage a study session. kind of hard with a sore shoulder, thanks to your idiot teammates. how the hell did they even manage to kick it over the fence?”

he raised a brow, unconcerned. “well, they did kick really hard for people who can’t aim to save their lives.”

you blinked. “and you’re not even gonna defend them?”

“why would i? like you said, they suck at aiming. terrible accuracy. who do you think scores the goals for this team?”

you snorted despite yourself. “wow. you’re awfully full of yourself.”

“it’s called being honest,” he said, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

you rolled your eyes and adjusted your bag on your shoulder with a wince.

“you should ice that,” he said quietly, falling into step beside you as you walked toward the school gates.

“it’ll heal on its own.”

he didn’t answer, just walked next to you in silence for a few moments, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

then, quietly, “you didn’t have to brush it off earlier. if it hurt, you could’ve had them take you to the infirmary.”

“well, too late,” you muttered. “i wasn’t going to cry again. especially in front of a crowd.”

you glanced at him from the corner of your eye, expecting some smart remark.

but all he said was, “you’re worse than the rumours.”

“the hell does that mean?”

he glanced at you. “i don’t think people know what to make of you. they say you’re cold, stuck-up. but really, you’re just…”

you raised a brow. “just what?”

“meaner. more stubborn. and too honest,” he said bluntly. “but you’re just… you. they seem to misunderstand you, huh?”

“…are you trying to insult me or flatter me?”

“it definitely wasn’t a compliment.”

“asshole.”

he didn’t argue. just kept walking beside you, steps steady, matching your pace without making it obvious.

you didn’t talk the rest of the way, but neither of you turned to leave, even when your roads were supposed to split. instead, he reached into his bag and pulled something out — the same packet of yoghurt gummies you’d almost argued over yesterday. unopened.

“here,” he said, holding it out to you without looking directly at you.

you blinked. “…huh? that’s yours.”

“you paid for it anyway,” he replied casually, a hint of amusement tugging at his tone. “so technically, it’s yours.”

your eye twitched. “seriously?”

he shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. “take it. compensation for your shoulder.”

you stared at him, unsure whether to be irritated or just… confused. “…you waited two hours just to return snacks?”

“wasn’t planning on it,” he said. “just figured you’d be heading home around now.”

“what a stalker.”

“i’m not, you’re just predictable.”

you clicked your tongue and snatched the packet from his hand. “whatever.”

“you looked like you needed it more,” he added as he turned to walk off.

“…i don’t need your pity,” you muttered under your breath, recognising the familiar sentence.

“wasn’t pity,” he said without turning back. “just didn’t want to owe you.”

“liar.”

he didn’t deny it. just kept walking, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“thanks… again,” you mumbled once his back was turned — too quiet for him to hear, or maybe just loud enough.

and for the first time, you didn’t feel like strangers anymore.

taglist. @yuukiririix @rohfulike @bestboileeknow @mihyas-dieehefrau @lilahlil @bruisedchickensoup @vvs-mew @kuronarnze @mixolya @lovingmayday @saekisserfr @appl3-orchard @fiestvr @n0tbelle @scoosh4you @tartardisalmone @luvynii

back to. masterlist. proceed to. part 4.

© all written works are created and owned by @sinsxo. do not plagiarise, modify, repost or translate any of my content on other platforms under any circumstances.

all images, aside from the dividers, do not belong to me. credit belongs to their original creators on pinterest & xhs.

[luffystwinflame]

Relaxing meds (Luffy x Takemi drabble)

(First little drabble based on my recent life experience with relaxing meds ! Nothing exciting just a little fluff moment between Takemi and Luffy !! Takemi uses she or they pronouns and I chose she for this first little drabble ! Hope you like it !!)

Today had been a very stressful day. For Takemi at least. She had been very restless and anxious and no one, not even Luffy had helped her to calm down.

After going to Chopper's office who gave her some kind of medicine, Takemi found herself extremely tired and immediately went to her cabin in the Sunny, plopping down on the bed like a dead animal.

Luffy was worried, so he had went to the kitchen of the ship, grabbing some food for her, knowing that it would make her feel better. Like him, Takemi's love for food had no limit. Luffy grabbed some pizza Sanji had made earlier today, knowing it was his favourite food ever. Plus there was a lot of cheese on it. Perfect !

After getting his lover some nice supplies, he immediately went back to her side, entering her cabin.

He found her laying on her stomach, her head burried in her pillow.

"You okay Takemi?" Luffy asked as he approached the bed, putting the pizza on the night self.

He didn't even bother to bring a plate. Of course not. What for ?

Luffy sat down on the bed next to her and looked at her. That's when she made a sound :

"Hmmmm..."

Takemi rolled on her side. She looked really sleepy and stoned. But much more calm.

"Yeah..." she mumbled looking at Luffy with drowsy eyes.

Luffy chuckled as he gazed at her lover, who looked like she was on another planet.

"You look funny..." he said amused as he poked her side gently.

Takemi started chuckling a little, not like she used to, her laugh was like a weak chuckle, and she pulled Luffy by his arm, making him fall on the bed with her. Luffy did not protest despite the initial surprise and just let her handle him like she wanted, a big grin on his face.

He was now laying on his back while Takemi settled on top of him and immediately burried her face in his chest.

"Hmmmmmmm...." she mumbled, still forming incoherent sounds. "Dunno what Chopper gave me but wow... I feel so weird..."

Luffy looked down at her, smiling gently at the sight of her having her head against him. He could feel the warmth of her skin and her smooth hair against his chest. He was however a bit worried by her current state.

"Weird how ?" he asked curious as he started running a hand through her golden hair, while his arm wrapped around her waist, pressing her closer against him. Her hair were like the sun, Takemi herself was like the sun or maybe like a very bright star. Yes a bright star, good at arts and shining with inspiration and hope everywhere she went. She was like him and he loved that about her. And when they were pressed together like that, it was like they were one. One soul into two bodies.

"Dunno..." Takemi ended up replying, again in a very sleepy voice that was unlike her usual loud one.

She extended her arms in a t-pose and rested them on the bed, still doing her "hmmmm" sounds, making Luffy's chest vibrate.

It was rare to see Takemi like that, because she was usually very energetic and active and always on the same page as Luffy, but he didn't mind. He knew his little star needed time to rest and even fireballs had moments where they didn't shine as bright.

Despite her feeling extremely tired and really stoned, Takemi was feeling much more calm. And that felt good. It was sad that she had lost her usual spark but she really needed to rest, especially cuddled up against her man, her safe place. She felt so safe around Luffy, like she had never felt before. She didn't need to block her emotions or pretend she was okay. She could just be herself. And he felt like home.

She pressed her ear against his chest, and listened to the soft sound of his steady heartbeat, slowly making her drift off to sleep, as she was finally relaxing.

Luffy smiled a bit before pressing a kiss in her hair.

"Sleep tight Taki..." he said.

He was a bit disappointed that she wasn't in her usual state but he understood and knew that when she'd wake up, she'd be her hyperactive and energetic self again, and both of them would be like fireball again, causing all kind of trouble on the ship.

He looked at the night self and grabbed the pizza, before engulfing it in his mouth, crumbs and bits of cheese falling into his lover's hair. He knew it was supposed to be for Takemi but it would have been a shame to waste this delicious pizza, right ?

Writing tag list :

@phanta-soba @citrus-shipping @trafalgar-laws-wife @lotaes @qualitynightmarekryptonite @sunray-things @andres-galans-wife @avatarduck @inactiveasofjuly2025 @a-silly-bunny @faggotboyfreak @arenagrandchampion @prettysaiyan

Tag list form here !

[millerenthusiast]

All That Time

Part III:

The Space Between

Pairing: surrogate father figure!joel x f!reader

Setting: Jackson, 8 years after meeting Joel.

POV: 2nd person

Warnings: Age gap (60s/20s), angst, guilt, emotional repression, joel being emotionally constipated and wrecked, mutual pining, unresolved sexual tension and you are patient but aching.

WC:

Summary: It’s the day after your confession, and things aren’t exactly how you pictured they’d be like with Joel.

If this chapter were a song: Everything Is Embarrassing~ Sky Ferreira

“Everything is true to me, never words where you would see.”

~

The night after your confession, Joel doesn’t sleep.

You hear him pacing the floor after midnight. Hear the creak of the floorboards near the window of his bedroom, then downstairs to the kitchen. Then back again.

At some point, he opens the front door and stands outside. You don’t know how long he stays out there. Long for you to fall back asleep before he comes back inside.

Long enough for you to wish-for a second-you hadn’t said anything at all.

But you meant it.

And he he heard you. He even admitted in his own little way that he felt the same.

That has to count for something.

The next morning, the air in the house is wrong. Too quiet. Still in a way that makes you feel like an intruder in your own home.

You pad out of your room barefoot, hoodie zipped up to your chin. The sleeves swallow your hands. You can feel his presence in the kitchen-hear the measured scape of his fork against a plate-but he doesn’t speak when you walk in.

You hesitate in the doorway.

His back is to you. Shoulders stiff. Like he knew you’d come in, and still couldn’t turn around.

“Morning,” you offer quietly.

He grunts.

You move towards the counter, pour yourself coffee. It’s too hot. Bitter. Still, you sip it.

He doesn’t speak.

You set the mug down and lean your hip against the sink.

“I meant what i said last night.”

He goes still.

You give him time to respond. Thirty seconds. Maybe more.

Then: “I know.”

Silence again.

He still won’t look at you.

“I didn’t say it to make you uncomfortable.”

“I ain’t uncomfortable.”

That’s definitely a lie.

He finally turns to face you. His jaw is tight, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. There’s a storm in his expression that hasn’t settled since last night.

“You put me in a difficult position,” he says, measured and low.

You blink. Try to keep your face neutral, but the words sting. You try to hear past them-to what he really means. You know Joel well enough to know that he doesn’t always say what he feels, only what he thinks he should feel.

“I wasn’t trying to manipulate you,” you say softly.

“I know,” he mutters.

He’s still holding the plate like it might anchor him to something.. Keeping his composure maybe.

“I’m just telling you the truth,” you continue. “That i love you. That i want you. That i see you. And that i know you see me too.”

He shuts his eyes for a second, like the weight of it is too much.

You don’t understand what that does to me.”

“I think i do.”

“No,” he snaps. Not loud, but sharp. He sets the plate down hard. “You don’t. You think this is romantic. Like it’s just somethin’ out of a story.”

He looks up at you-finally-and his eyes are tired, red-rimmed.

“I was there when you were a kid, alright? I watched you grow up. I was the one who kept your head down when people started treatin’ you like a woman too soon. I kept you alive. I taught you how to shoot. Watched you cry over your first kill. I made you brush your fuckin’ teeth when you didn’t want to.”

You don’t interrupt him. You let him get it out. Let the burn of his guilt coat the room like smoke.

“And now you’re lookin’ at me like i’m someone you want. And I-I can’t stop thinkin’ about it. About you. How pretty you’ve gotten. How brave you are. How grown. And I hate myself for that.”

There it is.

The ugly part.

The real part.

You breath through it.

“Do you think I haven’t felt the same?” you ask gently. “Do you think i don’t lie awake at night wondering if it’s okay to feel this way about you?”

He swallows, hard.

“I started loving you before i even knew what kind of love it was,” you whisper. “It just changed. Quietly. Like everything else does.”

Joel sinks into one of the kitchen chairs, rubbing a hand over his face.

You stay across from him. Keep the space, between you like a border you’re letting him draw.

“I don’t wanna ruin you,” he says.

“You won’t.”

“I don’t wanna take advantage of-“

“You’re not.”

“I’m too fuckin’ old,” he mutters.

You smile-sad, small.

“You’ve always been old, Joel”

That earns a huff of breath. Almost a laugh. Almost.

“I don’t know what to do this,” he finally admits.

“You don’t have to do anything.”

You step closer. Not too close. Just enough that he has to look up at you.

“I told you joel i feel. That doesn’t mean i expect anything back. But i’m not gonna pretend it’s not there. Not anymore.”

He stares at the floor for a long moment, then nods-barely. A twitch of his jaw.

“Okay.”

You wait. See if he’ll say more.

He doesn’t.

So you leave him there. Quiet. Thinking.

You don’t push.

You just walk to the door.

And say over your shoulder, “You know where to find me when you’re ready.”

Later That Week

He doesn’t even come to dinner.

Doesn’t walk with you on patrol like he used to. Says his knee’s acting up, which might be true-but you know better.

He’s hiding.

Wrestling his own thoughts.

You see him sometimes in the distance. By the fence. At the stables. Watching you when he thinks you’re not looking.

It’s like the confession took a scalpel to something raw between you-and now he’s trying to stitch it back together with trembling, unsure hands.

Still, you wait.

You always have.

You know how Joel is. You’ve known it since you were a teenager-when you first realised he doesn’t let himself want things. Because wanting is dangerous. Wanting means losing in this world.

And Joel’s lost too much already.

[inkh3art]

ᒍᑌՏT ᗩ ᗰᑌՏᗴ?

After a messy breakup, a K-pop heartthrob swipes right on a tagged post and finds his next muse—his ex’s friend. She’s a sassy yet vulnerable girl who falls for his charm, but he’s only in it for the inspiration. As sparks fly, heartbreak, jealousy, and late-night confessions blur the lines between art and love. Will she be just another verse in his song, or can she make him see her as more?

𝖯𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀:𝘑𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘬𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘹 Seanna

𝖱𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝘌𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵

𝖦𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾/𝖳𝗈𝗉𝗂𝖼:𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵,𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘺, 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, Player, Redflag, One sided love

⚠️ Content Warning:

This story contains mature themes, including explicit sexual content (smut), strong language, angst, emotional manipulation, and themes of heartbreak. Reader discretion is advised.

This will be a mix of Seanna's Jungkooks P.O.V

ENJOY!!!!

©️by 1nkh3art

❦︎𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 1 Seanna

Love... Is it an expression, a joke, a fantasy—or just a feeling that only the lucky get to experience? 𝖨 scrolled through the photos Ava took of me that day—my best friend with her camera always ready to capture every smile every secret glance. It had been such a wonderful 𝖽𝖺𝗒, full of laughter and stolen sunlight, until Ivelle dropped the bomb: she and her boyfriend had broken up.

She’d never been one to keep relationships, but from what I’d seen, she really liked that guy. I guess love is war. And maybe most of the times casualties aren't for the ones who fall-it's for every other person surrounding them.

Later that night, as I mindlessly scroll through the comments on my new posts, many comments evolving around how lucky I was as I knew Jimin and could tag him. I needed to get my mind off Ivelle's drama she was a friend of Ava, so she also became my 'friend'. My phone dinged a new notification, and there was a test from hell. Jungkook's name appeared on the notification panel. The same Jungkook who had been Ivelle's world until he wasn't.

"Damn!" Was all he sent? I knew this was wrong he is my friends ex. I opened the chat to see what he was referring to. My eyes widened when I saw he was reacting to my recent post. A part of me knew it was wrong, but I couldn't resist. Everyone in Jimin close circle knew Jungkook wasn't who he was in front of the cameras he was a bright red flag. Did I care? No.

"Is that a good or bad damn?" I reply it was enticing would a little fun hurt. I always did things for the plot, so this is nothing new. Forget what I said. You never get picked as a lucky one. You make yourself the lucky one. Love indeed is a war, and right now, the odds were in my favor.

That's where it all started, and I sure wasn't complaining it carried on for weeks on end, texting each other about our days until it slowly took a turn. The texts were no longer child-friendly they peaked towards sexting of course none of those pictures had our faces better safe than sorry. I enjoyed the thrill of the game it was like hide and seek we were hiding in a world where everyone is seeking. We weren't official. I thought we would be, but the signs Jungkook gave me showed me I was a game.

It was around nine in the evening when my doorbell rang after a while of me ignoring Jungkook.I felt bad he was my friends ex Ivelle and I weren't close, but it still felt wrong. I was woken up from sweet bliss when the doorbell rang again. I got up, putting on my slippers and walking to the door. I open the door slightly upon seeing Jungkook. I close the door, but my attempt goes to waste as his hand keeps me from closing the door. He walks in and then kicks the door close. "What do you want?" I ask him my arms crossed over my chest, prepared to kick him out. "Why are you ignoring me?" I look at him like he is crazy my eyes narrowing, and I scoff. "You are my friends ex. This shouldn't be happening, Jeon." He steps closer, and I step back he takes another step, pulling me by waist until my forehead hits his chest. "I don't give a fuck about Ivelle I want you and I know you do too so why gaslight yourself sweetheart." I look up into his darkened gaze the lines on his forehead are visible he is frustrated and he smells like a mix of weed and cologne."As much as I want you it's wrong, I feel guilty." I say not breaking contact with him and his squints his eyes then chuckles. "What's funny?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows, wondering why he is laughing. "Oh sweetheart,you’re scared...well like I said I want you Ivelle can fuck off." He gazes at my lips then my eyes playing with his lip ring and fuck was that doing things to me. His grip on my waist tightens as he uses his other hand to grip the back of my throat pulling me closer until our lips were a few inches apart his nose touching mine. "Seanna.." He whispers in a raspy voice and fuck my name perfectly rolled off his tongue. "Just give in, sweetheart." I did give in as I kissed him, tasting his lips on mine and if his lips are a drug I think I'm addicted. His hands slowly travel to my waist his hold on me tightening like I'm going to turn to dust.

This is how my days went on texting him before going to bed, random visits, and long nights. He told me he was currently working on his album 'Affair', and I didn't know how to feel about the name of the album. This may have not been a direct affair, but it was like a girl code affair.

****

Today, I was meant to meet Ava for tea, and I’d hoped it would be just us, like old times. A few weeks had passed since Jungkook and I had started texting—too many late-night messages, too many “just friends” that felt like something more.

I picked out the perfect outfit because if you don’t feel overdressed, you’re underdressed. A chic black corset mini dress, my favorite heeled boots, and a touch of jewelry. I was set. Grabbing my handbag and phone, I headed out of my apartment and made my way to the elevator. As the doors started to close, I spotted a guy inside and asked him to hold it. He did. I quickened my pace, hoping I didn’t look too flustered—and hoping I didn’t break a sweat. I arrive at the café, and—fuck me sideways—I spot Ivelle sitting right next to Ava. Keeping my composure, I approach them, giving them both quick hugs before slipping into my seat. The afternoon unfolds as we update each other about our weeks. I share what I can—because it’s not like I can just blurt out, “Oh, by the way, I’ve been sexting Jungkook.” It was all going fine—until Ivelle mentioned, she reached out to Jungkook. I choke on my coffee, eyes wide, heart pounding like it’s on the F1 racetrack.“Are you good?” Ava asks, rubbing my back. I nod, giving her a thumbs-up as I catch my breath and dab my shirt with a napkin.“As I was saying,” Ivelle continues, eyes sharp, “I texted Jungkook because I was not about to let him go. We’re end game.” The way she says it—like it’s carved in stone—makes my stomach twist.“And…?” I ask, leaning in, bracing myself. I want to know if he said anything he shouldn’t have. I’m sure he didn’t. If he had, she wouldn’t be sitting here so calmly, especially not sipping tea calmly.“He said I should meet him tonight at his place.”My heart shatters so hard I swear they heard the pieces hit the floor.

I forced a smile as Ava lit up with happiness for Ivelle, hugging her like the world’s best friend. Meanwhile, I felt like a rebound. It hadn’t even been a month since Jungkook and I started talking—and now this?

It felt too soon for it to end. I couldn’t let it happen. Just a little longer.“Uh, I forgot to mention—I need to see someone,” I said, my voice tight.

They both looked at me, confusion in their eyes, but I gave them a quick wave goodbye. Grabbing my handbag and phone, I headed for the parking lot.The drive to Jungkook’s place was a blur of thoughts—questions, doubts, and that aching need to stop whatever Ivelle was planning for tonight.When I reached his door, I paused, bracing myself to ring the doorbell. I adjusted my dress, fingers tapping against my phone screen. Then I pressed the button, my heart thudding like a bass drum.

The door opened, revealing him in grey sweats and a tank top, a towel draped around his neck. His hair was damp and messy. He smirked as he pulled me in, his hand wrapping around my wrist.“Hey, Jeon,” I murmured, my voice low. His hands found my waist, his tongue playing with his lip ring.

“Seanna,” he drawled, that same teasing tone that made me weak. “What brings you here, sweetheart?”

I moved past him, sinking into his couch, my mind spinning. We weren’t anything—he wasn’t mine, and I wasn’t his—but I couldn’t help needing to know.“Ivelle said she texted you,” I blurted, hating how vulnerable it sounded. He followed me, sitting down a little too close, his scent wrapped around me like a trap.“And?” he asked, voice cold, eyes unreadable. I met his gaze head-on, refusing to back down. If he was giving me attitude, I’d give it right back."She said you meeting her tonight." I lean back against the couch looking at him and he arched his eyebrow his tongue poking his inner cheek. "This is nothing more than sex, why are you getting jealous?" His words stung as much as it was the truth it hurt but I kept my composure. "I'm not jealous Jeon, I'm just scared she will find out." He chuckled tucking his hands in his pockets as he looks down at me his dimples like art of his cheeks. "Don't worry to much about what I do, Ivelle wants to talk I said I'd do that not fuck her." I stare at him man this man really was attractive when he lied, is this how woman stay in toxic relationships. I liked the adrenaline that came along with a toxic hot man. "What were you doing anyway?" I ask changing the topic no longer wanting to sound more desperate than I did. "Writing a song." He mumbled pointing at his laptop on the kitchen counter I just nod. He sits next to me his hand on my thigh as he gropes and massages it. "You said Jimin knew about us?" I ask reffering to his text I forgot to reply to and he just nods. It's not like I mind I would have told him if he didn't. Jimin wasn't the judgemental type as he was quite the character himself. I wondered if It is guilt I felt or was it Jungkooks burning touch affecting me. He leans closer leaving sloppy kisses on my neck and he knew where my sensitive spot was. This man's tongue was good in many things lying, sweet talk and many other dirty adventures but what did I expect from a kpop idol who is sex on legs.

Not only is he a red flag but so am I for chasing a drug that left my friend in tears...

A drug I'm not willing to give to her.

[meownotgood]

I really couldn't even begin to put into words how I feel right now I'm just feeling so many things at once, FUUUCCKFKKKK I MISSED AKI SO FUCKING MUCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!