#I like it fine I have nothing against it I just really like them as friends

[incognit0slut]

was i stupid to love you?

in which a lingering glance at Rossi’s wedding threatens your engagement.

content: angst, 4.8k, takes place right after truth or dare (14x15), a lot of dialogue, mention of prison arc, emotional distress, relationship conflict, not proofread a/n: when was the last time you saw me write angst? exactly. this is inspired by malcolm & marie bc i really like the idea of having an argument while moving around the house (also disclaimer i have nothing against JJ i just like being dramatic)

The lock clicks open. The door swings with a creak. Your heels tap against the hardwood in a hollow rhythm that feels almost too loud. There’s a tightness in your chest, that prickling behind your eyes, and a familiar ache pressing up from the pit of your stomach, churning into a faint nausea that you try to ignore. You’re trying to hold it back.

Not here.

Not now.

Spencer doesn’t even look up. The keys slip from his hand with a soft clink as they hit the side table, and he turns away with a quiet sigh that reverberates deep in your bones.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, tossing a glance toward the kitchen. “Think we could order something?”

You trail after him, the sharp click of your heels echoing as you step onto the kitchen tile. “We just came back from a wedding.”

He’s rifling through the cupboard, his fingers brushing over the mismatched mugs and neatly stacked plates before he pulls down two glasses. “I barely ate anything at the reception.”

You watch him, biting back a response as memories flicker to mind. The slice of cake he’d poked at absentmindedly, washing it down with sips of water instead of real food.

It wasn’t hunger he seemed focused on tonight. No, it was his quiet glances across the room you keep on catching from the corner of your eye, and that conversation he’d had at the bar. The one where his posture softened, his gaze so intent you’d found yourself staring at the back of his head, trying not to read too much into it—and obviously failing.

“Why didn’t you eat?”

He shrugs, his back still to you as he fills the glasses with water. “I don’t know,” he says, sounding almost absent, like it’s something he hasn’t really thought about. “I didn’t get around to it, I guess.”

The muscles in your jaw ticks as you bite the inside of your cheeks.

Spencer turns, offering you a glass. “I was thinking of Chinese, or maybe we can check if that Thai place you like is still open.”

You take the glass from him, barely sparing it a glance before setting it back down on the counter. “Whatever you want is fine.”

A subtle crease appears between his brows. “You sure? You usually have some opinion when it comes to food.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You don’t want to eat anything?”

You suppress a sigh. "No. I'm tired."

The soft amber of his eyes dims slightly as he studies you. There's a flicker of uncertainty passing through them before he nods. “Alright,” he concedes. “We don’t have to order anything.”

A faint, humorless laugh escapes you before you can stop it. It tastes bitter, a little unfair, but it slips out before you can pull it back, “You don’t have to change your plans on my account, Spencer.”

“I’m not changing any plans,” he responds. “I’m just making sure you have something to eat in case you’re hungry.”

Your shoes dig uncomfortably into your feet. You shift your weight, starting to pace a few steps back and forth. "It's dinner, you don't have to check on me for every little thing. Do whatever you like."

He blinks, looking genuinely perplexed. "What are you saying? I was trying to be considerate."

"Right. Considerate.”

There’s an unmistakable bite in your tone.

“Yes, because we like doing these things together," he observes, watching your uneasy pacing. "Am I missing something here?”

You shake your head. “Nope.”

"Honey."

The term of endearment lands softly, slipping from his lips like he believes it has the power to melt whatever tension has suddenly crept between you. But it only tightens the knot building in your stomach. It’s stirring the words you’re trying to hold back, tangling them somewhere between your chest and throat.

He calls your name this time, his eyes narrowing into sharp lines. “You’ve been awfully quiet on our way home, and now you’re… honestly, I don’t know why you're acting this way.” His voice dips with a tinge of exasperation. "What’s this really about?"

The words you’ve been biting back feel like a stack of stones in your throat, rising up, up, up, each one pressed tighter by the gnawing nausea in your stomach. You can feel them gathering, and before you know it, they tumble out messily.

“I’m just saying, don’t let me hold you back from getting what you want. I wouldn’t want to stop you from anything—or, god forbid," you add, letting your gaze drift away as if a little distance might soften the blow, “anyone.”

The soft, almost stifled inhale he takes is audible. You don’t even have to look up to see his expression shifting. You’ve known him long enough to recognize the way his shoulders tense, the way his breathing slows as he processes your words. You know his reaction by heart, yet right now, you wonder if saying this was a mistake, if this is the start of something neither of you can take back.

His fingers twitching at his side slip into your line of sight. He's angry.

Maybe this isn’t the time to start a fight.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Your heels click softly as you turn.

“Forget it. I shouldn't have said anything,” you mutter, already moving toward the bedroom that’s been yours, too, for the past year. Although it feels strange tonight, like a space that belongs to someone else. A life you’re not entirely sure you belong in.

“No." His voice is somewhere behind you. “I think you should explain to me what you mean by that.”

You don’t respond, choosing instead to sink onto the edge of the bed, hands fumbling as you try to undo the straps of your heels. You twist the stubborn leather with more force. His shadow fills the doorway.

“Honey.”

Not again.

You decide to ignore him.

“Is there something you’d like to say to me?”

You tug harder at the strap. “No.”

He doesn’t buy it. “You’re clearly bothered by something.”

You shake your head, fingers still fumbling, the leather cutting against your ankle with each pull. “I’m just tired. Can we leave it at that?”

There’s a flicker of frustration in his gaze now, a crease forming between his brows as he studies you. He moves into the room. You barely have the chance to react before he lowers himself, bending one knee to the floor as he reaches toward the strap you’ve been fighting with. “Here, let me—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, pulling your foot away. “I can do it myself.”

“I know you can. But let me—”

“I can do it myself!”

Your heartbeat thuds loud in your ears, each pulse feeding the frustration that’s wound its way up from your chest. He rises slowly, not a word passing his lips, but the tension radiates off him like heat. He’s close enough that his warmth presses against your skin, although it’s not the kind you usually find comforting. It’s almost suffocating.

You turn your focus back to the stubborn strap, your fingers trembling slightly as you struggle to grip it. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him slipping off his shoes, one after the other, the soft thuds barely audible over the rush of your own heartbeat. He pulls off his suit jacket, carefully smoothing the crumpled fabric before hanging it in the closet. For a moment, it seems like he’s going to let it go… until his gaze drifts back to you.

You can tell his patience is fraying, and you’re proven right when he asks again, “What did you mean by that? When you said you wouldn’t want to stop me from anyone… what was that supposed to mean?”

You finally manage to tug the strap loose. The heel drops to the floor with a muted thump. “It was nothing.”

“I don’t think you’d say something like that if it was nothing.”

Your focus shifts to the other shoe. “Just drop it, Spencer.”

"How am I supposed to drop it when you're implying... whatever it is you're implying?"

You keep your eyes down, wrestling with the strap in silence. He cuts through the quiet before it has a chance to grow.

“Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t brush it off like it’s nothing when it clearly means something. I need to know why you said that.”

You kick off the other heel and meet his gaze for the first time since you walked into the room. “You really want to know?”

He reaches for his bow tie, yanking it loose it with one hard pull. “Do I want to know why you’re giving me this attitude right now? Yes. Yes, I do.”

Oh. So this is going to be that kind of fight.

You hadn’t expected it to go here. Fights with Spencer are very rare, usually more a clash of misunderstandings that you both laugh about with limbs tangled between sheets by the time you’ve made peace. But seeing him standing there with the tie hanging loosely around his neck and his five o’clock shadow casting an even darker line along his jaw, it hits you differently.

This is real. And this time, you don’t know if brushing it off will fix anything.

“Fine, let’s talk about it then.” You rise from the bed, tension carrying you to your feet. ��Emily’s speech tonight.”

His brow furrows, not quite a scowl, more a cautious crease as he processes your tone. “Emily’s speech? What about it?”

“What do you remember of it?”

There’s a slight pause, and you can tell he's clearly caught off guard by the question. “She mentioned how Rossi and Krystal are twin flames."

“Right. Two souls that are always meant to be together.”

His face is still marked by confusion, but there’s something else creeping in. A subtle tightening around his eyes tells you he’s starting to piece it together. “I don’t understand what that has to do with—”

“You looked at JJ the second Emily made that speech,” you cut him off. “Spencer, you didn’t even spare a glance at your future wife because you were too busy making eyes at the woman who’s apparently been in love with you all these years.”

There. You said it. The words that have twisted around your insides all evening are finally out. And maybe they taste a little bitter, but at least they're not choking you anymore.

A second passes, then another, and by the time the fifth heartbeat ticks by, he’s standing there with his hand on his hip.

“That’s not what happened."

“Then what was it?” you demand. "I sat beside you the whole day, you didn't even try to hide it."

“That’s not—you’re twisting things.” His hand moves through his hair, fingers digging in as his curls tumble forward onto his forehead. “And you know what happened that night wasn’t real. It was a forced confession. She was under duress, we both were. JJ and I are just friends.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You look at all your friends like that?”

His hand drops to his side. "I don't know what else you want me to say. JJ said what she did because she thought we might die. She has a family, and a husband who she loves. We already went through this, I don't understand why this is suddenly an issue again."

“Maybe I wouldn’t be bringing this up if you didn’t look at her tonight like you were ready to break up that marriage yourself.”

A flash of shock and anger crosses his features.

“That’s not fair,” he snaps, his voice sharper than you’ve heard in a while. “Do you really think I’d disregard everything I have with you because of a look? Because of a history that has never gone anywhere?”

“I don’t know what to think. It's not like it happened just once, I saw you looking at her the same way at the bar." You step forward, accidentally kicking your discarded heel as you move. "What were you two talking about, anyway?”

He lets out a tight breath. “She was checking in on me. She… we haven’t talked much since then.”

The corners of your mouth pull down. “Mhm. Another round of truth or dare?”

“I can’t believe you’re using that against me." His hair flops forward as he shakes his head, falling messily over his brow. "If there were anything unresolved with JJ, I would’ve said something. But I didn’t, because there’s nothing there."

“And yet, she’s always been an important part of your life, hasn't she?"

He tilts his head. "What are trying to say now?"

Your tongue darts out, briefly brushing your lips. You're not sure you should say it, but it feels like a door has swung open—a door to words that have been waiting for their moment.

You take a slow, deep breath, filling your lungs with as much air as you can.

“When you were in prison, you put her on your visiting list ahead of almost everyone else. Doesn’t that say something about where she stands with you?”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand over the back of his neck.

“She’s part of the team,” he says, as if he’s trying to spell out something he’s already explained a dozen times. "There were strict rules, I already told you that only a handful of people were allowed to visit. It wasn’t like I could just put anyone on the list.”

“But you could’ve put me on there!”

The familiar burn of tears prickles at the edges of your eyes, but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall. An explanation or protest is poised on his lips, but you’re already moving, closing the distance with a single, decisive step. A finger lands on his chest.

“I was your girlfriend, Spencer. Were you that determined to keep me out? Was the thought of seeing me really so unbearable? Do you even understand how hard it was to sit at home, knowing you were locked up, feeling completely helpless? Do you have any idea how much I hated myself day after day because I couldn’t do anything to help you?”

Your lips quiver. You feel like your heart is about to leap out of your throat.

“I was out here, just… waiting. Wondering if you were okay, if they were treating you alright, if you even had someone to talk to. And meanwhile, she’s there, with you. Every single time, she’s the one who gets to be by your side.”

Your nail digs into the fabric of his shirt.

“So forgive me if I can’t just let that go. Because when it mattered, it felt like you didn’t want me to be there for you. And now… now I don’t even know if you need me the way you seem to need her.”

Your breathing turns shallow, each inhale catching in your chest. The tears you’ve been holding back are dangerously blurring your vision. You swallow the knot lodged in your throat.

“I need a minute.”

Without another word, you turn and walk out of the room, leaving him standing there in stunned silence. You slip back into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you finally reach for the glass of water that’s been sitting there untouched. You take a sip, barely feeling the cool water on your lips, when you hear his footsteps behind you.

“You think I don’t want you in my life?” he demands. “You think I somehow need her more than I need you?”

You set the glass down. “What part of ‘I need a minute’ do you not understand?”

“You really expect me to wait quietly after you unloaded every doubt you’ve ever had about us?”

You life your chin up. “Yes, I do. I need space to think right now.”

“What more do you want to think about when you’ve already convinced yourself that I’m always going to fall short? Is it so hard to believe that you’re the one I want?”

“You want to know why it’s so damn hard to believe?” You turn towards him. “Because every time I try to let this go, there’s always something. A confession. That—that not-so-subtle look. And when those things happen, it reminds me that I’m not as close to you as she is. I’m fucking tired of feeling like I’m fighting for space in your life.”

“Do you think I want you to feel like that? Do you think I’d go through everything we’ve been through if you didn’t matter to me?”

“Then explain to me why I wasn’t on that list!” you cry out. “Explain to me why, in one of the hardest times of your life, you couldn’t make space for me?”

“Because I was trying to protect you!”

A heavy, dreadful silence falls between you. He takes a step back, his eyelids fluttering shut briefly, and when he opens them again, there’s a softness in his gaze that mirrors the gentleness now threading through his voice.

“I know it probably doesn’t make sense to you, and maybe it never will, but I couldn’t stand the idea of you seeing me like that. Living through it was hard enough, but having you there, seeing me so helpless… It would have crushed me. I didn’t want that to be your memory of me.”

His Adam’s apple dips as he swallows, a quick, almost anxious movement you’ve witnessed countless times.

“And when JJ came to see me,” he continues, “the way the inmates looked at her, the things they said after she left… it was disgusting. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that happen to you. I couldn’t live with thought of you being subjected to that because of me.”

You lower your head with a sigh. “I don’t care if they looked. I don’t care what they would’ve thought.”

“But I care,” he fires back, taking a step forward. “Because you mean more to me than anyone. All I wanted was to keep you safe, and maybe I didn't handle it right, maybe I made the wrong call... but it was only because I—" His voice drops into an even more gentle note. "Because I love you."

Your heart stumbles, an uneven beat that feels almost bruised, pounding hard against your ribs.

"I-I love you so much. More than I know how to put into words." The ache in your chest sharpens as his hands come up to cup your cheeks. "I don't like fighting with you. I hate it, actually. I hate seeing you look at me like this."

You also hate the way he’s looking at you. There’s a depth to his annoyingly pretty eyes that makes it impossible to hold up your defenses without feeling them crumble. You let your eyes flutter closed.

“Why don’t we… call it a night?” He suggests. “Let’s lie down. We don’t have to talk about this now.”

The blackness behind your eyelids does little to quiet your mind. Nor does his voice. Or his touch. Instead of offering peace, his presence throws every glance, every moment of tension from tonight into sharper relief.

You draw in a breath, trying to find some comfort in his palms against your cheeks. Yet, even this can’t smooth away the doubt that’s settled in. With a resigned sigh, you release the breath you’ve been holding along with the words that have been pressing at the back of your throat.

“You haven’t explained it to me.”

The shadows in his gaze seem to deepen when you open your eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve been going in circles, but you haven’t explained to me what happened tonight,” you say quietly. “Why did you look at her, Spencer?”

His thumb absently strokes your cheek in a way that feels more hesitant than reassuring.

“Be honest with me,” you press. “Was there a part of you, even the tiniest part, that still wanted something with her? Some small part of you that… wondered what it might be like?”

The silence between you presses in from all sides, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant, muffled ticking of a clock on the wall. It’s the kind of quiet that sharpens even the smallest sounds, yet his lack of response feels like the loudest thing of all.

You pull back from him with an incredulous laugh.

“Unbelievable.” The word barely makes it past your lips, then louder as you start to move, pacing the length of the apartment. “Unbelievable.”

“Wait,” he says, trailing after you, “I didn’t even say anything.”

You stop short by the couch and whip around to face him.

“You didn’t need to! You—you hesitated," you stammer, searching his face for any flicker of denial, but it’s there, plain as day, that split-second of doubt you caught. “That was already an answer.”

He inches closer. A hand closes in on you. “Please—”

You flinch, pulling back, and every muscle in your body tightens. “Don’t. Don’t touch me right now.”

His hand falls to his side. “Please… let me explain."

You watch his hand drop, fingers twitching like they’re not sure if they should retreat or reach out again, but he keeps them there, hovering in some invisible line you’ve drawn. He looks at you with those big, pleading eyes, and for a split second, you almost feel bad for him.

Almost.

A bitter sort of smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. "So now you want to explain?"

He takes that as permission, and his voice comes in low, almost cautious. "When I first started at the BAU, I had… maybe a crush. A passing thing, barely anything, really. But that was fourteen years ago.” His hand scrubs through his hair in a frustrated sweep. “Fourteen years."

Your brows pull into a frown. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”

“Because it was nothing,” he says, almost too quickly. “I was young, it didn’t matter. I didn’t think it was worth bringing up.”

“Oh, I get it now. All those old feelings came rushing back the night she confessed, didn’t they?”

He mirrors your frown, a visible line of tension etching itself between his brows as he protests, “It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?” you press. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks a whole lot like you’re caught between us because some part of you is still hung up on what might’ve been with her."

He shifts uncomfortably, and you notice the muscles in his jaw clenching the moment his gaze falters, dipping away for just a heartbeat before he looks back at you.

“It’s not that I don’t know what I want,” he starts to explain. “I didn’t expect her to say those things, and, yes, it threw me off for a moment. But that doesn’t mean I’m looking back, or that I want her. I want you.”

You shake your head, feeling a tired sort of frustration settle over you, and walk over to the couch. The soft cushions give slightly beneath you as you sink down.

“If you really wanted me, this wouldn’t be happening. You wouldn’t have let her get into your head like that. And now, you expect to believe that none of it meant anything?”

He’s quick to follow, closing the distance in a few tense steps. “It’s not—” His hands flex open and close at his sides. “You’re acting like one single look tonight is enough to decide I’m not committed to you. Do you really think I’d let some confession I didn’t even ask for get in the way of what we have?”

“It’s not just about that single look. It’s the way she could say something and suddenly, you’re pulled back to something you swore you’d put behind you. How am I supposed to feel secure when she still has that power over you?”

“And what am I supposed to do, then? Apologize for things I don’t even feel anymore?”

You flinch at the sharpness in his voice. A low, frustrated noise rumbles in his chest when you don’t respond.

“You’re always going to question me no matter what I say, aren’t you?"

You glance over at him, catching the disheveled strands of hair falling over his forehead, and it pulls you back to that night he came home after that dreadful night. He’d walked in looking worn in a way you’d never seen before, his whole posture weighted down as if he was carrying more than just the fear of being held hostage.

You remember sitting with him on this same couch, fingers brushing his, and asking what was bothering him.

JJ said she loved me.

Your heart lurched, a quick, quiet ache that you tried to swallow down. Really?

Don’t worry. It’s not true.

But with that same haunted look in his eyes right now, you can’t help but wonder if it really was just a well-intentioned lie.

“One glance and you’re accusing me of things that are never going to happen,” he starts again. “Do you really think so little of me? After everything we’ve shared, you really think I’d betray you like that?”

In true honesty, you don’t believe he would ever cross that line. But the doubts still linger, fed by those small hesitations, the moments when his eyes seem somewhere else. It’s not that you think he’d betray you. It’s that a part of him might still be holding onto something he won’t let you see.

“It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

Now those words you might actually believe.

“Maybe I don’t,” you say quietly, eyes drifting to the ring on your finger. You twist it absently, remembering the night he proposed. How he’d stumbled over his words, his cheeks flushing as he tried to make the moment perfect but ended up rambling in that endearing, nervous way of his. You’d laughed, reassured him that it was exactly right, that you didn’t need grand gestures. All you needed was him.

And yet, you don’t think he needs you as much you need him.

A hollow ache settles around your hand as you slip the ring off.

“What are you doing?”

You stare down at the gold band in your palm, blinking back the sting of tears.

“Tell me what you’re doing.”

Panic. Desperation. There’s a sudden rush of melancholy in his voice, a heaviness that wasn’t there a moment ago.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I don’t know,” you whisper. “I—I don’t know anything right now.”

His face crumples, and in a sudden, almost instinctive movement, he drops down to his knees.

“No, no, you do know me. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. Isn’t this—” he stops, then dips his head, trying to catch your gaze. “Isn’t that what couples do? They argue, they mess things up… but they work through it, right? Right?”

You look down, feeling the cool weight of the ring pressing into your skin.

“Spencer…” you begin. “I trust you. I do, and I’m sorry if I made it seem like I didn’t. But… I need to feel secure. I… I need to know that I don’t have to wonder or worry about where I stand. I never thought you’d be the one to make me doubt that.”

There’s a sharp ache in your chest.

“I didn’t think it could hurt this much. Not from you.”

Your pulse ring in your ear.

“I can’t—” The words catch in your throat, a stinging burn rising as you force them out. “I can’t be your wife when I’m constantly questioning if I have all of you. When I feel like… there’s always a part of you that isn’t mine.”

“I’m yours, honey. I’m always yours.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

There’s a slight falter in his voice. “Don’t—please don’t do this—”

“I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

He falls silent, and for a moment, the only sound is the rough, uneven rhythm of both your breaths filling the space between you. Then, like something inside him finally cracks open, he sinks down, pressing his forehead against your lap. The sudden weight of him forces a broken sob from your throat.

“Please,” he begs, fingers clutching at your sides. His chin presses deep into your thigh. “Tell me how to fix this. I can’t— I can’t lose you.”

“Spence…”

“I love you,” he blurts out, the words tumbling from him in a rush. “I love you.”

But what is love, really? Is it just a word people reach for when they’ve run out of things to say, a way to patch over bruised hearts and broken promises? Or should it feel like something more solid, something that doesn’t leave you questioning or aching? You can’t even tell anymore.

You wonder, too, if maybe you’ve been wrong all along. If this feeling in your chest isn’t love but something dressed up as it, something that fills the gaps while slowly hollowing you out. Because here you are, clinging to a love that somehow makes you feel like you’re both needed and unseen. Everything and nothing all at once.

You feel like a fool.

“I want to go to bed.”

His head lifts from your lap, a flash of surprise darting across his face, as though he hadn’t expected you to say anything at all, let alone that. “Yeah, okay, let’s go to bed. We’ll… we’ll figure this out in the morning.”

“I’d rather be alone.”

The words hit him visibly. His mouth opens, an argument forming there, but he catches himself, letting the silence stretch before he nods slowly.

“Then… I’ll stay out here. On the couch,” he offers softly. “Just… in case you need anything.”

A pang cuts through you at the thought of him stretched out on the couch, his legs too long, his shoulders folded in to fit the cramped space. But the idea of sharing a bed right now feels impossible.

You reach down, holding out the ring towards him.

“No,” he says firmly, gently pushing your hand away. “Don’t do that. This… it doesn’t mean we’re giving up. It just means we need time. That’s all.”

You’re not sure if your mind will change in the morning. The ring presses into your skin, but finally, you close your hand around it, nodding faintly before you peel away from him.

The tears start the moment the bedroom door clicks shut behind you. It spills over in a jagged, helpless cry that sounds nothing like you imagined heartbreak might sound. It’s messy, a kind of aching grief that feels too big for your chest, clawing its way out with no grace at all. You can practically hear how pathetic you sound, and yet you can’t seem to stop.

Even when the hem of your dress trails across the floor. Even when you finally collapse onto his side of the bed. There’s no stopping you. With the ring sitting cold in your hand, your tears keep coming, soaking into the pillow as you cling to the last trace of him woven into the sheets.

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

You're Still Here

Jason Todd x reader

Fluff

Warnings: none

-----------------------------

The night was quiet in Jason's apartment, the usual hum of the bustling city just outside these four walls replaced by the soft sound of a movie starting up. Jason was sat on the couch, looking as brooding as ever. But there was something different tonight. Instead of his usual solitary routine or rough training, he’d agreed to something... well, normal. A movie night. With you.

It had taken some convincing, of course. Jason was never one for downtime, especially not with the weight of his past bearing down on him. But tonight, he’d finally relented, mostly because you’d promised a movie marathon of his favorite action flicks—no Batman, no vigilante-related anything, just pure explosions and one-liners.

“Alright, what are we watching first?” you asked, settling beside him on the couch. You’d picked up some snacks on your way to his place—popcorn, candy, and soda—all the essentials for a perfect movie night.

Jason grunted in response, more focused on the TV screen than you, but you could tell he was at least trying. His eyes flickered in your direction briefly, as if testing the waters, but he said nothing. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy spending time with you, but... well, Jason wasn’t used to this kind of thing. Casual, relaxing fun. He was far more familiar with the dark corners of Gotham and the cold silence of a lonely night patrol.

You selected the first movie—a mindless action film, the kind with ridiculous stunts and no real plot, just chaos. It was perfect for a night like this.

Jason shifted slightly, his usual posture of stiff tension not quite as rigid tonight. Still, his body language told you there was something on his mind. You’d seen it before—the way he avoided certain touches, how he flinched at unexpected moments. It wasn’t hard to guess what was bothering him, though.

The autopsy scar. That damn scar.

You knew it wasn't just a mark on his body; it was a constant reminder of the worst night of his life. A scar that came with memories of betrayal, death, and resurrection. No matter how much Jason tried to cover it up, you could see the way he shifted uneasily whenever his sleeve was pushed up or when his shirt clung too tightly to his skin. It wasn’t the scar that bothered him so much as what it represented—the brutality of his death, the pain of being discarded and forgotten.

You nudged him gently with your elbow. “Hey, want some popcorn?” you asked, your voice casual, as if the two of you had done this a hundred times before. Jason didn’t answer right away, but you could feel the slight movement of his shoulder as he leaned just a little bit closer. His hand hovered over the bowl of popcorn for a second, fingers brushing against yours before he pulled away.

The touch was so brief, so subtle, but you caught it. It was enough to remind you of just how fragile Jason’s comfort zone really was. He wasn’t the type to openly talk about his insecurities, let alone face them head-on. But tonight... Tonight you had to hope that maybe, just maybe, he could be open with you. At least for a little while.

“Jason,” you said softly, “you know you don’t have to hide anything, right? You’re not... you’re not broken.”

He stiffened, just a little. You saw the way his jaw tightened, the usual tough guy mask slipping into place. But you pushed on, not letting him retreat.

“It’s just us here,” you continued, “and I’m not going anywhere. If you want to talk about it—or not talk about it—that’s fine. But you don’t have to pretend everything’s okay when it’s not.”

Jason’s gaze flickered toward you, his eyes dark and unreadable. His lips pressed into a thin line as he fought with whatever emotions were swirling inside him. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, with a deep, frustrated exhale, he spoke.

“It's just… it’s hard, alright?” His voice was raw, quiet. “Every time I look in the mirror, all I see is that damn scar. It’s like a mark, like... I’m still dead somehow.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you reached out and took his hand in yours. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but the softness of your touch spoke louder than words could. You didn’t need to say that you understood; you didn’t need to tell him that you’d never see him as broken. You just let your presence be enough.

Jason looked down at your hand, a scar on his arm exposed for just a second before he quickly pulled his sleeve down to hide it. The quick motion was subtle but telling. He was trying to hide from you... and maybe from himself.

But you didn’t pull away. You stayed close, letting the silence stretch between you for a few beats. Then you smiled, your voice gentle but firm.

“You’re still here, Jason,” you said softly. “You’re still alive. And you’re... you’re still you. And that scar? It’s a part of who you are, but it doesn’t define you.”

His eyes flickered toward you again, unsure, as if testing the sincerity in your words. For a second, you weren’t sure if he would pull back again, if the walls he’d built around himself would rise back up.

But instead, Jason exhaled slowly, letting the tension in his shoulders dissipate just a little. The tightness around his jaw softened, and though he didn’t speak, his gaze lingered on you—just a little longer than before.

The movie played on, and for once, neither of you were entirely lost in the screen. There was a quiet understanding between you now. You hadn’t cured all of Jason’s demons, but you’d given him something he didn’t know he needed. A safe space. A place where, for tonight, the scar didn’t matter.

And that, you hoped, was a start.

-----------------------------

Masterlist

[thegeekcollective]

Hello? Hello hello?

Uh, I wanted to record a message for you, to help you get settled in on your first night. Um, I actually worked in that office before you, I’m finishing up my last week now as a matter of fact. So, I know it can be a bit overwhelming, but I’m here to tell you there’s nothing to worry about, Uh, you’ll do fine. So, let’s just focus on getting you through your first week, okay?

Uh, let’s see, first there’s an introductory greeting from the company, that I’m supposed to read. Uh, it’s kind of a legal thing, you know.

Um, “Welcome to Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, a magical place for kids and grown-ups alike, where fantasy and fun come to life. Fazbear Entertainment is not responsible for damage to property or person. Upon discovering that damage or death has occurred, a missing person report will be filed within 90 days, or as soon property and premises have been thoroughly cleaned and bleached, and the carpets have been replaced.” Blah blah blah.

Now that might sound bad, I know. But, there’s really nothing to worry about.

Uh, the animatronic characters here, do get a bit quirky at night, but do I blame them? No. If I were forced to sing those same stupid songs for twenty years and I never got a bath? I’d probably be a bit irritable at night too. So, remember, these characters hold a special place in the hearts of children and we need to show them a little respect, right? Okay.

So, just be aware, the characters do tend to wander a bit. Uh, they’re left in some kind of free roaming mode at night, uh, something about their servos locking up if they get turned off for too long? Uh, they used to be allowed to walk around during the day too, but then there was The Bite of ’87. Yeah. I-It’s amazing that the human body can live without the frontal lobe, you know?

Uh, now concerning your safety. The only real risk to you as a night watchman here, if any, is the fact that these characters, uh, if they happen to see you after hours probably won’t recognize you as a person. They’ll pr-They’ll most likely see you as a metal endoskeleton without its costume on. Now, since that’s against the rules here at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, they’ll probably try to…forcefully stuff you inside a Freddy Fazbear suit. Um, now, that wouldn’t be so bad, if the suits themselves weren’t filled with crossbeams, wires, and animatronic devices. Especially around the facial area. So you could imagine how having your head forcefully pressed inside one of those could cause a bit of discomfort, and death. Uh, the only parts of you that would likely see the light of day again would be your eyeballs and teeth when they pop out the front of the mask. Heh. Yeah, they don’t tell you these things when you sign up.

But hey, first day should be a breeze. I’ll chat with you tomorrow. Uh, check those cameras, and remember to close the doors only if absolutely necessary. Gotta conserve power. Alright, good night.

To test tumblr’s reading comprehension…

you can do ANYTHING to this post, reblog, add polls, start a fuckin roleplay in the notes, like it, I don’t give a shit.

BUT

you can’t add tags

[inkonparchment]

Class of '95

Leon Kennedy x f!Reader

The tie rests in his pocket, feeling his throat constrict enough by the memories from a lifetime ago as Leon stands in his old high-school gymnasium. His breathing exercises carry him through the evening until his breath knocks out of him when he sees you again.

warnings/tags: older Leon. allusions to alcoholism. fluff. high school sweethearts.

word count: 3.5k

a/n: i dont know if anyone has seen '10 Years' but this heavily inspired from that especially the song 'Never Had'. that and 'From Eden by Hozier'. also i know thats infinite darkness Leon in the banner but i had more death island Leon in mind. anyways, happy reading! this may be lame but its all i have to offer

Leon is glad he decided to forgo the tie, a last-minute decision he made sitting in the shadows of his car, staring blankly at his reflection in the rear-view mirror. The silence had been too loud without the car in ignition, occupied by a sudden itch to grip the steering wheel and drive off, daunted too much by the expanse of his old high-school. He feels like a fraud returning, no longer finding any specks of the person who used to wander down the halls, sit in the classes and occupy the benches in the cafeteria, his carefree demeanour carrying him through the days. 

He could hear the muted drawl of music bleeding from the doors, the balloons and décor scattered across the entrance with a banner reading ‘Welcome Back Class of ‘95’ in greeting. God, that made him feel old, the constant ache in his back a constant reminder of the toll the years had taken on him. 

The walk in isn’t so terrible, wiping the sweat from his hand as he comes across the registration desk, a kindly looking face asking for his name. He nearly laughs at the ‘hello my name is’ sticker, the marker squeaking as he scribbles on his name and pastes it on his jacket right above his heart. 

Leon feels his fingers twitch when someone shouts his name in disbelief, turning around to blink in the face of two men who were previously occupied with their own conversation. He recognizes them in an instant, his teammates from the football team. Youthful faces drowned by wrinkles, grey sprinklings in their hair and torsos full of muscle now replaced with a softening belly; but their smiles are still the same. He walks over to them, gripping their hands firmly in handshakes, disbelief on their faces when they register that it is Leon. 

Where have you been, man? We thought you were dead! Wow, it’s been so long. 

It’s all the same set of questions and remarks he gets when he tours the gymnasium floor. Yes, he can’t believe it’s been so long. No, he’s just been busy with work so no time for a missus or kids. Ah, what about work? He doesn’t want to bore anyone with the boring mumbo jumbo. Yeah, he’s disappointed the police thing didn’t work out but what can you do? 

His words soon start to feel rehearsed, like an actor on scene waiting for his cue, a smile plastered on his face to dazzle the audience. Leon does a fine job of it, relaxing when he realizes that it’s easy with these people who are more eager to talk about their wives, husbands and kids. He feels envy grow within him as his eyes get stuck on their greying features, the softness of their added age and the glittering bands of their rings. 

It feels disorienting almost seeing his classmates living the life he had pictured for himself long ago, a life he didn’t realize he wanted so much now. Maybe there was something about coming stunningly close to death as of late, not that it wasn’t usual for him. Perhaps the one too many knocks against his head had finally straightened out his disarrayed thoughts into linearity.  

The praises that are aimed his way are quickly dismissed by Leon, shrugging all the ‘you look really fit’s and ‘your hair is in great condition, between the kids and job I don’t have the time to dye it’ like bullets clattering to the ground, puncturing him in the aftermath. He has nothing to show for his life save for the scar marks and the unhealed bullet wounds littering his body. Their voices would not carry a tone of wistfulness if they truly knew his reality. 

Leon needs a breather. And like a dog to a bone, he retreats to the bar in the corner. 

It’s mostly empty, smiling politely at the couple that walks away with their beverages. He leans against the bar, grateful for the coolness underneath his palm as he orders his drink. Whiskey on the rocks with a twist. 

Leon struggled with the concept of autonomy for the majority of his 20s and 30s, anger rippling through his system with his teeth grit whenever he would be dispatched at a moment's notice. Every reverberation of his trusty Matilda was doused in casual rage of the irony of his helplessness in deciding his fate as he ensured the normalcy of those back home. Mission success after success that Leon paid for with his freedom, his aching body and greying years, mourning the naive version of himself that saw the world with a gleaming lense. 

He accepted his fate soon enough, made peace with the life he knew he was too much of a coward to leave, courtesy of his survivor's guilt or hero complex, he doesn't know. He really doesn't want to find out. Perhaps it’s the shift in his reality, a peek into a life outside where he isn’t vital to the national or global security. It tugs at the strings of his heart when he realises there’s serenity here. This thought does little to alleviate the deep ache within his chest as he watches his old classmates. 

This is difficult for the reasons Leon never prepared himself for, bitterness flooding him as he mulls over the possibility of the life he could have had. Would he be like everyone else here? Would smiling come easy, a wedding ring on his finger and pictures of his kids ready on his phone, proudly brandishing it out on a moment’s notice? What does he have to show for himself apart from the scars and wounds that litter his body? 

The bartender slides Leon’s drink in front of him, parting with a polite smile. He stares at the amber liquid, ice floating on its surface and the itch in the back of his head that he had tried hard to bury returned. Leon grabs the glass, swirling it for good measure and brings it up to his lips. The whiskey barely grazes his lips when a familiar sounding laugh freezes him in place. His pulse flutters, a statue in poise, back turned to the crowd when the sweet noise filters through again to his ear. 

And suddenly Leon feels himself thrown back to the year 1995 on his own personal time machine, bubbling up memories that he had long forgotten, evoking emotions he thought he didn’t know how to feel anymore. The laugh is light and airy, so gentle and delicate, encompassing his entire being, intoxicating him once again like it did when he heard it for the first time during chemistry class. 

He remembers the softness of your skin when you two had accidentally bumped hands reaching for the popcorn, blushing bright in the darkened theatre before he gathered the courage to hold your hand firmly, never letting go again. 

Leon swears he can taste the butter on your lips when you had bravely kissed him on the doorstep of your home, a grin permanently latching onto his face. His ears ring with the sound of your cheers from the stands, louder than anyone, wildly waving your homemade posters for his games, always present come rain or hail.   

Leon is almost afraid to turn, not wanting to disturb the way his mind has painted you in beautiful strokes, conjuring up a picture so vivid that he feels he can touch if he reaches out. But curiosity gets the better of him, lowering the untouched drink down with a thunk and slowly turning around. Leon forgets how to breathe for a moment. Is it in, in? Out in? No, it’s in and out. He tries to catch up to missed breaths, eyes hung onto you. 

You look just as beautiful as the day he last remembers seeing you. It overwhelms him. Time clearly passed you by but not in the same way it had him; brutish, barbaric and aggressively tossing him on the hard concrete. No, time had been gentle with you, tenderly caressing you in its palm, nuzzling you softly as it swept you with it. 

Your smile is still the same Leon fell in love with, proud at having being the receiving end of it quite often, adoring the way you still throw your head back a little when you laugh. There is an air of elegance about you, evidence of the years that you had culminated, experiences under your belt that had transformed you into the person that was standing just a little distance away from him.    

Leon watches you intently as your eyes flicker over to where he’s standing, words fumbling from your lips as you jerk your head back up and do a double take. Your eyes blink furiously, widening in surprise as though you never expected to see him in a million years. You stumble off an excuse to the people you were talking to, eyes not daring to stray away from him. 

His drink is long forgotten, hands both nestled in his pockets, heart thrumming in his chest as he waits for you to make your way to him. There’s a certain peculiarity in how you do; a strange mix of shyness and disbelief. Your steps are light and airy, features softening as Leon grows more vivid in your line of sight. There’s something familiar in the way you walk to him, something akin to how he watched you descend the stairs of your house as he had waited at the bottom, staring at you in awe with a corsage gripped tight in his hands. Even in the picture your mom had snapped, Leon was still looking at you.  

Warmth floods him when you come to a stop in front of him, glee on both his and Leon’s face, hidden beneath timidness. He takes the first leap.  

“Hey,” Leon smiles. 

You laugh and it is oh so sweet, stronger than a shot of espresso. “Hi.” You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.  

What do you say anyways to the most important person in your youth who you thought would be a constant? The breakup had been difficult but inevitable with the two very different paths you and Leon had picked out for yourselves. It was terribly heart aching with fingers gripping each other’s tightly, silent tears running down your face as you tried to inscribe every forehead kiss from Leon to memory with the sun setting in the far-off distance. Come morning he would be long gone, both of you deciding that it would be unbearable to start a new day without the sun shining on them both.  

What do you say after all these years have passed shaping you into different versions of the same person you once knew so long ago?  

“It’s really good to see you Leon.” Well you could say that for starters. 

A small puff of air leaves Leon’s throat, glancing down at the floor momentarily before looking back into your eager eyes. His heart clenches as he notices they still glow. “It’s good to see you too.” An understatement truly, it’s magical to see you again. He thought he never would again, his mind drifting to you in his moments of darkness, clinging on to the memories as they would rejuvenate him. His sentiment is a lot more loaded than yours, he realises, his guardian angel now materialised in front of his eyes.  

You flit about, mess with your hair, pull it behind your ears, trying to look at him whole with little glances. “I uh...I thought you didn’t attend these things.”  

“I didn’t know there were these things to attend,” He shrugged. Its true, it’s quite hard to reach him when none of his old contact numbers or emails work. Leon’s a hard man to reach. It was a surprise to him when Hunnigan had all but slammed the plane ticket and the print out of his old high-school reunion on his desk. He didn’t even bother asking how she got the information, feeling scrutinised under her hard gaze and her You need a break too, Leon. He’ll buy her favourite bottle of wine first thing back.  

“Well you know it is hard to reach you.” You tilt your head to the side, teasing glinting in your eyes. “No phone number, no address, no email either. Its almost like you vanished off the face of the earth.” 

Leon feels the tips of his ears grow hot, suddenly feeling a bit ashamed. You continue on with a casual shrug of your shoulders, “Every text or email I sent you bounced back so I just thought you didn’t want to catch up.”  

That turns him into a statue. What? “You tried to contact me?”  

A streak of blush colours your cheeks. “I mean not that frequently. Just like a couple of years back I guess? I don’t know I just did it on a whim. The text didn’t go through and neither did the email so...you know I thought you didn’t want to be contacted.” 

He didn’t know what to do with the information that you thought of him while he thought of you. He never imagined that you would actually try to reach out to him, why would you? Leon assumed you’d be well settled in your life now; husband, kids, the white picket fence. Isn’t that what the two of you would fantasise about, sharing whispered giggles huddled under the sheets?  

But there’s curiosity gnawing at his bones. He’s noticed the empty ring finger on your left hand about how you’ve spent ten minutes chatting with him here and no man has slipped his hand against your waist. You’re here, talking to him, in no rush to meet anyone else. Leon feels his fingers twitch, he would never let you out of his sight. 

He blinks, an easy smile settling on his lips, gazing at you softly at your confession. “I thought about you a lot too.” He wants to thread his fingers through your hair, tucking away the strands. “I’m sorry I went so far away.”  

You shudder, pursing your lips and looking away. You see to be shrugging your shoulders again. Cute. “It’s fine. Life gets in the way sometimes. I’m just glad you’re okay.” 

The music doesn’t bother Leon anymore. He likes it, foot tapping with the beat, letting the soft tune wash over him. The silence is nice albeit heavy, he imagines there’s a barrage of questions on the tip of your tongue. A gentle giggle pulls his attention to you, “What?” 

“Nothing. Its just,” You shake your head, “I don’t know if I should be concerned or not over how little the gymnasium has changed since we went here.”  

“Oh,” His eyes sweep the entire place, amused at your remark. “You’re right. I don’t imagine they’ve been very enthusiastic about interior decoration .”  

“They really have not,” You marvel. You seem to get lost in your thoughts, pulling your back straighter. “You think they changed the bleachers outside in the field?”  

Leon locks eyes with you, unrelenting stare as he grapples with the meaning behind your words. He spent a lot of time with you on them; shyly running to you after practice, talking with you there for hours, glancing at you cheering him on during games, the summer day you two had spent there laughing and kissing before Leon had scratched the two of yours initial on its surface, sweetly outlining it with a heart. It’s not cheesy sweetheart if you’re blushing into my neck this hard.  

Leon quirks his eyebrow, matching your smile. “Let’s find out.”  

The night is cool with clear skies and a soft breeze blowing through. Leon feels ridiculous, not in the stupid sense but in the makes-him-feel-young sense. Your hand is wrapped in his instinctively, your soft palm resting against his with a practiced ease as he tugs you along with him towards the football field. The music thrums away into the background until there’s only the sound of your shared footsteps and your soft laughs echoing in the air. He can’t help but glance at you time and again, marvelling at the soft wrinkles dusting the corner of your eyes.  

He doesn’t like it when he has to let your hand go, standing between the stands as the two of you  unspokenly begin the search for the same heart shaped mark left years ago in the dim light. 

“So uh,” You say standing a little above from him in the bleachers, attention focused on the seats as you try to sound casual, “Did you come alone?”  

“Yeah,” He’s quick to reply. “My pet goldfish gets really motion sick on planes.” He pretends to search for a while. “You?”  

You hum in reply. “I don’t think ex-husbands are too big on attending their ex-wife’s high-school reunion.”  

Leon turns towards you to see you staring at him already, fiddling with your ring-less finger. “Dead?” 

“Divorced.” 

“When?” 

“Few years ago.”  

“Why?” 

“He got his secretary pregnant.”  

Leon blinks, scoffing and surprised at the spark of anger that ignites in him. “What an absolute piece of shit.”  

You laugh. “Yeah.”  

The two of you go back to searching, a lightness on your shoulders now. He relaxes too, the stiffness disappearing from his back. “I thought a lot about you. Thought you’d have your white picket fence house by now. It’s...why I never reached out to you.”  

You bite your lip, smiling at the memory. “It’s okay Leon, really. The white picket fence seems like a lifetime ago now. Seems a bit silly honestly.”  

“It’s not what you want?”  

“I don’t know. A lot’s changed since we last spoke. I’ve learnt it’s better to let things happen as they are.”  

“Not taking chances anymore?”  

You look up at him, a sweet smile as you share a knowing look. “No, I’m taking them as they present themselves.”  

Leon’s stomach does that flipping motion again, sweat collecting on the back of his neck. He mentally notes to buy Hunnigan the snack she likes so much too. They resume their search, beckoning the other to their spot as they find something funny or worthy to see. It’s fun, his worries melting away as he laughs away the night with you. But that heart is nowhere to be found, tired of squinting.  

“Ugh, this low lighting isn’t really helping,” You sigh, trailing back to where he’s stood.  

“Maybe some extra help then.” He pats the front of his jacket, digging into his inner pocket and then brandishing out his flip phone nonchalantly. You stare at it for a second, watch him as he flips it open and then burst into laughter.  

“What?” He asks in disbelief, watching you wheeze with amusement. 

“Wow,” You manage to choke out, “Well no wonder its so hard to reach you. Does your phone even have an email app?”  

“It works fine for me,” He grumbles, hoping you can’t see how scarlet he is under the night sky.  

“No, no,” You grin at him, pinching his cheeks. “It’s cute.”  

Leon almost jumps at your fingers connecting with his cheek, inadvertently leaning into your touch. You still, realisation hitting you of what you’re doing. But you don’t stop. Your fingers splay out, hesitantly cupping the side of his face. Leon watches you carefully, trying his best to control his breathing. You shudder as the bottom of your hand grazes against his stubble, thumb slowly caressing against his skin. Leon shuts his eyes under your soft touch, a sigh leaving his lips. 

He holds your wrist, keeping your hand against his cheek, bringing you close to him by your waist. His eyes don’t stray from yours, keeping you in place. Your eyes glaze over, a sheen in them as they collect water.  

“Hi.” You whisper.  

“Hey, sweetheart.” He whispers back. 

“You look old,” You laugh, the sound mixing with a sob. 

“So do you.” He hums back, fondly brushing your hair back from your face.  

You bury your face in his chest, breathing him in. “Where were you? I waited for you for so long.”  

He pulls back to see you properly, tilting  your face up by a hand under your chin. He leans in, lips brushing over yours. You push yourself up on your toes, lips connecting with his. You feel so impossibly warm against him, lips slotting against his seamlessly. He breathes you in, tastes you deeply, gripping you against his body like he never plans on letting you go. You gasp against his lips as he steals your breath and noises.  

He pulls away just an inch, nuzzling his nose into your cheek, not daring to loosen his hold on you. “Not going anywhere now, sweetheart.” 

[revelboo]

Thanks to you I'm making a large purchase of blokees transformers figures, my addiction starts again 😂😂

Do it! They’re tiny, so it’s fine. I may have ordered Prowl, Sideswipe, and Bluestreak from a guy on EBay

Skin and Bones Pt 8

IDW Megatron x Reader

• Is that him? Rumbling softly to himself, he leans forward to study the little sketch you’re making with your fingers on a corner of his unsupervised data pad and, sure enough, it is a surprisingly good depiction of him you’re drawing. And much more flattering than the pointy-denta version of Skywarp beside it, crouched like a monster. “You’re good at that,” he says and you look up so suddenly he realizes you were fully engrossed in your project and hadn’t even noticed he was there. He guiltily reaches to run a servo over your hair, spark warming when you reach up to touch him in return. “You like to draw?”

• Palm on that huge servo still lingering against your hair, you smile up at him, because he sounds genuinely curious. Like he actually cares about the answer and it’s sweet, the big warlord so achingly gentle with you. It’s really hard to believe the Seekers always spoke of his temper in hushed tones, though maybe he just keeps that side of himself hidden from you. It’s hard to believe that when he slides the tip of his servo against your cheek, though. “I do.”

• Optics half shuttered as you cling to his servo and just smile up at him, he’s reluctant to break the contact between you two. Especially in moments like this where you look up at him with trust he’s not entirely sure he deserves. Would you still look at him like that if you knew the things he’s done? Some because he was backed into a corner, but some, most, out of anger. “I’ll find you paints then,” he murmurs and your smile widens in pleasure, twisting about his spark. Your happiness a warmth inside him, slowly banking the anger that’s always there, sometimes all consuming, but never when you’re near.

• Beaming up at him as he finally pulls away, there’s a whisper of disappointment at the loss of his touch that doesn’t quite make sense to you. That makes you want to reach after him instead of letting your hand fall. He’s easier to get along with than the Seekers has been, so much less demanding. Starscream had needed praise and reassuring, Thundercracker to be talked to, and Skywarp had needed someone to listen to his silly plans and plots and encourage him. You’d felt like an adult babysitting in dealing with them sometimes, but Megatron asks for nothing from you but companionship. It’s almost enough to make you forget that you’re here against your will, because you enjoy talking to him. The stories he’ll sometimes tell of his world before the war, that rumbling voice deep with a longing that seems like it’s not for a place exactly, but belonging. And you wonder if he’s ever felt like he belonged anywhere.

• Your expression just then, it’s almost sad and he hesitates. Wants to ask what just crossed your mind, but resists. Doesn’t want to pry. He’s volunteered little pieces of his past, to try and get something from you in return. Of the mines and the gladiator fights. Carefully worded accounts that leave out the pain, trauma, hatred, and spilled energon, because if you knew it all, you wouldn’t smile at him. You’d be terrified. But you give him nothing back, keeping your life before Starscream stole you a secret and he understands even if it bothers him. Knows you must miss your freedom and wonders sometimes who you left behind and if you mourn them. You cry sometimes he knows, silently shaking and trying to keep that too from him.

Previous

[brunchable]

THIS, is your boyfriend, Mom? [4]

Pairings: Beefy Bucky Barnes x Our savage wittle boi Lucas x f!Reader.

Summary: The family went on a camping trip with Lucas' cousins. Warning: Lucas fell into a river but is unharmed.

A/N: I will just keep posting Step-Dad Bucky content, this doesn't really have set plot, just cute and funny moments while Bucky navigates how to be a Dad. ALSO, note I am still trying to fix the tag list for this.

The stars had just begun to shine as you, Bucky, Lucas, and a few of his cousins sat around the campfire, laughter filling the air as the kids toasted marshmallows and dared each other to make the strangest marshmallow combinations.

After a while, Lucas and his cousin wandered over to you, their faces lit with excitement. “Mom, can we go skip rocks by the river?” Lucas asked.

You nodded, giving them a warm but serious smile. “Alright, but don’t go too close to the water. Stay safe.”

They nodded, promising to be careful, and you watched as they bounded off toward the riverbank, their giggles mixing with the sound of the flowing water. Bucky was sitting next to you, his gaze steady on the kids as they skipped stones, trying to beat each other’s number of skips.

Everything seemed peaceful.

But after a few minutes, you overheard Lucas’s cousin daring him. “Bet you can’t skip one from way up close,” his cousin said, pointing to a spot near the edge of the water, where the bank was muddy and slippery.

Lucas hesitated, glancing back at you and Bucky, then shrugged, puffing his chest out a little. “It’s not even that deep. I’ll be fine.”

In that split second, he took a bold step closer, right to the edge, and threw his rock. But as he shifted his weight forward, the muddy bank gave way, and he slipped, his arms flailing as he tried to keep his balance—only to tumble forward into the icy water.

“Mom! Help!” Lucas screamed, panic overtaking his voice as the river’s current tried to pull him in.

His cousin tried to reach him, stretching out his arm, but the water was too strong, and Lucas was quickly losing his footing.

In that moment, Lucas looked up, his breath catching as he saw a figure racing toward him with unwavering speed and determination. Recognizing Bucky’s shape, he reached out instinctively, the word spilling out in sheer desperation.

“Dad!”

Before you could take a step, Bucky had already shot up, sprinting to the river with a look of pure terror etched across his face. Reaching the boys in seconds, he gently but firmly shoved Lucas’s cousin back toward you, his voice low and firm. “Get to your mom. Now.”

“Lucas!” you screamed, your heart pounding.

Without a second thought, Bucky stepped into the river, his boots sinking into the cold, swirling water as it tugged insistently at his legs, urging him to stay back. But he moved forward, steady and sure, his eyes fixed on Lucas as if the world held nothing else. The river pressed against him, but he barely noticed, reaching Lucas in a few strides, wrapping a solid arm under the boy’s shoulders, and lifting him up with a fierce certainty. Holding Lucas close, Bucky turned and waded back to shore, his grip firm, his gaze steady, as if he were carrying something infinitely precious.

As soon as they were safely on dry ground, Bucky knelt down, gripping Lucas’s shoulders tightly, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with anger and fear.

“What were you thinking, Lucas?” he snapped, his voice sharp and unwavering. “Didn’t your mother tell you not to go near the edge? Do you understand what could have happened if you’d fallen in deeper?”

Lucas glanced up at Bucky, then looked over at you. The sight of you standing there, tears streaming down your face, struck him like a punch to the chest. His mother, the person he always wanted to keep happy and safe, was crying because of him.

Lucas looked down, his face pale, but tried to stammer out a response. “I-I… I didn’t think it’d be that slippery…”

Bucky’s hands tightened on his shoulders, and his voice grew louder, thick with emotion. “Exactly. You didn’t think! What if the current had pulled you in? What if you’d been swept away before I got there? What if… what if you had gotten hurt or worse?” Bucky’s voice wavered, but his tone stayed stern. “This isn’t a game, boy. You could’ve been lost to that river in an instant.”

Lucas’s cousin, standing nearby, shifted nervously, his face turning pale as he realized the seriousness of the situation. Bucky’s sharp gaze flicked toward him, his tone still unrelenting.

“And you,” he said, his voice just as firm as before. “Why would you dare him to go closer? Do you understand how dangerous that was?”

Lucas’s cousin looked down, guilt spreading across his face as he mumbled, “I’m sorry, Bucky… I didn’t think anything bad would happen. I just… thought it’d be fun.”

Bucky’s expression didn’t soften as he spoke, his tone filled with disappointment. 

“Fun? What if he’d fallen in and the current was too strong? What if I hadn’t been here in time? You don’t push someone to take a risk like that, especially near the water. You’re supposed to look out for each other, not encourage recklessness.”

The weight of Bucky’s words began to settle over both boys like a heavy blanket. The “what ifs” replayed in their minds, each one sinking deeper, and they both suddenly felt small and helpless under Bucky’s fierce gaze.

Lucas’s voice shook as he whispered, “I… I’m sorry, Bucky. I didn’t mean to make you and Mom worry. I just wanted to see if I could do it…”

“Wanting to prove yourself doesn’t matter if you’re putting yourself in danger. Bravery doesn’t mean being reckless, Lucas. Do you understand that?” Bucky’s stern expression didn’t waver as he looked down at Lucas, still gripped by the terror of almost losing him.

Lucas’s shoulders slumped as the weight of his mistake settled over him like an unwelcome shadow. Tears spilled down his cheeks, and his voice broke in a whisper, “I’m really, really sorry, Bucky. I didn’t mean for it to be this bad… I just didn’t think.”

Bucky’s expression shifted, his face softening as he caught the guilt in Lucas’s tear-filled eyes. He let out a quiet, unsteady breath, the last of his anger dissolving like smoke. He pulled the boy into a fierce hug, an instinct older than words, holding him close as if, in that one embrace, he could keep the world and all its dangers at bay.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” Lucas’s voice was muffled against Bucky’s chest, his small hands gripping Bucky’s shirt like it was his only tether to safety.

Bucky’s arms tightened around him, one hand moving up to cradle the back of Lucas’s head. “I know, kid. I know you didn’t mean it.” His voice was soft but steady, filled with something deeper than mere forgiveness.

He stroked Lucas’s back in slow, reassuring circles, feeling each shaky breath. “You scared me, you know? Really scared me.” The words were simple but carried a weight only Lucas could feel, pressing gently on his small shoulders.

Then, Bucky pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, brushing a tear from Lucas’s cheek with his thumb. “Listen. You don’t need to prove anything. You’re already enough, just as you are. And I need you here with me. Promise me you’ll remember that.”

Lucas nodded, a fierce, wide-eyed sincerity in his gaze. “I promise.”

Bucky’s lips curled into a small, warm smile, and he ruffled Lucas’s hair gently, his voice barely above a whisper. “Good. That’s my boy.”

There was a pause, a quiet weight to the moment. Then, Bucky gave Lucas’s shoulder a soft squeeze, his tone light but carrying an unmistakable note of resolve. 

“Now,” he murmured, a hint of mischief flickering in his eyes, “go apologize to your mom and get yourself cleaned up. You’ve given her enough to worry about for one day.”

× × × ×

The campfire crackled softly, casting a warm glow over the clearing as the night deepened. The kids were finally asleep in their own tent, their quiet breaths rising and falling in a rhythm of exhaustion and dreams. You stayed by the fire, arms wrapped around yourself, lost in thought as you watched the flames dance.

Bucky came up behind you, draping a blanket over your shoulders and pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. You smiled up at him, warmth spreading through you beyond the blanket.

“Thank you,” you murmured, reaching for his hand. “For what you did for Lucas today.”

Bucky shook his head, brushing it off. “It’s nothing,” he said softly, settling down beside you. But as he looked into the fire, a quiet chuckle escaped him, his eyes crinkling with a mix of disbelief and something almost… tender.

You turned to him, curiosity in your gaze. “What are you thinking about?”

He glanced at you, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, his eyes still reflecting the firelight. “He called me ‘Dad,’” he said, voice soft with wonder.

You nodded, your own smile widening. “He did.”

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief as he leaned back. “Think that’s going to cost me the dad fee?”

You laughed, a warm sound that felt like it belonged to the night. Bucky grinned, clearly pleased to lighten the mood, and his hand found yours as the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the fire crackling as the stars watched over.

After a moment, Bucky’s gaze softened, and he leaned in, closing the space between you with a look of pure adoration. His hand cradled your face as his lips brushed against yours, warm and lingering.

Just as you melted into the kiss, a small voice pierced the quiet.

“Oh, wow. Seriously? Now?”

You and Bucky broke apart to find Lucas standing outside his tent, hands on his hips and an exaggerated look of exasperation on his face. “Guys, it’s, like, bedtime. Some of us are trying to sleep here without… that in our minds.”

You stifled a laugh, and Bucky sighed, glancing at the sky as if asking for patience. “What do you need, kid?”

Lucas rolled his eyes dramatically. “Well, I was going to the bathroom, but now I’m scarred for life. So thanks for that,” he added with a smirk, gesturing toward the trees. “I’ll be back—try to keep it PG, alright?”

With that, he turned and shuffled off, muttering loud enough for you to hear, “Can’t believe I had to see that.”

When he was out of earshot, Bucky shook his head, chuckling softly. “That kid…”

You bit back a grin, leaning into him with a sigh. “So, where were we?”

Bucky pulled you close, a smirk on his lips. “Somewhere between dad fees and permanent interruptions, I think.”

× × × × 

Back home a few days later.

It was a quiet evening, and Bucky had been waiting for the right moment, nerves humming beneath his calm exterior. Lucas was sprawled out on the living room floor, building a small LEGO fortress, completely focused. Bucky took a deep breath, gathering himself, and then sat down next to Lucas, watching him for a moment before speaking.

“Hey, bud,” Bucky said softly, ruffling Lucas’s hair.

Lucas looked up, his face lighting up. “Hey, Bucky! Want to help me with the fortress? It’s almost done.”

Bucky chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe in a sec, kiddo. I actually wanted to talk to you about something… something important.”

“Okay… what’s up?” Lucas tilted his head, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

Bucky took a deep breath, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement.

“So… I’ve been thinking about your mom,” he began, his voice gentle. “She means everything to me, Lucas. You know that, right?”

Lucas nodded, a small smile forming on his lips. “Yeah, I know. She loves you, too.”

Bucky swallowed, his heart pounding a little harder as he reached out, resting a hand on Lucas’s shoulder. “Well, I was wondering… how would you feel if I asked her to marry me?”

Lucas’s eyes went wide, his mouth falling open in surprise. He looked down, taking it in, before glancing back up at Bucky with a raised eyebrow.

“You mean… you’d be my dad?” he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of sass. “Like, officially? You’re not just trying to get a tax break or something, right?”

Bucky laughed, the tension easing out of him a bit. “No, not for a tax break, kid. I genuinely want to be there for you and your mom. I want us to be a family.”

Lucas stared at him for a long moment, his face scrunched up in thought. Then, with a small, knowing smirk, he said, “So… you’re asking me for permission? Wow, you must really like us.”

Bucky chuckled, ruffling Lucas’s hair again. 

“Yeah, I am. It’s important to me that you’re okay with this. You’re the most important person in her life, and if we’re gonna be a family… I want you to know that you’re part of this decision.”

Bucky’s eyes widened, like he’d just been struck by the weight of Lucas’s words. For a moment, he could only stare, his heart swelling with an unexpected, overwhelming sense of joy. He felt a lump form in his throat, and before he could say anything, he pulled Lucas into a tight hug, holding him close.

Lucas’s face softened, and after a brief pause, he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck in a tight hug. 

"You don't have to ask," Lucas whispered, his sass melting to something sincere, "I already know you're my dad."

As he closed his eyes, a tear slipped down his cheek, but he didn’t care. “Thank you, Lucky,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “That means more than you know.”

When they finally pulled back, Lucas wiped his eyes, his grin returning with a mischievous edge. “But… you still have to do it right. Like, you know, get down on one knee and everything. And maybe a big sign that says, ‘Will you marry me?’ in case you mess up your words.”

Bucky laughed, nodding. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m going all out. Your mom deserves the best.”

Lucas nodded, looking proud. “Good. She does. And you better not make her cry… unless they’re the good kind of tears. Otherwise, I’ll have to come after you.”

Bucky chuckled. “Only happy tears, kiddo. I promise.”

Lucas gave him a firm nod, his eyes sparkling. “Good then it’s settled. Now, are you going to help me finish this fortress, or are you too busy planning your big proposal?”

Bucky grinned, feeling the last of his nerves slip away as he settled beside Lucas, picking up a LEGO piece. 

“Alright, kiddo, let’s finish this fortress. Gotta make sure it’s strong enough to withstand all the big plans I’m about to set in motion.”

Lucas gave a mock-serious nod. “Good idea. Wouldn’t want you bailing on me halfway through.”

Bucky chuckled, nudging him gently. “Hey, I’m in this for the long haul. Fortress-building included.”

They both settled back down to work, side by side, focused on finishing the fortress together, each piece clicking into place as easily as their bond had over time.

[absxntmxnded]

LET ME TAKE CARE OF YOU

—————————————————————————

origins!logan x reader

warnings: fluff, no use of y/n

Had this thought in my head and I read a shit ton of Logan blurbs and fics but I’ve never posted anything I’ve randomly written and I’m deffo nervous but fuck it I guess

—————————————————————————

You woke up to it snowing, just like the weatherman predicted. You needed to go into town to get groceries and other necessities, and having put it off all week proved to be a poor decision.

You reluctantly slid out of bed, from the safe, warm, space, and wrapped yourself in your cardigan before padding downstairs to the kitchen. As you filled your coffee pot with water you peered out the window to get a gist of just how bad it was snowing.

It was coming down, but not too hard and the visibility was still good. The tall pine trees that lined the edge of your property swayed with the tender swirls of snow. The sun was unsettlingly bright against the whiteness of the snow, blinding you from looking out for too long.

You poured a cup of coffee and settled at the dining room table, seated perfectly to watch the snow fall and the wildlife wake up with the sun. This life was not perfect by any means, but you knew why Logan chose to home you both out here. It was for comfort, safety, and peace knowing not many would trek through the unknown to find you.

After finishing your coffee, you made your way to the front door, slipping on your winter gear. Tall, thick boots now adorned your feet, and a fur-lined parka wrapping the last remnants of heat from your bed against you. You knew if you wanted to make it to town you would have to shovel the driveway now and leave soon before the weather got worse. With that, with your now gloved hands, you opened the front door and invited the bitter cold in. The wind whipped you in the face and it stung hard, but nothing you weren’t already used to.

You grabbed the shovel and started a path from the steps of the front deck to the truck. From there, you went up and down the driveway in straight lines, careful not to slip. You were so focused on the task at hand you could barely hear Logan calling from the front deck.

“Princess! What are you doing?” Logan calls. You turn around to see your boyfriend standing there, head cocked, arms across his chest with that ever present scowl across his face. You knew he wasn’t seriously upset with you but you never enjoyed seeing him upset. “Give me the shovel, you go inside and get warmed up.” Logan says while coming down the path you made.

You pulled the shovel out of his reach. “Not a chance Logan, I’m almost done, I can handle it.” You said, matching his stern tone.

“I don’t care if you can handle it, I will finish, now go.” He said, pointing at the house. You weren’t going to give in that easily.

“Logan, I am perfectly capable of shoveling the driveway! I used to do it when I lived with my parents, seriously I’m fine.” You appreciated Logan’s kindness to help you with everything, but sometimes you just really wanted to show him how independent you were.

Logan places his hands on your shoulders. dusting the snow off. “Darlin, I know you’re capable of shoveling the driveway. You’re capable of a lot of things, but you live with me now. I’m taking care of you now, so I do this, okay?” You felt your heart swell and you couldn’t even think of where to begin what to say. Your whole life, you were the person everyone else relied on. The feeling of gratitude and love filled your chest and soon your eyes. You stammered, not even knowing how to respond to Logan.

He didn’t even give you a chance to answer before he picked you up and slung you over his shoulders like you weighed nothing. “Logan!” you screeched, “Put me down!” You were giggling and smacking Logan’s back, but that was hardly a deterrent to him. He effortlessly carried you back into the house, placing you by the wood stove to heat you quicker. Carefully, he undressed your winter gear and clothes, laying them on the back of the couch to dry. You allowed him this moment in caring for you, because you knew deep down this was mending broken pieces of him, slowly but surely.

Before you knew it, you were down to your undies and bra, being hoisted over Logan’s shoulder again, this time being taken upstairs. “Logan! I can walk!”

“I know darlin.”

Logan set you down gently on the bed and turned to rummage through his drawers. He turned back around holding sweatpants and a sweatshirt, which were clearly his. A toothy grinned crossed his face as he walked to you. He first put the sweatpants on you, sliding them over each foot and up to your hips. Then he carefully pulled the oversized hoodie over you. Last, to finish off your look, he brought out the warmest cabin socks he could find, carefully slipping those on as well. He stepped back and gave a once over of his job. You couldn’t help but break out into laughter.

“Whats’o funny?” He scrunched his nose and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“Nothing Logan, you’re just going overboard, I’m fine, was hardly cold and I could’ve fini-.” You didn’t get to finish your sentence as Logan cut you off with a sweet kiss.

“Like I said before, you live here now. I’m supposed to be taking care of you, so let me. You don’t need to do everything anymore. I love you.” Logan held your hands and kissed your forehead before laying you down and pulling the covers over you. “Now you lay here and warm up. I’ll finish the driveway, and cook breakfast. Then we can head to town. Okay darlin?” Logan’s hazel eyes were surrounded by those crinkles you absolutely adored, and a bright smile only reserved for you.

You nodded. “Okay, Lo…” you smiled up at him, taking in his gentle features and soaking in the love and display of affection Logan was giving you. Logan leaned down and pressed a longer kiss to your forehead before pushing some hair to the side of your face. “I love you sweetheart.” He said as he moved to the door, glancing back one more time to flash a grin before disappearing down the hallway.

You weren’t used to the one being waited on and getting to relax, but living with someone like Logan made it easy.

[cakerybakery]

“Dad, you have to try.” Charlie scolded. It was embarrassing to be scolded by your daughter and Lucifer cringed.

He supposed he had been a little, umm, cold, towards Adam since the man revived.

Charlie wanted to make Adam feel welcome. She was more forgiving. And calculating.

She had told Lucifer when she first accepted Adam into the hotel that if she could redeem him, it was proof that the current system was broken.

“Fine.” He grumbled.

“Good.” She smiled triumphly. “Now take him out to dinner.”

He nearly dropped his cane. “What!? Why?!?”

“To show you’re trying to be his friend and to show him the good parts of hell too. Not just the murdery stab parts.”

Lucifer tried to keep his cool and through gritted teeth agreed before storming off to find Adam. Might as well get it over with.

Adam was in the small library. He was looking through the classic literature section, trying to tell if someone in hell just added all the steamy sex scenes to books like Pride and Prejudice and Moby Dick or if heaven took them out, when Lucifer slammed his hands into the shelves on either side of Adam.

He was boxed in and Lucifer looked up at him.

Lucifer’s face was golden and his voice knee shakenly deep as he told Adam their plans for the evening.

It was just like that scene in Moby Dick he just read. When Ishmael shoved Queequeg against the mast, tied them together as a storm raged, and they made out before Ishmael fucked Queequeg’s brains out as the waves and rains washed over them.

Only without the storm, the mast, and Lucifer was telling him that he’d be at Adam’s door for six and to be dressed to eat out.

It was hot. Like weirdly hot.

He didn’t know what to wear for that though and went to Angel for help.

They only had a couple hours and Angel and him hit all of Angel’s favourite stores.

“This is the outfit.” Angel nodded approvingly.

Adam was bright red. He wasn’t sure. All he could see was how chubby he’d gotten over the years. It felt a little too tight and revealing even a dressing room with just Angel in it. It was really weird to have one of his thousands times grandsons helping him pick out what to wear that night.

“I’m not sure about the colours.”

“I’ve seen how the man dresses. He likes white and red.” Angel deadpanned. “So white with red accents. It even has a little apple with the bite taken out of it for a little. Oh what’s it called? It’s not a button but it’s like an accessory? No, umm.”

“I didn’t think it had a name at all.” Adam shrugged. He didn’t know fucking clothing. He generally just wore what people gave him. “You sure about it? I look fat.”

“You look gorgeous. And it’s hell, honey.” Angel gestured towards the closed door. “I saw a man out there wearing nothing but a trench-coat sitting on a bench with his weird looking dick on display. No one cares if you don’t have a six-pack anymore. I’m fucking spider and my pornos fly off the shelves.”

Adam couldn’t argue with that. There was a distinct lack of shame in hell. He should embrace that much of the culture anyway.

They made it back in time for Adam to shower, shave his face and trim his goatee so it looked neat, brush his teeth so he was minty fresh for making out, and to get dressed. He left the door open unlocked and waited nervously for his date to show up.

Lucifer really didn’t want to do this.

What would they talk about?

He gave it half an hour before their hands were on each other.

Knocking first he could hear Adam shuffling a bit and telling him to come in.

Ugh. The asshole wasn’t even ready yet.

Lucifer opened the door and dropped his cane and jaw.

Adam was blushing, sitting on the edge of the bed in lingerie. A white with red lace trim bra and matching panties set. His eye was drawn between the cups of the bra to a decorative apple button.

Clearing his throat Adam asked, “you still want to “eat out” right?”

Lucifer kicked the door shut behind him and started to strip. That hadn’t been what he meant but dinner was dinner.

[l-in-the-light]

I also think Usopp doesn't even need an upgrade or powerup. What he actually needs is a fight against someone stronger than him, because, quoting One Piece, "it's in danger when the flower of haki blossoms". But even if this doesn't happen on Elbaf, I will be fine with it.

Usopp won't ever change. The whole point of his character is to fight against his cowardice and that battle is like Sisyphus' task: neverending. Usopp tells you to never give up even if you always struggle. It's impressive, because it's easy to fight when you know you will win, but so difficult when you know you will lose. The person who is aware of and fights their own cowardice is the bravest.

Sometimes people can get over their trauma and act "normally", but sometimes they just can't, it will be forever a part of them to some degree. And that's Usopp - his lies and cowardice is a malfuncting adaptation mechanism that he developed as a child caring for his dying mother and trying to cheer her up, maybe even believing his own lies and believing that if his dad appears his mom will suddenly be healthy again. That trauma shaped him and is part of him forever, and will always be present in him to some degree. Usopp isn't weak, his sniping feats are nothing to sneeze at, but his biggest enemy is himself and his lack of faith in himself. As a consequence, Usopp faces his shortcomings every single day of his life and despite all the odds comes as winner most of the times. Maybe that's what becoming a "brave warrior of the sea" is like for him: facing everyday like it's the biggest challenge and not giving up despite failures and shivering legs. And honestly, it's no small feat.

Usopp's dream seems to have been strengthened after encountering the Giants and I think I get why. That's because their valor and honor centers around death - it's the death that shapes you as a brave warrior or not, not how you lived your life, but what you did just before you died. Usopp can relate to it, because his other feats can be overriden the next time he gets scared. But if he dies for it, his final act of bravery will be remembered forever. That's why he returns to save the tontattas in Dressrosa, right? At that moment he even declares it - you all make a monument for me and remember my feat, because I'm going to save you but I will probably die for it.

In that moment is he really less cool than Zoro who knows he will die in a moment but still declares with a cheeky smile that he wants his fatal wound in the front, because wounds on the back are a swordsman's shame?

"Usopp better get a power-up in Elbaf" "When will Usopp finally become a powerhouse?" "If Usopp doesn't get a power-up I'll give up on the character entirely" "I hope he finally stops being a coward in Elbaf"

Did we learn nothing from Water 7? Aren't you tired? Does nobody understand the point of the character anymore?

Don't get me wrong, it's easy to succumb to the Rule of Cool. He's my favorite character in the series and I'd adore to see him achieve some great impossible feats. That being said, that's not why he's my favorite character and it's not the point of the character to begin with. What I hope to get from him in Elbaf is things like character development or some much needed attention and screen time. I want him to get developments in terms of his inner world or inner conflicts or in regards to his dynamics with the people around him. I could not care less if he comes out of the arc just as "weak and cowardly" in terms of fighting prowess as he started. What matters is the actual themes and narrative built around the character; learning to not see himself as a burden, learning to value his skills and to keep acting out his kindness towards others, even when he's trying to preserve his own safety. Water 7 was about how Usopp doesn't need to be "powerful" or even "useful" to be a worthwhile member of this family. He just needs to be himself.

At this point I'm kinda hoping he gets no power-up whatsoever, even though I'd genuinely love it if he did, just to spite the powerscaler types. I hope he gets out of the arc weaker or something at this point lmao. Just to upset people that don't appreciate or understand him already. And if he does end up upgrading his skillset I'll celebrate anyway. Stay away from him get a job!!!

[leoisstillalive]

>800 word intro to a fic im writing. it's completely unedited and unbeta read and is also just kind of me playing with uccio and vale like ken dolls. i have never uploaded a draft like this before so be gentle on me.

Valentino nursed himself on the porcelain coffee mug, mouth running along the hot lip of it, hands shifting around and around until they reached the handle once more.

“Long night?” Uccio quirked his lips as he plopped down in the seat opposite Vale with an espresso.

The breakfast hall was empty, save for them and two employees who were still preparing the buffet stands. It was quarter to six in the morning, the Autumn sun had barely risen, and the hotel staff had thrown the two men a collection of surprised looks when they emerged from the hallway doors an hour before breakfast.

They had hurriedly served them coffee before retreating to the kitchens to retrieve more food.

Vale nodded solemnly, closing his eyes against the sudden light that flooded through the drawn curtains. He received flashes of memory plagued by splitting headaches and a wave of nausea. Dark brown hair, even darker brown eyes— everything dark and hazy and sickly in his throat.

He blew a sharp breath out his nose and let the steam burn his cheeks.

“Come on, then,” His friend urged with a delighted tone, “Confessional. How’d you humiliate yourself this time?”

Uccio had been unlucky enough to have team matters to attend to the night before, something boring about contractual negotiations for the approaching year, so he could not make it to the celebrations. Which meant he wanted a full debrief. Which meant confrontation was unavoidable- something that did not usually worry Vale. But the previous night had been—

Valentino groaned and planted the mug on the table, palming his eyes.

The other man frowned a little, playfully, “Why? What’s wrong? You’re… uncharacteristically ashamed of yourself.”

Vale said nothing, but huffed a laugh.

“Was it bad?” 

“Oh, yeah,” He brought a lanky hand to the pot in the centre of the table and snagged a packet of white sugar. It was trembling with the quakes of his hangover. And probably the pressure of the interrogation.

Alessio scoffed, “Who’d you fuck?”

They needed to spend less time together.

“How do you know?” Vale frowned accusatorially, fumbling with the paper between his hands.

The man shrugged, “You wouldn’t get like this over doing something stupid, and you say stupid shit when you’re sober. So who did you fuck?”

“Just… someone.”

“Nothing new there.”

“Someone I probably... shouldn’t have.”

Uccio nodded with mock sombreness because they were getting somewhere, but nowhere worth all of Vale’s grumbling.

“Okay. Also, nothing really new.”

“Well— So…” Valentino could not find it in himself to say it. He reduced to silence once more.

“Come on, you’re boring me,” Uccio took a sip of his espresso, “Don’t make me guess.”

Vale caught his eyes and nodded once, curtly. It, annoyingly, could work. Also, it could make things enjoyable enough to relieve a fraction of harshness from Uccio’s eventual judgement.

His friend laughed incredulously and it would have been a nice sound if Valentino did not feel like his brain would implode any second.

“Alright. Fine.”

He settled his elbows on the table and planted his chin on his folded hands.

“The King of Spain.”

And that was a strong start. Vale huffed a laugh.

“Worse.”

“Worse?” Uccio exclaimed, “Than the King of Spain?”

Vale nodded.

“The Queen of Spain?”

Vale shook his head.

“Oh, good. So, at least we’re not evading the police.”

A beat. And then:

“A cartel member—“

Head shake.

“—‘s daughter?”

Double head shake. And Vale was getting a bit dizzy with all the shaking.

Alessio thought for a moment and his eyes turned slightly furious.

“My sister?”

Valentino shook his head profusely and smiled when Uccio blew out a breath of relief. 

“My mum?”

Vale chuckled and nodded.

Uccio reached across and flicked Valentino’s forehead without hesitation.

“You’re not even taking this seriously.”

“You said it,” Vale rubbed at the spot the man whacked because it actually kind of hurt, “But, no. Worse.”

“You’re busting my balls here, bro. How could it be worse than my mum? Did you like— did you fuck another rider?”

Valentino froze, blood shooting cold down his spine, eyes locked to Uccio’s face as his gaze wandered the room for fresh ideas, before returning to the (marginally) older man.

He shrugged, his own words having slipped his mind in their inanity, “What?”

Vale nodded almost imperceptibly. 

Uccio seemed to be reviewing what he had just said, turning the words over and over with a confused curve of his lips. And then his face cleared and Vale braced his hand on his bouncing thigh.

The man’s smile dropped like a pin, “What?”

“I know.”

“Vale,” He leaned forward in his seat, “What? Who?”

Valentino shook his head and dug his thumbs into his eye sockets.

“You’re gonna kill me.”

“Yeah, I am! Who the fuck was it?”

[tubbytarchia]

Wild Life Session 4 smallidarity thoughts (+ some Scar and Lizzie)

See it was all fine, nothing to worry about!! Joel couldn't bring himself to kill Jimmy, he barely even harmed him. I'm pretty sure he shot him just once (after Jimmy trampled their crops so. fair)? Joel calmed down, he rebuilt his car, everything is fine. He says at the start that he's wary of Jimmy because of him going after Joel last time, and that's about it for the time being

Jimmy dies and Joel makes a deal out of it and calls him a muppet. As per usual. Meanwhile Jimmy is still adamant to get at Joel whilst Scar tries to deter him because they want to be an alliance

He and Jimmy meet up at some point after their brief interaction at the start where Joel shot him, and they just banter. And Gem and Scar are just standing there like "guyss we're a family come on" meanwhile Joel and Jimmy's exchange goes as follows: Jimmy: "you're the ones with tasty lives!" Joel: "yeah bet you wish you could have a chunk of me!" "Oh I'm having a chunk out of you!" "Yeah and you know where to take that chunk out of!" "Oh I'm gonna take it! I'm taking it!" "You should!" And then Gem and Scar tell them to break it up and Joel goes "we're just flirting!!" ? what the fuck? Genuinely WHAT are they talking about. is this an innuendo of some sort. is this another ambiguous smallidarity sex scene sorry who said that

Jimmy gets a double kill (in the most adorable way btw. The way he weasels his way in there and backs off and comes back to try again all crouched. animal) and goddd people hyping him up is so so sweet. He deserves this. He's also a little bit evil, he's getting the murder rush but I'm happy for him. He needs to kill more people, he needs to get this out of his system, he deserves this, things need to get worse before they get better. ANYWAY Scar all "that was the greatest kill ever on the life series" is so cute. And man I gotta agree. There's more unique and funny and impressive kills but I would not mind calling this the best just for the fact that it's Jimmy. He's competent, he can do shit like this, but it feels like most everyone and the world is continuously against his survival, but here he is... my son...

And then Joel coming up to congratulate him... Really blummin cute. In Joel's POV also, he says "I went to congratulate Jimmy and we had a moment" which I wager he might be referring to the creeper incident as 'the moment' but that'd make no sense to call it that. With that tonation. Why did he say it like that. Stop being cute

But yeah Scar tries to blow Joel up with creepers only for Joel to save him from his own creeper and he's so casual about it. He is incredibly kind to the bamboozlers, it's really cute...

And then Jimmy does it!! He gets Joel!! And he gets him real good!! And can you believe that the first person to kill either of the family duo is Jimmy, of all people. Scott has died by this point too and Jimmy is the one to make a dent in the full 6-life alliance. Crazy. I'm so proud of him. It was seriously really good too, see, when Jimmy puts his mind to something and is able to focus he excels, he really does. And Joel, oh Joel is such a good sport about it. He keeps saying how it was good and fair and that he still wants an allyship with him. Tells him "welcome back to green" aww. And they make a truce, Jimmy got it out of his system and now they can be friends and go kill other people instead and Joel is proud of him... Jimmy "Joel, I finally got you, so I will stop now, so let's do the perfect dap" and then they both count down and clap their hands to simulate slapping palms. Awesome. All of Joel and Jimmy is just really cute this time around. Very happy about them being a more proper alliance now, but we'll see if it sticks... Joel can only be so mean to Jimmy at this point though I don't think he has it in him to betray him or anything lol. Can't speak for the rest of them but not too worried for the smallidarity, it's a plentiful crop...

Also a very important exchange between Lizzie and Jimmy at some point: "I just finangled a load of diamonds off of Joel" "Oh? How did you do that?" "I asked him just really nicely" (lie btw she was moreso extorting Joel) "Oh, that doesn't work when I... I guess... you are his wife, I guess..." "Yeah..." "Lucky for some I guess- right (unrelated topic)" I'm not 100% confident that's what Jimmy said at the end, it's a bit hard to make out but. what? Hello?

I also extend gratitude towards Lizzie for being so nice and supportive of Jimmy, she was the one to suggest the cobweb creeper trap that ended up taking Joel out, but she also insisted that he drink a health restoration stew beforehand in case anything went wrong. Jimmy didn't end up doing so (he was full) and Lizzie is all "why?" and "something could have gone wrong". man. Nice to him...

[emmawithtwoms]

The history of magic classroom

@wolfstarmicrofic day 9, 988 words

The history of magic classroom has always been, in Sirius’ eyes (and all of Hogwarts’ really), the best place to take undisturbed naps. Professor Binn’s voice always acted as white noise for the tired students, and the extremely boring class was always taught in the early mornings, lulling all of the pupils, who still hadn’t managed to rub the sleep out of their eyes, back into the dream’s realms. 

Well, all of the students, except for one. 

Remus Lupin was, quite possibly, the only boy in all of Hogwarts to not only manage to stay awake during Binn’s lessons, but to actually enjoy them, taking notes and gladly sharing them with the rest of the class, also helping younger students revising and giving many free (and actually interesting) lessons for whoever was in need. Not even Lily Evans, classified swot, could bring herself to enjoy that class, but to Remus, it was one of the most interesting lesson in Hogwarts, managing to stay top of his class every year. 

That’s why that particular Tuesday morning was exceptionally grimm for poor Remus. You see, not only January’s full moon came on a Saturday night, not only it came the night of his anniversary with his incredible, stunning and fabulous boyfriend (his words, although Remus totally agreed), making him too weak to properly celebrate (with a date and very through snogging session, in his mind), but the moon was also a bad one, leaving him bedridden for the following couple of days, impeding him from participating to his favourite classroom. 

Therefore, the pout on his lips and his grumbling while alone in the infirmary were totally understandable, even if not shared by his friends. And that’s how Sirius found him at the end of the school day: reading a (very boring, in Sirius’ opinion) book about the goblin revolution that they were studying in class, with a very prominent crease on his eyebrows given by his frown (Sirius believed that the frown hadn’t left his brows sinvìce that morning, when mrs. Pomfrey forbid him to leave the infirmary). 

“Moonyyy, you know you shouldn’t frown, it will give you wrinkles.”

Sirius proceeded to smooth the wrinkles on his forehead with his thumb, followed by his lips. He clearly saw all of Remus’s tension leave his body, making him melt against his boyfriend’s affections. 

“Hey pads, how was the school day?”

Sirius took his hand and started playing with his fingers, as he often did when talking to him. 

“It was fine, I managed to charm Snivellus’ chair so that he got stuck to it during Charms, and Mulciber got detention for causing an explosion during potions, it was brilliant”

“And I guess you had nothing to with the sudden blowing of his cauldron”

“Actually, my dearest Moony, I did not, even if I wished it was my doing. No, I think this time it was Evans and the girls, getting revenge after hearing that prick bad mouthing some muggleborns. You know, those girl can actually be pretty scary, when they put their minds into it”

“Oh yeah, tell me about it, we just gotta be thankful that they decided to be our friends, otherwise we would be screwed.”

“And all thanks to you, my Moonage daydream, you charmed our way into their hearts, opening the door for us to sweep through and settle into their lives”

“Huh, seems like I’m quite the charmer then, is that what I did with you? ”

“Don’t be ridiculous, my bright Natural Satellite. Nope, you stole my heart right away and never gave it back, you little thief.”

“Well, lucky me, now I have the most precious treasure in the world in my hands, and I don’t really plan of giving it back”

At that he squeezed Sirius’ hand, looking at him and blushing, like the romantic sap he is. 

“Oh Moony, my Moony, all those books really taught how to enchant me with your words, did they?” 

Remus couldn’t answer, because he was swept in a kiss by Sirius, and well, let’s just say that when Sirius Black kisses and holds you like you’re the most important thing in the world, there is not much else that your brain can concentrate on, for Remus, it was just SirusSiriusSiriusSiriusSirius. 

But then Sirius suddenly broke the kiss, (quite rudely, if you ask Remus). 

“Oh, I almost forgot, I’m meant to give you something!”

And he started rustling in his bag, looking for said something 

“There!”

Sirius handed Remus a little pile of parchment, that was neatly stored in his bag

“What is this, love?”

And he started scanning them, ignoring the puddle that Sirius became hearing the pet name. 

“It’s just today’s note, I wouldn’t want my favourite swot to lose his precious class time”

And there, in Remus’ hand, neatly written with a perfect posh cursive, were the notes for the whole day, not only of the subjects that Sirius actually enjoyed, like Charms, but also of...

“You didn’t!!! You actually stayed awake during History of Magic to take notes for me???” 

The notes were neatly written, clearly taken with the only purpose to be gifted to Remus, seeing the amount of messages, hearts, “I love you”s, and doodles that Sirius left in the margins for him. 

Now, this might not seem like a big deal for many, but to Remus, the fact that Sirius not only stayed awake during a class that he hated, but actually put in the effort taking notes just to gift them to Remus, without even using them for himself, was the most heartwarming gift he could have gotten post moon. 

“Oh, you beautiful, beautiful man, how did I manage to deserve something so special like you?”

“It’s quite simple, my stunning Night Howler: you were trapped by my insanely good looks, my charm, my flashing grin, my amazing personality,  my ass…” 

“Sirius”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and kiss me”

And kiss him he did. 

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

Precaution

Moon boys x afab!reader

Wanna get tagged?

Summary: You feel like starting to get sick. The boys take action.

Content: Marc being Marc, Jake feeds reader at first, wholesome.

A/n: Felt like getting a cold couple days ago but it turned out to be nothing but a stuffed nose and some sneezing. Welp.

You woke up with a throat drier than sand, a full nose and feet as cold as ice.

Steven was sleeping perfectly fine next to you with his face buried in his pillow.

As bad as you wanted to just shove your feet into Steven's blanket, your dry throat made you want to drink liters of water.

With a soft groan, popping your bones and putting socks on, you got up and headed into the kitchen.

The clock along your way showed 2:45 AM. An ungodly time for an ungodly feeling.

In the kitchen the first thing you did was downing two and a half glasses of water.

Your throat was feeling so much better with all the water, but your nose was still stuffed so you grabbed some tissue and took care of it.

Both nostrils breathing in fresh air. The best feeling.

Just a second later you heard the soft padding of feet approaching the kitchen.

When he came into view, he was rubbing his eyes.

"Hi luv." Steven spoke up with a sleepy voice.

"Hi." you smiled.

Steven went to the fridge, opening it and grabbing the milk. "It's like 3 AM, can't sleep?" he asked, pouring milk in a glass and putting it back in the fridge.

You shrugged, "Woke up with a dry throat."

Steven eyed you with worry, sipping on his milk. "Don't catch a cold now."

You gave a smile. "Nope."

"Did you open the window again? Maybe that's why."

"Yeah... but only for five minutes... well, until I fell asleep." you admit sheepishly.

Steven shot a lazy smirk. "Oh wow."

You shrug. "Anyways, I'm heading back to sleep, you coming?"

He nodded, putting the glass down and followed you back into bed.

"See you in the mornin' love." he smiled, giving you a peck on the cheek before he fell asleep.

You moved closer to him, feeling how so much warmer he is compared to your blanket.

A cheeky smile tugged on your lips, your ice cold feet inching closer into his blanket, immediately feeling his heat.

Wanting more heat, you slipped both feet inside, brushing them against his feet.

He jumped at the cold feeling. "What's that thing!?" it wasn't Steven anymore, instead it was Marc now.

You snort. "That thing is my feet."

Marc turned to face you. "Shit, you're really catching a cold, huh?"

"No, my feet are just cold!" you argue, slipping your feet under Marc's.

Marc pulled his covers up and reached out to pull you close, bringing the covers back down over you. "Fine, let me warm you up."

You immediately melt into the heat he provided. "Much better, thanks."

He pulled you into his arms, wrapping them tightly around you. "You know, you could have asked." he chuckled.

In mere seconds you were out cold thanks to the warmth.

Couple hours later you woke up to an empty bed. Feeling refreshed, you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and sitting up.

The smell of vegetables was in the air, some herbs and even chicken.

Then the door opened and Jake came in.

"Ooh, getting sick now, sweetheart?"

You blinked confused at him. "Um? No?"

"Dry throat, stuffed nose and cold feet are a mean sign of catching a cold."

"But I'm feeling perfectly fine.."

Jake grins. "Until it comes back with a smack."

"What are you trying to tell me?"

He shrugged. "Precautions, sweetheart."

You smile. "Jake, I appreciate your offer but really, I'm feeling good." you said softly.

"No no no, you will thank us for it, trust me." Jake insisted.

Your nose was stuffed some more. "Pwease, don't work your asses off just because of me." you sniffled.

Jake grins again. "Mi amor, when our girl gets sick we of course do everything we can to get her well fast."

You sniffled again, pouting at him.

"Ay, we're just trying to prevent you from getting sick." Jake walked over to you to pinch your side playfully.

"Jake!" you threw an exaggerated pout, watching Jake proceeding to the door.

"You wait here, we bring everything when it's done!" he smirks over his shoulder before disappearing again.

About 10 minutes later, Jake returned with a plate of soup and steaming tea.

"Sit up sweetheart, you're getting fed." Jake smiled, putting the plate down on the nightstand, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"Jake please, I feel awful with you pampering me." you chuckle.

"Ah-ah. No complaints." Jake playfully wagged his finger.

You sat up against the headboard. "The soup smells delicious." you smile.

Jake spooned up some soup, blowing a bit and moved it close to your lips. "Marc and I made the soup." Jake smirked.

Parting your lips, you leaned in a bit, allowing Jake to guide the spoon into your mouth. "You and Marc are a dangerous compilation." you chuckle as Jake moved the spoon out.

The herbs mixed with the vegetables hit your tastebuds, the chicken lingering in your mouth after swallowing.

Jake chuckles, "But it's good, huh?" he got another spoonful of soup to your lips.

"Delicious." you parted your lips, letting Jake feed you.

"Oh and Steven made the tea. Green tea." he grins, pulling the spoon out, spooning up soup again.

You made a face and parted your lips. "Ugh, green tea."

"Don't worry, he put honey in it so it won't taste that gross." he fed you again, then put the spoon down and got up.

"Now, eat that soup and drink the tea. And don't fool us, or you will get sick." Jake smiled, flicking your nose then left the room.

You ate the soup in peace, feeling warmed up well and full.

Later, Steven checked in on you, seeing the soup and tea already empty.

"All done, luv?" he smiled widely.

Nodding, you pulled the covers up your chin. "Yes, I already feel better, thanks." you smiled contently.

"That's wonderful. Now since you're feeling better, how 'bout we just lounge around on the couch, watch your favorite show?"

"Can we rewatch The Mandalorian?" you grin.

"Of course." Steven smiled.

You followed him into the living room, sitting down while Steven went into the kitchen.

When he came back, he brought some snacks and set everything up.

You immediately knew Marc was back.

He flipped the remote control in his hands as if it was a blaster, doing the same pose and motion of Mando shooting.

"Alright, who's ready for some Mando action?"

---------------------------

Taglist: @nekoyin @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

[luvismenu]

Only When It's Us — JJK ,, index ,, about taglist

Chapter 02 — distraction ✎

fic summary: you both say it’s nothing serious, but with every touch and argument, it gets harder to stay away.

nsfw warnings: smut; lots of kissing, lots of touching lol, oral (male recieving, fem too? kinda), sucking fingers, doggy style, unprotected sex (shes using birth control so yep, be safe!) use of ‘good girl’

wc: 6k

📜 permanent taglist: @lovieku @kyuupii @fluttershypoo @deluluisdasolulu @ddanasjk @mar-lo-pap @jungkooks-wife @diamondjeon @nnybtitts08 @lil0u0 @butnotmontana @fr0ggieth1nk @minimoninini @whoa-jo @lola75111 @iswearimover5feetall @rispwr @leemonis-blog

📜 series taglist: @deepikhaprakash @rjooniesdimples @sweetmimosa28

abt series taglist: send me an ask w the series title !!

“i have to go.”

“why don’t you just come back home? you can start over, and this time, maybe you’ll be more like your brother.”

you sigh.

“mom, i don’t want to be him,” you say quietly, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice. on the other end, you hear her let out a soft, disapproving tsk, a sound that always manages to make you feel a little smaller.

“aren’t you clearly struggling with school? if you were here with us, with your brother, we’d help you. you’d be fine,” she insists, as if coming home would magically fix everything.

you roll your eyes.

“i really have to go.”

“___, just listen to—”

but before she can finish, you end the call, staring at the blank screen for a moment.

there’s an unsettling feeling in your chest, one that refuses to fade, no matter how much you try to brush it off. its like a quiet reminder of all the things you’re trying to avoid.

go back home?

after everything you’ve been through to study what you want, to finally live on your own terms. every argument, every latenight fight with your parents, all just to claim a bit of freedom.

you worked so hard to break free from their expectations, to stand on your own.

you even transferred universities just to escape the constant pressure back in your hometown. no matter what you did, it was never enough. every choice was somehow wrong, not ‘their way.’

you can’t go back now.

not until you’ve made it, not until you have something real to prove them wrong. you have to be successful, if only to show them that your way was the right way all along.

“hey, are you done thinking? never seen anyone contemplate cheerios this hard.”

min yoongi’s low voice pulls you out of your thoughts. you look up, finding him behind the cash register, his lips curving into a small smile.

“just wondering if i can actually trust your store’s products. what if you are some sort of cheerio secret agent and you're trying to poison me?” you joke, handing him the money.

“oh no, you figured it out. we’ve been poisoning the cheerios. now how am i gonna explain to my boss that our mission failed?” he dramatically placesb a hand on his forehead as if you revealed his deepest darkest secret. you can’t help but chuckle, the tension in your chest loosening just a bit.

“bad day?” he asks, his gaze softening a bit as he opens the cash register.

min yoongi; your friend.

well, he's more like your senior. he graduated last year and he is working parttime at this convenience store cuz he thinks in this way he could spend some time outside.

you didn't question him about it any further.

you don’t usually come here unless it’s an emergency, and breakfast for tomorrow qualifies as pretty urgent, or so you tell yourself.

“something like that,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

he nods slightly. “well,” he begins, “i’m sorry i can’t give you a discount,” he adds, trying to lighten the mood.

you chuckle, the corners of your mouth lifting. “aw, that’s too bad. i thought i might get these cheerios for free.”

he smiles softly, “maybe some other time,"

you smile back at yoongi and turn to leave. but then you almost bump your head against a man’s chest, stumbling back in surprise.

that was close.

you look up to apologize, but your words get caught in your throat as you take in his appearance.

he’s handsome.

no, that doesn’t even begin to cover it. his face is sculpted to perfection, with sharp cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. his dark eyes seem to pierce right through you, and his long, dark hair falls effortlessly over his forehead.

but there’s something else,

he looks... mad?

you quickly gather yourself, your cheeks warming slightly. “sorry,” you blurt out, stepping aside to let him pass.

as you walk out of the store, you catch a snippet of conversation behind you.

“are you still upset about her, jungkook?” yoongi’s voice carries just enough for you to hear.

you try to shake it off, not wanting to dwell on whatever is unfolding behind you. it’s not your business, after all.

you step outside, the cool air hitting your face as you leave the store, and try to focus on the tasks ahead of you.

“it doesn’t make any sense, hyung,” jungkook scoffs, the frustration bubbling up inside him.

“when did she ever make sense?” yoongi replies dryly, not backing down as he meets jungkook’s glare. the tension in the air feels thick, but yoongi isn’t afraid to speak his mind.

“from my point of view, you’re now a free man. free from all the bullshit you’ve been through,” yoongi explains, hoping to lift jungkook’s spirits.

“what bullshit? i was happy. we were happy,” jungkook frowns, his confusion evident. he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, struggling to comprehend yoongi’s words.

“that’s what she wanted you to think,” yoongi replies, his tone serious. “and to be honest, that’s what you always did. you did whatever she wanted. you changed for her.”

“i loved her,” jungkook insists, his voice a bit softer but still filled with conviction, as if saying it out loud would make it true.

“did you? really?” yoongi presses, searching jungkook’s eyes for any hint of doubt. he knows this is a tough conversation, but it needs to be talked out.

jungkook looks away and mutters. “you don’t get it,”

yoongi’s expression softens. he presses his lips together as he looks at jungkook, feeling bad for him. “i’m sorry, jungkook. but you really have to let it go now. it’s been two weeks. it’s time to start moving on.”

jungkook stays silent.

instead of responding, he reaches for a lollipop displayed near the cash register, the bright colors contrasting sharply with his gloomy mood. he hands yoongi some money, more than what the lollipop costs, as if he’s paying for more than just candy.

“do you want the change, or can i keep it as a tip for my great service slash friendship?” yoongi tries to lighten the mood, hoping to bring a smile to jungkook’s face.

and it does.

jungkook’s lips curl into a faint smile, a small but genuine response. “keep it,” he says softly.

as jungkook turns to leave, yoongi watches him go, feeling sad for his friend.

“bad day indeed.”

you're sat on a bench in the park near the convenience store, lost in your own thoughts. the quiet sounds of the evening settle around you, the faint rustle of leaves, the distant hum of traffic, and your own sighs mingling with the cool air.

you’re not really thinking about anything in particular, just letting your mind wander in that aimless way it does when everything feels overwhelming.

then, a loud voice cuts through your thoughts.

“no, i know you're hiding something from me!” someone snaps, his voice taut with irritation. “fine! have it your way then.”

curious, you glance over and recognize him immediately; the same man from earlier at the store, the one you’d nearly bumped into.

he’s pacing as he talks on his phone, one hand running through his dark hair in exasperation. his jaw is clenched, his brows furrowed, and you can practically feel the tension radiating off him even from a distance.

after a moment, he ends the call with an aggravated sigh, stuffing his phone into his pocket as he makes his way into the park, still visibly upset. he barely notices his surroundings as he walks closer to where you’re sitting.

he sighs, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, muttering something under his breath as if willing the frustration to melt away. you can’t help but stare a little, like an idiot.

then his eyes snap open and land directly on you.

“got a problem with me?” his voice is sharp, cutting through the silence between you.

you blink, startled, and stand up instinctively. “excuse me?”

he turns fully to face you, his eyes never leaving yours. “i asked, you got a problem with me?”

“no.” you shake your head, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“good.”

wow. nice attitude.

just as you’re about to walk away, he calls out again.

“never seen you around here before.”

“pardon?” you turn back, surprised.

“you’re yoongi's friend, right?” he asks,

you cross your arms, giving him a wary look. “why do you care?”

he shrugs, almost nonchalant. “my bad, just curious. never seen yoongi smile at a normal customer before, so i assumed.”

“oh,” you reply, softening just a bit. “well, i guess you could say we're friends.”

he raises an eyebrow, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “you guess?”

you offer a small shrug of your own. “he used to help me when i was still a freshman, and he still tries to whenever he can. i'd say he's like my teacher, in a way. it’s not like we hang out or anything, though.”

he tilts his head, considering your words. “well, consider yourselves friends. trust me, he doesn’t just help anyone.”

you narrow your eyes slightly, still wary. “and who are you, exactly?”

“jeon jungkook,” he says, extending a hand with a surprisingly polite nod. instinctively, you reach out and shake it, his grip firm. “since you're yoongi's friend, i think we go to the same university. though this is the first time i’m seeing you.”

“same, i am ___,” you pull your hand back.

“what are you doing here, in the middle of the night? didn’t your parents ever tell you not to go out alone?” he asks, the way he talks is somewhere between teasing and serious. you can't quiet get what it is but something about it grates on your nerves, like he's playing at being concerned but in a way that feels almost mocking.

“i could ask you the same thing,” you shoot back, meeting his gaze head on.

he doesn’t flinch, only tilts his head slightly. “i always come here,” he says, his voice calm, almost like a matterof fact.

“same,” you respond. “during the day.”

he quirks a brow, “so why are you in my night shift?”

you scoff, a laugh slipping out before you can stop it. “this isn’t your place or ‘shift,’ you know."

“well, you come here during the day; i come here at night. sounds like shifts to me,” he says with a shrug, and you catch the playfulness on his face.

“guess i’m overtiming, then,” you say, glancing away to hide your own smirk. “don’t mind me.”

he stays silent.

“you’ve got your own shit to deal with, huh?” he says, his voice breaking the quiet.

“why are you talking to me?” you blurt out, catching him a little off guard. “i mean, you don’t even know me.”

he raises an eyebrow, unphased. “i could ask you the same thing,” he replies, mimicking your answer from before.

you narrow your eyes, folding your arms. “i don’t think i want to talk about my problems with a random stranger.”

“problems…” he echoes, looking you up and down like he’s trying to figure you out. “let me guess. got into a fight with your boyfriend?”

“no,” you say quickly, rolling your eyes. “i don’t have one.” for a second, you think you catch a flicker of surprise on his face. “what about you? girlfriend mad at you?”

his face shifts, something almost vulnerable passing over his features before he looks away. “guess you could say that,” he mutters. “since she broke things off with me.”

a silence stretches between you two.

“i’m… sorry to hear that,” you finally say, feeling the awkwardness settle around you.

you didn't expect that.

honestly, the idea of someone like him getting dumped hadn’t even crossed your mind. a guy who looks like that—that intense aura—doesn’t exactly seem like the type to get left behind.

you assumed he’d be the one calling the shots, the one walking away. but here he is, single and clearly dealing with the aftermath of something that’s weighing on him. its surprising.

a thought crosses yourmind.

if someone could leave him, someone who had a place in his life and a claim to his heart, maybe he’s not as perfect as he seems on the outside. maybe there’s something beneath the surface, something that’s harder to deal with than his looks would suggest.

it’s like a puzzle you didn’t even mean to start solving, yet here you are, wondering if there’s more to him than just that handsome face.

but then you shake the thought away. he’s a stranger. a random guy you happened to bump into, quite literally, at a park in the middle of the night. it’s not like you’ll see him again after tonight. or, at least, that’s what you’re telling yourself.

because, really, why should you care?

whatever his story is, it’s none of your business.

“anyway, hope you figure your problems out.” he says, his gaze flickering away as if he’s eager to dodge any deeper conversation.

“likewise,” you reply.

without warning, he pulls a lollipop from his pocket, holding it out to you. “here,” he says, waiting for you to take it.

you reach out slowly, raising an eyebrow. “thanks?”

he smirks, “again, did your parents never tell you not to take candy from strangers?”

“maybe i like to be a little rebellious,” you say, smirking back at him and he shakes his head smiling.

“well, go ahead, eat it. i don’t want you tossing it away. i spent a lot on that sucker,” he says, a playful grin spreading across his face. despite the oddness of the moment, a corner of your mouth quirks up.

you unwrap the lollipop, examining it with a critical eye before giving him a look that says it all.

he catches it, tilting his head in curiosity. “what?”

“i don’t think i like raspberry flavor,” you admit, holding the lollipop up like a trophy of sorts.

he squints at you, “you’ve never tasted one before?”

you shrug, trying to sound nonchalant. “i don’t like raspberries, so i’m guessing this is more of the same.”

he shakes his head, lips twitching into a smirk. “that’s pretty bold, making assumptions without even trying it.”

“just give it a taste; maybe you'll like it,” he suggests, a teasing smile forming on his lips, clearly wanting you to try it. deep down, he doesn't even like raspberry flavor; he just picked it out randomly at the store.

“uh, no thanks. i don’t want that nasty taste on my tongue,” you reply, scrunching your nose a little . “but thanks, you could have—”

your words are abruptly cut off as he grabs your hand, the lollipop still held tightly between your fingers. in one swift motion, he leans in, wrapping his mouth around it. his tongue swirls around the candy, and then he pulls it out, his lips glistening with a reddish-pink hue that matches the flavor.

you're completely taken aback, eyes widening in shock.

oh what the fuck.

“yeah, you’re right. it does taste nasty,” he says, licking his lips as he releases your hand. “give it to me, i'll just throw it away or something”

suddenly, the lollipop feels trivial compared to what he just did. you stand there, completely speechless, your mind and heart racing as you try to process what jus happened.

“what?” he stares at you.

“you’re good with your tongue,” you say, the words slipping out before you can really think them through.

he pauses, his eyes widening for a second, and he chokes on nothing, almost like he’s been caught off guard mid-breath. “uh, what?” he finally manages, blinking rapidly.

realizing how that might’ve sounded, “i just meant... the lollipop. you seemed pretty skilled with it,” you clarify, though you’re aware it’s not really helping.

what are you even trying to say?

he looks at you, a smirk playing on his lips now. “uh-huh, sure,” he says, teasing you. “that’s what you meant.”

you roll your eyes, trying to play it cool. “don’t flatter yourself, i was just making an observation.”

but the way he’s looking at you now, dark eyes glittering with amusement and something else you can’t quite place, makes it hard to pretend that slip of the tongue didn’t mean more than you intended.

“so, do you want to suck on it?”

“huh?” you blink.

suck on what now?

“the lollipop” he clarifies, a small smile playing on his lips.

oh.

you clear your throat, fighting to keep a neutral expression. “no, definitely not, especially now that you had your tongue all over it.” you try to scrunch your nose, but any attempt at showing disgust falls flat with the heat rising in your cheeks.

“alright then, just asking if you changed your mind,” he shrugs, still holding your gaze.

“i still don’t want it,” you say quickly, trying to sound convincing.

“okay.” he blinks, unfazed.

“okay,” you repeat, awkwardly.

he gestures to the lollipop still in your hand. “uh, so… are you gonna keep holding it?”

you glance down, pulling your hand back. “i’m gonna throw it away,” you declare, though it feels a bit ridiculous now, given everything that just happened.

“i hope so,” he says, one side of his lips quirking up.

why do you kind of like his smile?

you try to shake your thought off, tossing the lollipop into a nearby trash can, trying to act as casual as possible.

“well, guess that's the end of that,” you say, hoping to sound nonchalant. he nods as he crosses his arms.

you raise an eyebrow, mimicking his stance. “do you usually hand out half-eaten lollipops to strangers?”

he laughs, low and soft, the sound surprisingly warm in the quiet night. “only when they look like they need a little distraction.”

you tilt your head. “oh? and what made you think i needed one?”

his eyes meet yours, his expression softening. “just a hunch,” he says, his voice dropping to a murmur. “we all got stuff we’d rather not think about, right?”

a pause.

there’s something unspoken between you two, a quiet understanding in the way you hold each other’s gaze.

he's right.

you are stressing about things you'd rather not think about, things that seem to cling to your mind no matter how hard you try to push them away.

and then there's him, a stranger but somehow not, going through his own mess. you can see it in his tired eyes, the way he keeps looking off into the distance as if trying to shake off whatever weight he's carrying.

you realize you don’t mind it; you don’t mind his company, or even the strange comfort of this shared silence.

both of you are here, each trying to forget whatever it is that’s eating at you. maybe that’s why this moment feels so easy.

”yeah,” you finally say, “guess we do.”

“i gotta go now,” you announce, hoping to put an end to whatever weird tension is building between the two of you.

he doesn't say anything. no goodbyes, no attempts to stop you. so you turn and start walking away, trying to shake off whatever just happened.

but before you can take more than a few steps, his hand shoots out, wrapping around your wrist. you stop, surprised, and turn back to face him. his grip isn’t tight, but it’s firm enough to make you pause.

you meet his gaze, and there's something in his eyes—something intense, something that makes your stomach flip.

“would you like a distraction?” he asks, voice low, almost like a whisper meant just for you.

you blink, not sure if you heard him right. “what?” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

instead of answering, he tugs you gently closer. your body stumbles forward, and your hands land on his chest to steady yourself. his heartbeat is strong under your palm, and suddenly, everything feels too close, too intense.

he looks down at you, his eyes flickering over your face like he’s searching for something. “i think i do,” he mutters. “don’t you?”

your mind is racing, trying to make sense of this.

is he asking what you think he’s asking?

he’s a stranger. someone you barely know beyond a couple of conversations and an awkward encounter in a convenience store.

yet there’s something about the way he’s looking at you, something that makes it hard to think straight.

“yes,” you hear yourself say before you can even process it.

his lips curve into a satisfied smile, and without another word, he leans in and kisses you.

the world seems to stop as his mouth meets yours. it’s not hesitant or soft; it’s urgent, as if he’s been wanting this for longer than the short time you’ve known him. his hands slide up to your face, cupping your cheeks as he deepens the kiss.

your fingers clutch his shirt, feeling the heat of his body against yours. it’s messy and impulsive, and he doesn't even care that you’re both in the middle of a park, under the dim glow of the streetlights.

right now, all you can think about is him. the way he tastes, the way he kisses you desperately.

maybe you do need this distraction.

his hands grip your waist, pulling you closer, and you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck, letting the kiss deepen. his lips are soft, and you moan as if you're melting into the kiss. there's something about the way his mouth moves against yours; like he's been waiting to do this.

“wait—” you pant as pull back, your heart pounding against your ribs, trying to gather your thoughts. he looks into your eyes, his brows furrowing slightly as he asks in a low voice, “what happened?”

“we're... we're outside,” you point out, glancing around.

he tilts his head, his brows raising slightly as if that’s the least of his concerns. “so?” his voice is low and almost teasing, like he finds your hesitation cute.

you let out a scoffing laugh, “what do you mean so?wee’re literally in a children’s park.” you gesture to the swings and slides nearby, deserted at this hour but still... it’s a public space.

he pauses for a second, “my car’s parked just over there,” he nods towards a sleek vehicle at the edge of the park, his lips curling into a smile. “we could, uh... relocate or—”

before you can even process that, your curiosity gets the better of you. “wait— you have a car?” you cut in, a little surprised.

he chuckles. “yeah, and it’s a pretty one at that.” there’s a glint in his eyes that says he’s enjoying this back-and-forth with you, like it’s some sort of game.

you sigh, still trying to wrap your head around the craziness of this entire situation. “okay,” you murmur, almost to yourself, deciding to just go with it. what’s the worst that could happen?

he releases his grip on you, but only so he can grab your hand and guide you towards the car. the walk feels a little awkward now, a heavy tension hanging in the air. you're not sure what to say.

what’s the protocol for walking towards a car with a guy you’re about to hook up with?

as if sensing your nerves, he gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “come on, my car’s comfy. don’t worry,” he says with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. the way he’s holding your hand... it’s surprisingly tender, making it feel just a little less awkward.

when you reach the car, he opens the back seat door for you. you hesitate for a second, “you won’t, like, kidnap me or something, right?” you half-joke.

he lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “for someone who’s so aware of the things you shouldn’t be doing, you sure do them anyway,” he teases. his words send a shiver down your spine, both a warning and an invitation.

but you ignore that nagging voice in the back of your mind. instead, you climb into the seat and he follows you right away.

“why are you—” your words are cut off as he crashes his lips against yours, the urgency in his kiss making you lose your breath. one of his hands grips your waist, pulling you against him, while the other tangles in your hair, tugging gently to tilt your head for better access.

the way his lips move against yours, hot and hungry, sends sparks shooting down your spine, and before you know it, you're moaning into his mouth, matching his intensity. your hands scramble to find something to hold onto, eventually locking behind his neck as if he's your lifeline.

“are we seriously gonna fuck in your car?” you gasp, your words shaky when he pulls away just enough to start trailing hot kisses down the side of your neck. your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, drawing him closer.

“no,” he breathes and sucks on a sensitive spot just beneath your ear, his teeth grazing the skin before he soothes it with a slow lick. “just couldn’t stop myself,” he admits, voice low and breathy, and then his mouth is back on yours, devouring you with a hunger that makes your head spin.

your hands move restlessly over his broad shoulders, wanting to feel more, wishing his clothes were gone so you could touch him everywhere.

his hands roam your body like he's memorizing it, fingers pressing into the curves of your waist, teasingly brushing against your chest. each touch has you arching into him, wishing he'd just tear your clothes apart already.

it's all too good.

too overwhelming, and before you know it, five minutes have passed with the two of you tangled in each other. when he finally pulls back, panting, his lips are swollen and glistening. your chest rises and falls rapidly as you try to catch your breath, both of you staring at each other in the dim light of the car.

he’s leaning back slightly, his hard on pressing against your thigh. it’s impossible not to notice how turned on he is, and it only makes your own arousal spike.

you're so fucking wet right now.

you’re laid back on the seat, eyes locked on him, watching the way he runs a hand through his disheveled hair, pushing it back revealing his forehead.

“hotel? or my place?” he asks, trying to catch his breath “hotel’s just a minute away, but my place… well, it’s a bit further.”

you can practically see the options laid out in your mind like a checklist.

a) go to the hotel, have your fun, and slip away without looking back. no strings, no regrets. just a quick fuck and disappear like it never happened.

b) go to his place, let him fuck the shit out of you, see if he’s worth all this heat between your thighs. maybe wake up in his bed with his arms still wrapped around you... and if he's good enough, maybe get his number so it doesn’t have to be a one time thing.

you bite your lip, your decision already made before you even realize it.

“yours.”

the drive to his apartment is quick, the tension between you both barely held back. you're glad it’s late at night, because the two of you can’t seem to keep your hands off each other and you don't want anyone witnessing it.

the second you step into his apartment, the door slams shut behind you, and it's a scramble to rid each other of clothing. shirts are yanked off, belts undone, pants shoved down until you're both stumbling towards his bedroom in a mess of heated kisses and needy touches.

“o-oh fuck—yes baby, suck it just like that,” jungkook throws his head back, moaning, his breath ragged. he’s sprawled on the bed, legs spread wide, hands gripping the sheets. you're on your knees between his thighs, sucking him hard, your lips stretching around his thick length.

you glance up at him, eyes half lidded, watching the way his abs flex as he tries to keep himself steady. “shit... you look so fucking hot,” he rasps out, voice rough. his gaze darkens, and he pushes himself up, one hand threading through your hair.

“can you take it, baby?” he asks, his voice low, a hint of a challenge in his tone.

you know exactly what he’s asking. you nod, barely managing it with your mouth full, and he smiles, almost wickedly, his eyes gleaming.

“good,” he murmurs, his grip tightening just enough on your hair. “tap me if it’s too much.” and with that, he starts moving his hips, fucking into your mouth with slow, deep thrusts.

you gag slightly as he pushes deeper, but you relax your throat, trying to take him in. the room is filled with the wet, obscene sounds of him moving in and out, his groans echoing off the walls.

“fuck—you’re taking me so well, baby,” he praises, his voice thick and raspy, sending a wave of heat straight to your core. each time his cock hits the back of your throat, it forces a choked gasp from him, his hands instinctively tightening in your hair.

your eyes water, tears pooling at your lashes, but you don’t stop, even as your throat aches. your nails dig into his firm thighs, using them for balance as he fucks your throat. you want to show him just how much you can handle.

“i’m gonna—” he grunts, voice rough and strained. a hot burst of his release fills your mouth, and you swallow it all, not breaking eye contact with him for a second. his chest heaves as he watches you, mesmerized, as your tongue slides slowly along his length, cleaning up every drop. his jaw clenches, the sight clearly driving him wild.

“get up,” he orders, voice still a little breathless, and you obey instantly, letting him pull you to your feet. “on the bed, all fours.”

you get onto the mattress, positioning yourself as he asked. there's a moment of stillness as you feel his gaze roam over your exposed body. your heart races, anticipation building as you wait for his next move.

“you’re dripping,” he murmurs, leaning in closer until his breath is hot against your soaked core. he licks a slow, deliberate stripe along your folds, and your eyes flutter shut, a soft, breathy moan escaping your lips. his mouth envelops your pussy, sucking and licking with an rhythm that makes your thighs tremble.

he pulls back just enough to catch his breath before moving up, positioning himself between your legs. his right hand trails upward, skimming over your skin until his fingers brush against your lips.

instinctively, you part them, taking his fingers into your mouth, sucking and swirling your tongue around them. the low chuckle that escapes him tells you just how much he enjoys it.

“you like that, hm?” he asks. you moan softly around his fingers, your response muffled but desperate.

he withdraws his fingers, his lips curving into a satisfied smirk. leaning down, he wraps an arm around your waist, lifting you slightly until your back is against his chest. you can feel his length pressing against your ass, you move your hips a little causing a little friction.

his hands slide over your breasts, kneading them with just enough pressure to send shivers down your spine.

you melt into his touch, your head lolling back against his shoulder as his fingers pinch and roll your hardened nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

“want me to fuck you, baby?” his voice is soft against your shoulder as he places feather light kisses along your skin. he nips gently, his hands never stopping their teasing, and you can’t help the whimper that escapes when his fingers pinch just a bit harder.

“y-yes,” you mewl, voice shaky with need, “fuck me, jungkook.”

he squeezes your breasts harder, a groan rumbling from his chest as he sinks his teeth lightly into the curve of your shoulder.

“yeah? can i fuck you raw?” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

“yes,” you gasp, your voice barely more than a whimper. “p-please.”

his grip on you loosens slightly, and he leans back to look at you, his eyes dark, like he's stopping himself. “you sure?” he asks, one last time, his tone gentle but urgent.

you nod quickly, breathless. “i’m on the pill,” you assure him, and the tension in his shoulders eases.

“fuck. okay, bend over.”

without hesitation, you resume your previous position, arching your back and presenting yourself to him. he groans softly at the sight, his hand sliding down to rub slow circles over your entrance.

he teases you, slipping a finger inside, making you moan softly as your walls flutter around him. he withdraws his finger, watching the way you clench around nothing, desperate for more.

grabbing his cock, he taps the swollen tip against your slick hole. you whine, impatience leaking into your voice, “just fuck me already.”

a smirk curves his lips, and without another word, he pushes into you.

you grip the sheets tightly as you take him in fully, your walls stretching to accommodate his thick length. a choked gasp escapes your lips, eyes squeezing shut at the delicious burn that quickly morphs into pleasure.

each inch fills you so completely, leaving you breathless, your body trembling at the feeling.

“fuck,” he groans behind you, his voice low and rough, a sound that makes your toes curl. “you’re so tight, baby... taking me so fucking good.” the words are almost a growl, filled with barely restrained control as he fights the urge to pound into you.

his hands move to your hips, gripping them hard enough to leave marks, steadying himself as he sinks even deeper.

your moans spill freely now, raw and needy, muffled slightly by the pillow you bury your face into. he starts to move, slowly at first, pulling out just enough before thrusting back in, his cock brushing against that sweet spot inside you.

the rhythm is torturously slow, each stroke making you whimper, your back arching even further in a silent plea for more.

“please... more,” you manage to gasp out, your voice shaky. “jungkook, i need it.. need you.”

“yeah?” he rasps, picking up the pace, thrusts becoming sharper, each one driving you into the mattress. “want it harder, baby? want me to ruin you?”

“yes.. yes mmph- more!” you cry, your voice breaking as he slams into you harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. your nails claw at the sheets, the friction of his hips against your ass making stars dance behind your eyelids.

his fingers snake around to your front, finding your swollen clit, and he rubs it in tight, quick circles. your entire body jolts, your hips bucking back against him as you let out a loud, broken moan.

“oh, fuck, that’s it, that's a good fucking girl,” he hisses, feeling you clench around him, your walls fluttering as you near the edge.

“you’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you?” he growls against your ear, bending over you now, his hot breath fanning against your neck. he bites down on your shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to drive you wild.

“you're gonna cum like the good girl you are?”

“yes n-ngh.. i’m close.. s-so close,” you whimper, your thighs trembling uncontrollably. his fingers press harder against your clit, his thrusts turning frantic.

“cum with me, baby” he demands, his voice thick and commanding. that’s all it takes. your body shatters. your vision going white as you scream his name. your walls squeeze him so tightly, milking his cock, and with a deep, guttural groan, he loses himself too, spilling inside you as his thrusts grow sloppy.

he stays buried inside you, his chest heaving against your back, both of you panting heavily. he leans down to press soft, lazy kisses along your shoulder.

after everything that just happened. you've made up your mind.

you're definitely going to ask for his number.

a/n: erm.. don't get into random strangers cars !! haha

[redislazy]

Deadly Attachments, Chapter 04

<< Chapter 03

[EVENTUAL SMUT] - Minors DNI > ao3 <

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x female!Reader

Word Count: 7,483

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Summary: As a skilled mercenary, you've navigated countless high-stakes missions—until one job puts you in the crosshairs of Task Force 141 and the elusive "Ghost." Now forced into an uneasy alliance, you’re drawn into a dangerous game of shifting loyalties and hidden motives. But as the stakes climb higher, one question lingers: how close can you get to the man who was meant to be a shadow in your path?

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Content Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Military Action & Romance, Mercenaries, Soldiers, Non-Canon Antagonists, Eventual Smut, Military Inaccuracies, Slow Burn, Will add smut-specific tags later as the story goes

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“You’re too visible,” Ghost mutters, his gaze flicking around the bustling street as if expecting someone to spot you at any moment.

The morning finds you and Ghost out on the streets of Istanbul, moving through the crowded alleys with a practiced air of detachment. Your mission is straightforward: gather intel on Aegis’ recent operations in the city without drawing attention. But of course, nothing about working with Ghost is ever straightforward.

You scoff, sidestepping a group of merchants with an exaggerated roll of your eyes. “You’re the one in a hoodie and gloves on a warm day. I’m blending just fine.”

“It’s not just the look,” he snaps, voice kept low. “You’re not exactly subtle. You walk like you’re ready to start a fight.”

“And you don’t?” you retort, matching his tone. “You look like you’re one wrong look away from putting someone through a wall.”

He doesn’t respond, jaw tight as he focuses on the crowd ahead, though you catch the way his hands clench at his sides.

You both fall into tense silence, but it doesn’t take long before friction flares up again. Behind a corner stall, you spot a group of suited men exchanging cash and information—a telltale sign of Aegis dealings. As you prepare to move closer, Ghost’s gloved hand snaps out, gripping your arm.

“Hold up,” he mutters. “Too close. You’re going to tip them off.”

You pull your arm from his grip, irritation flaring. “I know how to do recon. I’ve been watching these types long before you came along.”

“Oh, really?” His tone drips with skepticism, gaze challenging. “That must be why Aegis still has your scent like blood in the water.”

You glare, resisting the urge to fire back with something equally cutting. “We’re supposed to be working together, or have you forgotten that already?”

Ghost’s voice lowers, edged with warning. “I haven’t forgotten. But you have a habit of thinking you know best, even when you’re out of your depth.”

Biting back a frustrated response, you feel the tension between you crackling like a live wire, ready to snap.

He shakes his head, muttering to himself before speaking again. “Just try it my way, for once. You might learn something.”

You grit your teeth, but against your better judgment, let him take the lead. The irritation simmers beneath the surface, but you swallow it, forcing yourself to focus on the mission.

You’d barely moved on from that exchange before the situation escalates. You’re trailing one of the Aegis informants when he glances back, his gaze sharp and sweeping over the street. In a heartbeat, he spots you, his eyes narrowing. You curse inwardly, feeling Ghost tense beside you, his own posture giving away the threat.

Without missing a beat, you seize the moment, reaching out to wrap your arm around Ghost’s waist and pulling him close. Before he can object, you slide your other hand to his chest, fingers splayed against the tough fabric of his jacket as you tilt your head toward his. “Just go with it,” you murmur, barely audible.

Ghost stiffens, his entire body practically vibrating with resistance. But the Aegis man is already watching, scrutinizing. There’s no time to argue.

Putting on the most convincing smile you can muster, you laugh softly, pressing closer into Ghost’s space. His arms instinctively come up to your shoulders, tense but holding steady, though he’s clearly as uncomfortable as he is caught off-guard. You lean into him, your voice dropping to a low murmur. “Act natural, Ghost.”

His gaze snaps to yours, and for a split second, you see a flicker of something unreadable there. You’re close enough now to notice the small flecks of blue in his otherwise dark eyes, and the way his jawline sharpens with each clenched muscle. With his mask on, only his eyes are exposed, but that alone is enough to assume what he's thinking.

He inhales deeply, and you feel the subtle shift in his posture as he settles into the role. “Fine,” he grits out, voice barely a whisper. His hands fall lower, resting on the small of your back, his fingers digging in as if grounding himself in the contact. His touch is firm, unfamiliar, and entirely too steady for a man supposedly uncomfortable with this.

Your heart pounds in your chest, an unexpected thrill coursing through you as you look up at him. You allow yourself to soften into his hold, your free hand lifting to trace over his collar, a gentle, intimate gesture meant to sell the image. His breath hitches, and you see the strain it takes for him to stay calm.

From the corner of your eye, you catch the Aegis operative slowing, still watching, his attention caught by your impromptu performance. Your pulse races, and to make it even more convincing, you tilt your head, voice lowering to an affectionate murmur.

“Just try not to look like you’d rather strangle me. Couples don’t usually do that, you know,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, feigning the tone of someone playful, someone familiar.

Ghost’s jaw flexes. He leans down just a little, his mouth closer to your ear than is necessary. “Can’t say I’m in the mood to play games right now,” he mutters, each word laced with irritation.

The Aegis man watches a moment longer, then, with a brief shake of his head, turns away, apparently losing interest in what he assumes to be just a random couple visiting as tourists.

But you keep up the pretense a few moments longer, just in case, pressing closer to Ghost, letting your fingers graze his neck as if you’re brushing away invisible dust. The contact sends a jolt through you, each point of connection between you two heightened, charged with an intensity that has nothing to do with the mission.

“Next time, try using your head instead of whatever ridiculous impulse that was.” Ghost murmurs, his voice low and slightly strained, and you can’t help but notice the tightness in his tone. The moment stretches, awkward, as neither of you pulls away immediately.

You finally break the silence, letting out a soft laugh as you step back, creating a bit of space between you. You let your arms drop, barely holding back an eye roll. “My idea worked, didn’t it? If we’d gone with your tactic, he’d have already made us as threats.”

Ghost glares, unimpressed. “I don’t need advice from someone who thinks ‘blending in’ means making a spectacle.”

"Spectacle?” You snort, crossing your arms. “You think you’re subtle in that oversized hoodie, towering over everyone? Real covert, soldier.”

He leans in, his voice a rough whisper. “At least I’m not drawing attention by acting like we’re in some damn romance novel.”

You let out a mocking laugh, hands on your hips. “Don’t worry; I’m well aware this isn’t some romantic setup.” You can’t resist adding, “And trust me, you’re not exactly my type.”

He grunts, unimpressed. “Good. Wouldn’t want you getting attached.” With that, he steps forward, refocusing on the mission with the same cold, detached focus that somehow, despite everything, remains perfectly intact.

He nods down the alley, motioning for you to move along. You don’t miss a beat, following his lead. But as you both move forward, the feel of his steady hand, even in that begrudging moment, stays with you—far more than you’re willing to admit.

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You return to the safehouse in the city’s outskirts, the atmosphere thick with the scent of stale coffee and remnants of the last mission’s gear piled in corners. Price, Gaz, and Soap are gathered around the table, studying a large, folded map of the city as you and Ghost enter.

Price looks up, raising a brow. “You two look cozy. What’d you find out?”

Ghost’s jaw tightens, and you give Price a half-hearted glare. “Turns out the Aegis boys aren’t too hard to track. But they’re running tight security around their informants. We nearly had to dodge one who got suspicious.” You hesitate, shooting Ghost a sidelong glance. “But we managed.”

“‘Managed’? She practically threw herself on me,” Ghost mutters, half under his breath.

Soap snickers, unable to resist. “Didn’t know you were one for grand gestures, mate,” he drawls, clearly reveling in Ghost’s discomfort. “What was it this time? Arm over the shoulder, little peck on the cheek? Need details.”

Ghost gives him a deadly look. “Keep talking, and I’ll show you a ‘grand gesture’ you won’t forget.”

Ignoring them, you focus on the map and tap a finger at a cluster of marked points. “The recon confirmed Aegis is coordinating with locals here. Saw at least two exchanges. Money, files, maybe even weapons, though we couldn’t get close enough for specifics.”

Gaz nods thoughtfully, eyes tracking your finger on the map. “Did they look like they’d clocked us?”

“No, we kept it under wraps,” you say. “Though,” you add with a smirk, “someone here nearly blew our cover trying to look intimidating.”

“Funny. As I recall, it was you who nearly got us both caught,” Ghost retorts, crossing his arms. “Might want to re-evaluate your recon methods.”

Price interrupts. “Enough. We’ll stick to the task. Any idea where they’re taking these resources?”

You shake your head, but Ghost speaks up. “Not yet. But we saw a couple of their men make tracks toward a secondary site on the south side. Could be something worth checking.”

Soap rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated sigh. “So basically, you both spent the day playing Romeo and Juliet and still didn’t find the main stash?”

You give him a deadpan look. “Oh, we found something. Next time, maybe you’d like to take point and see how smoothly it goes.”

“Alright, enough of the bickering,” Price interjects with a sigh, rubbing his temples. “We’ll head out tonight to follow up on that lead, split up to cover more ground.”

Gaz cracks a grin, nudging Soap. “Maybe Ghost’ll take you this time, eh, Soap? Sounds like he’s warmed up to the partner routine.”

Ghost’s eyes narrow, a ghost of a smile in them. “Sure. But don’t expect the same cozy treatment. I’ll let you walk into trouble yourself.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way,” Soap laughs, clearly enjoying every second of the ribbing.

Despite the banter, the team settles into a steady rhythm, dividing up roles for the evening recon. Price directs the team with his usual calm disposition, and as each person takes their assignment, the lighthearted tone fades into something more serious, each man’s focus sharpening.

Before long, you find yourself catching Ghost’s gaze again across the table, the memory of the ruse flickering briefly in his expression before he looks away, expression unreadable. In the space between words and plans, you can feel the unuttered pull linger, only slightly overshadowed by the next mission at hand.

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As the team disperses, you find yourself paired with Soap for the night, assigned to the district near the south docks. It’s surprisingly quiet for Istanbul, with narrow streets bathed in the faint glow of streetlights as you both slip into the shadowed alleys.

Soap grins, giving you a quick once-over. “Don’t worry, I’m a bit friendlier than Ghost. Might even share a laugh if you’re lucky.”

You smirk. “That’s a relief. I was starting to think everyone on this team was required to be at least half as grumpy as he is.”

Soap chuckles, the sound low and easy. “Ghost? Aye, he’s got a mood for every shade of the alphabet. But he’s solid. Can’t imagine anyone else at my back.”

The way he says it sparks a curiosity you hadn’t expected. “So what’s he like? Beyond the scowl and the tactical gear?”

Soap raises an eyebrow, as if surprised by the question. “You want the classified or the censored version?”

“Whichever one you’ll actually tell me.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Alright then. Ghost, he’s… complicated. Not the easiest to get along with, but he’s got this way of lookin’ out for people. Might not say it, but he cares. You wouldn’t believe how many times he’s pulled me out of a tight spot.”

“So he’s… what? The ‘quiet, brooding protector’ type?”

Soap’s eyes light up with amusement. “That’s a bit generous, don’t you think? Nah, he’s more like… well, imagine a guard dog that bites first and doesn’t bother with questions. But when he trusts you, he’s loyal to the bone.”

There’s something about the way Soap talks about him, a deep-rooted respect, maybe even admiration. You hesitate, glancing down the street. “He doesn’t exactly make it easy for people to trust him back.”

“Aye, well, Ghost’s been through more than most of us,” Soap says, his tone softening. “You get the mask, the armor—hard to know what’s really under it, even for us. But he’s there when it counts. Saved all our hides more times than I can count.”

You nod slowly, piecing together the fragments. “Sounds like he’s more than just a soldier to you all.”

Soap looks at you, a bit of that playfulness gone. “To us, he’s family. You’re the closest thing to safe when you’ve got Ghost on your team, even if he doesn’t show it.”

You’re quiet for a moment, absorbing the weight of his words. The contrast between Soap’s easy camaraderie and Ghost’s guarded presence feels stark, and something tugs at you—a strange curiosity about what lies beyond Ghost’s cold exterior.

Just then, Soap’s gaze shifts, his eyes narrowing as he scans the street ahead. “Heads up. Movement near the docks.”

Falling silent, you follow his line of sight. Two figures, both Aegis operatives, are talking by a dimly lit warehouse door. Instinctively, you both duck into the shadows.

You and Soap move quietly, slipping into the darkness along the side of the building. The Aegis operatives are deep in conversation, oblivious to their surroundings. Soap nods to you, indicating that he’ll loop around to cover the back while you hold position. With quick, soundless steps, he disappears down the alley, leaving you to observe the scene from the front.

As you crouch by a stack of crates, your earpiece crackles. “Eyes on the pair?” Soap’s voice is barely a whisper.

“Got ‘em,” you reply, watching as one of the men takes out a phone, glancing around before making a call. “They’re definitely up to something.”

The Aegis operatives’ conversation is too low to hear, but their gestures hint at something urgent. One of them hands off a small, sealed package, and your pulse quickens, recognizing it as intel worth retrieving. You lean closer, straining to catch any detail.

Suddenly, a third man appears at the entrance to the warehouse, looking straight in your direction. Your breath catches, and you press yourself further into the shadows, heart hammering as you resist the instinct to reach for your weapon.

But just before you’re forced to make a move, Soap’s voice comes over the line again, casual and unbothered. “Don’t s’pose I could take the package off yer hands, lads?”

The operatives whip around, their focus now diverted as Soap steps into view, looking every bit the cocky, unbothered soldier. He flashes them a grin, hands held just loose enough to suggest he’s armed.

Taking advantage of the distraction, you slip around the crates, circling back toward the men from behind. Soap, in his element, keeps their attention fixed on him, holding their gaze as he strikes up a casual banter, his voice carrying just enough to keep them engaged.

“I’ll have you know,” Soap is saying, “my mate here’s got a keen eye on what you’re holdin’. Might be wise to hand it over.”

With perfect timing, you appear behind the nearest operative, reaching around to pull the package free from his hand just as Soap gives you a slight nod. The men realize too late what’s happening, and by the time they spin around to catch you, both you and Soap are already slipping back into the shadows, disappearing down the narrow alley.

Once safely out of sight, Soap breaks into a triumphant grin. “Nice teamwork back there. Not too shabby for a last-minute operation.”

You laugh softly, catching your breath as you glance down at the package in your hand. “Guess we make a good team after all. Might just get used to this.”

“Don’t go gettin’ sentimental on me,” He teases, his grin widening. “One mission at a time, yeah?”

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With the intel in hand, you regroup with the rest of Task Force 141. You share the intel with the team, presenting the package to Price. He inspects it carefully, eyes narrowing as he pieces together the implications. The atmosphere in the room is serious, with everyone focused on the potential fallout of what you’ve just acquired.

“Good work,” Price nods, glancing between you and Soap. “You two made quite the pair out there.”

Soap feigns offense, putting a hand over his heart dramatically. “Are you sayin’ we’re a couple now, Captain?”

“Only if you keep makin’ those silly faces, Johnny,” Ghost mutters from the corner, his tone low and steady. The mask he wears obscures his expression, but you can almost feel the eye roll behind it.

Soap snorts, turning to you with a conspiratorial grin. “See? Even he can’t deny our chemistry.”

“Right, because nothing says teamwork like you flirting your way through a mission,” you retort, crossing your arms with a smirk. The banter lightens the mood, a brief distraction from the gravity of your task.

As the team gathers around the table in the secure room, Captain Price steps forward, wearing a pair of black gloves to maintain the integrity of the evidence. He carefully sets the package down, the anticipation palpable in the air.

“Alright, let’s see what we’ve got here,” Captain Price says, his voice steady but laced with focus. He flicks open the package, the sound of tape tearing breaking the tense silence.

He reaches in and pulls out a hard drive, holding it up like a trophy. “This,” He says, “could hold encrypted communications. We need to run this through our systems ASAP. If it contains the right information, it could expose Aegis’s entire operation.”

He sets the drive down on the table with a determined expression. “This is a potential gold mine. We’ll analyze it and figure out our next move. Well done, team. Let’s keep the momentum going.”

The room buzzes with renewed energy as the team begins discussing their next steps, the weight of the mission settling in as they prepare to crack open the drive.

The meeting wraps up, providing you some time to rest. You can’t shake the feeling that this might be a turning point, not just for your mission but for your place within the team. The challenges ahead seem daunting, but with Task Force 141 proving themselves to be solid allies, you feel like you can ease up a little.

Late into the night, the dim light of a single desk lamp flickers against the walls of the operations room. Papers are strewn across the table, and the glow of a computer screen casts an eerie illumination on your tired face. 

Inside the hard drive, you uncover a maze of encrypted files and fragmented data—a chaotic assortment of documents, names, transaction logs, and surveillance footage. Aegis hasn’t left all their secrets in one place; instead, they’ve left a collection of clues, each file holding a piece of something larger, but almost impossible to make sense of at first glance.

The files range from heavily coded communication logs between high-level operatives to bank account information buried behind layers of false accounts and international wire transfers. Some documents reference specific locations—safehouses, abandoned warehouses, private airfields—but they’re listed under codenames. Without context, they’re nothing more than cryptic coordinates. There are also brief dossiers with incomplete profiles of known mercenaries, possibly detailing recruits Aegis has had contact with, though their roles remain murky.

As you sift through this labyrinth of information, you realize the enormity of the task ahead. Just decrypting these files will take time, but making sense of the connections—figuring out who these people are, how each transaction feeds into Aegis’s broader operations, and what they’re building toward—feels like piecing together a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

“Bloody hell…” you mutter under your breath, scanning through what looks like one of many altered account logs, noting how Aegis has buried its dealings under layers of bureaucracy and false names. This kind of data will need more than just brute force; it’ll require teams at the main SAS base, with analysts who can cross-reference against other intelligence databases and put everything in context.

You lean back, rubbing your temples. It’s maddeningly complex and deliberately fragmented. You have a hard drive full of secrets—but until you get the proper resources and time to decrypt and analyze it, you’re left with more questions than answers.

For now, all you can do is wait for Price to send it off. And in the meantime, you know every passing day gives Aegis more time to cover their tracks, complicating the hunt even further.

The faint sound of footsteps approaches, and you barely notice until a shadow falls over your desk. You look up to see Ghost, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

“Still at it?” he asks, his voice low but firm.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I can’t help it. There’s too much at stake here. We need to figure out what Aegis is planning. If we miss something—”

“Yeah, I get it,” he replies, a hint of annoyance creeping into his tone. “But you’re going to wear yourself out. You can’t do this on fumes.”

You shrug, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “What’s the point of sleeping? Aegis betrayed me over one failed mission. They’re not going to let that go. They’ll come after me, and I can’t just sit back and wait for them to make their move.”

Ghost’s gaze narrows slightly, and he tilts his head as he listens. “I know it’s rough. But pushing yourself isn’t going to change what they’re planning. You think you can outsmart them just by burning the midnight oil?”

You meet his gaze, feeling a mix of annoyance and determination. “It’s not just about being smart. It’s about being ready. Aegis is ruthless. They’re not going to stop until they’ve made an example of me. I can’t let that happen.”

Ghost’s expression softens slightly, but he keeps his tone even. “You’ve got every reason to be pissed off. But don’t let that drive you to exhaustion. You need to keep your wits about you if you’re going to face them again.”

You lean back in your chair, exhaling slowly. “I know what I need to do, but I’m not going to stand by while they plot against me. I can’t afford to be blindsided again.”

“Just don’t lose sight of yourself in the process,” he says, his voice steady. “It’s easy to let anger take the wheel. You don’t want to make any reckless moves.”

Finally, you let out a short laugh, albeit without humor. “Thanks for the unsolicited advice, Ghost. I’ll keep that in mind while I’m trying to keep my head above water.”

He gives you a faint nod, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly, perhaps in acknowledgment of your sarcasm. As he turns to leave, you feel a strange sense of resolution settle over you. You don’t need his encouragement, but having him listen—even with that no-nonsense approach—makes a difference.

“Try to get some sleep,” he says over his shoulder before disappearing into the hallway. You don’t know if you’ll actually follow his advice, but you feel a little lighter, as if you can face whatever Aegis has in store for you, one way or another.

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“Oi, you look like hell,” Soap says, grinning as he nudges your arm. “Didn’t catch much shut-eye last night?”

You roll your eyes, gripping your coffee like it’s a lifeline. “I got enough,” you mutter, giving him a glare over the rim of your mug.

“Enough to sleepwalk, maybe,” Soap teases. “Just don’t trip over yourself when we’re in the field, eh?”

Price leans back in his chair, looking between you and Ghost. “You two done givin’ each other grief yet?” he says with a slight smirk.

“Can’t help it if she’s stubborn,” Ghost grumbles, arms crossed. “Or if she insists on overworking herself.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow. “As if you’re not constantly brooding somewhere with no regard for sleep.”

Gaz chuckles, glancing at Soap. “Think they’ll ever get along?”

Soap shrugs with a mischievous grin. “Nah, that’d be boring. They’re more fun like this.”

“Right, because fun’s what we’re here for,” Ghost deadpans, shooting Soap a pointed look.

Before Soap can come up with a retort, a loud beep echoes through the room, cutting the banter short. The team goes silent as Price taps his earpiece, eyes narrowing with focus.

“This is Price,” he says, his voice all business now. He listens intently, and his expression grows darker with each passing second. “Understood. We’ll move in immediately.”

He looks at each of you in turn, his jaw set. “Just got word from HQ. Aegis movements reported on the eastern front of the city—some high-profile targets involved. Intel suggests they’re gearing up for something, but details are thin.”

Gaz straightens. “So they’re here, then? What do you reckon they’re after?”

“Could be retaliation, could be more intel grabs,” Price replies. “We won’t know till we’re in there. But this is what we’ve been preparing for.”

Ghost gives you a sharp look, his expression unreadable. “Looks like you’re gettin’ your wish,” he says, a hint of warning in his tone.

You meet his gaze, unflinching. “Good. Maybe I can finally get some answers.”

“Save your vendettas,” Price interrupts. “We go in sharp and leave nothing to chance. I want recon and support in teams. Soap, you’re with Gaz. Ghost, you’re with her.”

Soap gives a mock salute, grinning. “Guess it’s date night for the both of you again.”

You and Ghost shoot him equally exasperated looks, but the levity is brief as the weight of the mission settles over everyone.

“Alright, gear up,” Price orders. “We move in ten.”

The team disperses to prepare, the air thick with tension and purpose. But you can’t shake the feeling of anticipation, your mind already running through scenarios as you prepare to face Aegis again.

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You and Ghost are in the heart of the city, navigating through narrow alleyways toward an abandoned building where Aegis is rumored to be holed up. The air is thick with pressure, the sharp scent of gunpowder lingering in the air, and the faint hum of activity just out of sight. The team has dispersed into their positions, but you can’t shake the heavy feeling of anticipation pressing down on you. Aegis is moving fast, too fast, and you didn’t think they would strike this soon.

You spent all night huddled over your desk, scanning through endless intelligence reports, piecing together a fragmented picture of Aegis’s operations. You thought you had more time. You thought you could afford to burn the midnight oil, believing that if you could just connect the dots, you could prepare for what was coming.

Had you known they’d be on the move so quickly, you would have rested. You would’ve prepped your body, gotten the sleep you so desperately needed. But now, as exhaustion clings to you like a second skin, you feel every bit of it catching up. Your head is heavy, your limbs sluggish, and your focus is just a fraction slower than it should be. You can feel your grip tightening on your weapon, but it’s not enough to stave off the creeping fatigue that clouds your senses.

You take a sharp breath and push through. You can’t afford to slow down now. But as you step into another narrow passage, your foot catches on a loose stone. The stumble is almost imperceptible, but it’s enough. Before you can react, a figure emerges from the shadows, and a flash of movement pulls you back to reality. Your weapon goes up instinctively, but the delay is just enough for the figure to get a shot off.

“On your left!” Ghost barks, urgency in his voice.

You squeeze the trigger, narrowly avoiding disaster as the enemy drops to the ground. The tension in your chest refuses to ease, but Ghost isn’t letting you off the hook.

He spins toward you, fury simmering in his gaze. “What the bloody hell was that? You’re slipping. Again.” His voice is low, but it’s thick with anger, his arms crossed as he towers over you. “You think you can keep pushing yourself like this, running on fumes? Is that what you’re trying to do, get yourself killed?”

You bite back the sharp retort, feeling the weight of his anger digging into you. You’ve made a mess of this, and the guilt is clawing at your chest. “I didn’t expect them to move this fast,” you say, your voice tight. “Had I known they’d be ready, I would’ve prepared better. But I thought—”

“Enough!” Ghost interrupts, his voice rising slightly, his glare intensifying. “You think this is a bloody game? Aegis doesn’t wait around for you to get your head on straight. You can’t afford to be careless. You’re not invincible, and I’m not here to babysit you while you burn yourself out.”

The sting of his words lands harder than any bullet could, and you feel your chest tighten. His anger isn’t just frustration—it’s something deeper. You know you’ve crossed a line, and it makes your throat constrict as his words hit harder than you thought they would.

“Ghost…” You start to respond, but the words catch in your throat.

“You don’t get it, do you?” He takes a step closer, his gaze unrelenting, the edge of his voice cutting through the quiet. “You’re not just risking your life. You’re risking all of ours by pushing yourself like this. And I’m sick of watching you burn out, thinking you’re going to win this on your own.”

You can feel his anger radiating off him, thick and palpable, and it makes your stomach churn. You’re fully aware of your mistakes now—of your failure to rest, of your exhaustion clouding your judgment. The weight of it presses down on you, but you don’t dare let it show.

Your lips tremble slightly, fighting the wave of emotion that threatens to overwhelm you. You know he’s right. You fucked up, and there’s no denying it now. You stay silent, swallowing the rising lump in your throat, trying to compose yourself.

“Don’t you dare make this harder than it already is,” Ghost growls, his voice harsh, but there’s something else in it now—something that sounds almost… worried. “This mission is too important for your pride. Now pull it together, or I swear to God I’ll drag you out of here myself.”

Your head spins with a mix of frustration, guilt, and exhaustion. But before you can respond, the quiet night air is shattered by the sound of gunfire. The ground trembles beneath your boots as Aegis reinforcements surge from the shadows. The mission has officially kicked into high gear.

“Stay sharp,” Ghost orders, the anger in his tone giving way to focus as the team goes on high alert.

You don’t have time to argue. You push past the knot in your stomach and focus. Gunfire rings out, and before you know it, you’re thrust into the chaos—bullets flying, shouts filling the air. You move with purpose, your instincts kicking in, but the exhaustion never truly leaves. Your movements feel sluggish, slower than you want them to be, and it shows in the way you miss a few too many shots.

Ghost moves beside you, covering your blind spots, keeping an eye on you as you both push through the streets. The mission has become a blur of adrenaline, but you know the stakes are high. The pressure mounts with every passing second.

Then, just as you’re about to make your next move, you hear it—a footstep behind you. Without thinking, you spin, ready to fire. But the attacker is quicker, his blade flashing toward Ghost, and you only have a split second to react.

You throw yourself forward, shoving him aside, feeling the sharp sting of the enemy’s blade graze across the back of your shoulder as you land. The pain is immediate—burning and sharp—but you fight it down, keeping your focus.

You hear Ghost curse as you roll to your feet, weapon still in hand, and fire, taking down the enemy in a single shot. But you’re not focused on that. You can feel the blood soaking through your shirt, the warmth of it trickling down your back, but your body is still running on pure instinct.

Ghost’s hands are on your shoulders before you can fully process what’s happening. “For god’s sake, are you trying to die out here?” His voice cracks with frustration, his fingers gently pressing against your wound, but you barely register it through the haze of pain.

“Twice now,” you mutter under your breath, trying to steady yourself as your vision swims. “Guess I saved your ass again.”

For a brief moment, Ghost falls silent. His gaze lingers on your back, then moves to your face. You can’t look at him. You’re not sure you could if you wanted to. He doesn’t say anything, but his gloved hands are firm as he checks the wound, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. The silence between you both feels thick, heavy with everything unsaid.

“Don’t make a habit of it,” he finally growls, his voice low but not without a trace of concern buried deep beneath the frustration.

And as he helps you back to your feet, his hand on your shoulder, you know that despite the weight of his anger, he’s still watching your back.

The pain in your shoulder is sharp, but you can’t afford to think about it now. Ghost’s grip on your arm is firm, steadying you as you stand. You can feel his gaze on you, but you avoid looking at him. There’s nothing left to say right now. Not when the mission is still in full swing, and Aegis is still out there.

You take a quick breath and focus. “I’ll be fine,” you mutter, biting back the wave of dizziness that threatens to pull you under. You reach for your medical kit, the sharp sting of your wound only registering as you unstrap it, cursing under your breath.

“Don’t get stupid,” Ghost mutters, but his voice is lower now, tinged with a quiet frustration that’s almost a comfort in the heat of the moment.

You tear off a piece of cloth from the sleeve of your jacket, quickly applying a makeshift bandage to your shoulder. It’s not much—a temporary fix at best—but it’ll do for now. You can feel the blood seeping through your clothes, but the pressure should at least slow the bleeding.

With a quick nod to Ghost, you signal that you’re good to go. The pain is still there, pulsing with each movement, but you’ll push through. You have to.

“Let’s move,” you say, your voice a little steadier than before, though it cracks slightly. You don’t wait for his reply, already moving forward with your weapon in hand, eyes scanning every corner for Aegis.

Ghost doesn’t hesitate to fall in step beside you, his eyes on high alert, always watching. His earlier anger is still simmering beneath the surface, but there’s a silent understanding between you now. He doesn’t trust you to keep pushing yourself, but he’s not about to leave you behind.

The streets are eerily quiet as you advance, the only sounds being your footsteps and the occasional distant crackle of gunfire. You’ve lost the element of surprise. The enemy knows you’re here, and Aegis has always been good at covering their tracks. You can feel it in the air—an overwhelming sense of dread that tightens your chest.

As you reach the center of the abandoned district, the team regroups, spreading out to cover every possible exit. There’s no sign of Aegis yet. The trap is set. But as the minutes tick by, doubt begins to creep in.

Nothing. No sign of movement, no reinforcements rushing in. It feels… wrong. Your stomach churns as the silence stretches on, your nerves taut as you wait for something—anything. But the longer you wait, the more your instincts start to scream at you.

You glance at Ghost, who’s scanning the horizon. His jaw is clenched, eyes narrowed in concentration. He senses it too. You feel a growing unease, that something isn’t right. Aegis shouldn’t be this quiet. They should have come to fight.

Then, the realization hits. They’re gone.

“Shit,” Ghost growls, slamming his fist against a nearby wall in frustration. “They slipped through our fingers.”

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to. The bitter taste of failure is heavy on your tongue. Aegis has outmaneuvered you again, leaving nothing behind but empty streets and the echo of your own mistakes.

You’re not surprised, but the sting of it cuts just as deep. You push down the urge to lash out, to blame yourself for not being more prepared, for not being sharp enough, for still feeling the burn of the wound in your shoulder that’s distracting you.

“Price is gonna love this,” you mutter, your voice a mix of bitterness and exhaustion.

“Focus on getting back,” Ghost snaps, though there’s no real malice behind the words. It’s just a statement of fact. No time for self-pity. “We’ll regroup at the base, figure out what went wrong.”

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The mission was a failure, and the weight of it sits heavy on your chest as you make your way back to base with Ghost. His presence behind you is unyielding, and there’s a quiet tension in the air that neither of you speaks of. You know you fucked up. You should have rested, you should have been prepared, and now Aegis is slipping through your fingers again. Ghost’s gaze doesn’t leave you, his silence louder than any words could be.

Once inside the base, Ghost grabs your arm without warning, his grip firm and unyielding.

“Ghost, what the hell—?” you start, but he doesn’t let go.

You’re about to say something, but the words die in your throat. It’s not until you reach his room that he stops and turns to face you, eyes hard as he surveys your face.

“Take off your shirt,” he orders, voice rough, brows drawn in frustration.

Your heart skips a beat, and your stomach drops. You freeze for a second, not understanding, trying to make sense of his words, but it’s clear he’s not going to back down.

“You heard me,” he growls. “Off. Now.”

You stand there, blinking in shock, your mind struggling to process his demand. “What?” you sputter, cheeks flaring as the words sink in.

His gaze doesn't waver, not even a flicker of understanding or amusement. “The wound on your back. Take off your shirt so I can see it properly.”

“Oh.” You blink, realizing what he actually meant, and feel the embarrassment rush in, hotter and sharper than you’d expected. “Right. Of course. The… wound.”

Despite your best efforts to keep it casual, your hands fumble at the hem of your shirt, and you can't ignore the faint, traitorous flush creeping up your neck. Ghost doesn't seem to notice—or if he does, he shows no sign of it, his focus locked on the matter at hand.

But the command still makes you tense. You feel your cheeks flush, your breath hitching in your throat as your mind races. You’re caught between being embarrassed and feeling the sting of humiliation. You haven’t let anyone see you like this—vulnerable, injured, exposed. And now Ghost is making you do it.

You look up at him, and there’s no softness in his eyes. He just stares at you with a hard, unrelenting gaze, waiting for you to comply.

“Do it,” he repeats, and his voice is a little tense this time, almost like a command for your own good.

Reluctantly, you pull your shirt over your head, revealing the fabric of your bra. The cool air of the room hits your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. You’re suddenly aware of how exposed you are, how vulnerable it makes you feel. Your breath hitches, and you quickly turn your back to him, feeling the heat rise to your face.

“Just… patch it up,” you murmur, trying to make the moment less awkward. The thought of standing there, half-undressed, feels like a lifetime of embarrassment.

Ghost stays silent for a long beat. When he speaks again, his voice is low, almost measured, as if trying to hold back some frustration.

“You’re a bloody idiot,” he mutters, but there’s no anger in his tone now, just a soft edge of concern that you wouldn’t have expected from him. “You push yourself too far. Didn’t I warn you?”

You feel your heart race in your chest, not from fear but from something else—something that’s hard to place. Maybe it’s his words or maybe it’s the vulnerability of the moment, but it makes you feel more exposed than you ever have before.

“Ghost, I—”

He cuts you off, gently moving to stand behind you. You feel his hands near your shoulder, and you tense instinctively, but he doesn’t make any sudden moves. Instead, his fingers hover just over the wound.

“Don’t make me regret letting you keep going like this,” he says, his voice softer now. There’s no anger, no frustration—just something else. Almost an apology without the words. It makes your breath catch. “You saved me back there, and I…”

You’re surprised when he doesn’t finish his sentence. The silence in the room stretches, thick with something you don’t quite understand. Ghost’s hands move to gently tend to the wound on your back, the pressure light as he dabs at the injury, cleaning it carefully. It stings, but you don’t say anything. You don’t need to.

As Ghost finishes cleaning around the wound, his hand stills for a moment, lingering against your shoulder. His gloved fingers trace gently over the outline of the injury, almost as if he’s memorizing the line of it, and the silence stretches between you, deep and drawn out. Your breath hitches, the tenderness in his touch starkly at odds with the fury he showed earlier. It’s a side of him you haven’t seen before—one that feels cautious, almost hesitant, and something deep inside you stirs—a strange, unfamiliar feeling.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low and uncharacteristically solemn. “Thanks,” he mutters, barely louder than a whisper. His fingers linger a fraction longer, tracing the area surrounding the wound with a kind of reverence that surprises you. “For what you did back there.”

The words hang in the air between you, raw and genuine. You can tell it costs him something to say it, to admit he appreciates what you’ve done—even if he hates the risks you took. You swallow, feeling an unexpected warmth settle in your chest at his words. It’s rare to hear him offer any gratitude, and the vulnerability in his tone catches you off guard.

“I… didn’t do it to impress you,” you reply, voice steady but soft.

Another silence falls, more loaded this time. His hand shifts slightly, his thumb barely brushing against the edge of your shoulder blade, and the gentleness in the touch has your pulse racing despite yourself. He seems to be struggling with something—some inner hesitation that makes his grip falter, his fingers tensing slightly against your skin.

“Still,” he murmurs after a long pause, his voice so quiet you barely catch it, “you don’t have to do it like that. Don’t throw yourself in harm’s way just because of me.”

“If the roles were reversed, you’d do the same, I hope," you reply quietly.

Ghost’s jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn’t deny it. He lets out a slow, measured breath, his fingers lingering on your shoulder one last time before he pulls his hand back, the warmth of his touch disappearing as quickly as it came.

“Doesn’t make it any easier to watch, though,” he says, almost to himself, his tone somewhere between exasperation and resignation.

The two of you stand there in silence for a beat longer, the unuttered words between you thickening the air, and for once, neither of you breaks it. 

For the first time since you two met, you feel like you're beginning to understand the kind of person he is.

[pumpkinpastiesandcoffee]

By Your Side Feet?

Nanami x GN! Reader

Summary: You're afraid of the dentist and your dutiful boyfriend finds a way to help

Words: 1387

Warnings: None! Just fluff, Nanami being the perfect sweetie he is

A/N: There's no specified gender, pronouns, race etc. The only thing specified is the fear of the dentist and how (I personally) feel about it, that's it! Just something super quick. I got inspired by @teddybeartoji (seriously go chek them out!! I love their fics) Toji dentist fic, made me think about how Nanami would look after you which I hope to remember next time I have to go to the dentist!

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“It’s still bothering you, isn’t it” came Kento’s warm voice. Tinged with concern and almost perceptible disapproval. You, however, were nervously smiling up at him, acting as if you hadn’t just been caught massaging your jaw, “no, no it stopped, don’t worry.” Of course, you both new you were lying, something the two of you agreed to never do with one another and had stuck to over the course of your 2 year relationship. So it would be reasonable for Nanami to be annoyed, angry, betrayed feeling, anything like that. However, you’re seemingly infinitely patient boyfriend, held nothing but worry in his eyes as he peered down at you. Letting out a soft sigh, he sat down beside you on the couch of your shared home, hand coming up to cup your cheek, “You need to go to the dentist my love, before it gets any worse.” The deep frown that settled across your lips as you shrunk away from his kind but determined gaze had Kento feeling bad, he knew you disliked the dentist, even he wasn’t a fan, but he also knew you were in agony. It had been 2 weeks now, chewing food on the other side, making pained expressions and tentatively rubbing at your jaw when you thought he wasn’t looking and worst of all was the way you had teared up as you brushed your teeth.

The nervous shake of your head as you spoke only made him frown more, “It’s fine, Ken, it’ll sort itself out.” “Love, please, the pain isn’t worth it to avoid the dentist, I’ll come with you if that’d help at all?” He coaxed gently, the other hand reaching out and gently curling around your wrist to pull you into him. As his fingers settled against your pulse, he realised your heart was racing, and now he had a matching frown, “You’re that afraid?” Tears were quick to flood your lash line as you ducked your head, a feeling of shame swirling in your gut as you whispered, “Yeah.” Nanami wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest as he rested his chin atop your head with a soft sigh.

He held you for a little while, waiting until you relaxed completely into him before speaking again, “Can you tell me why? Perhaps I can find some solutions for you, to make it easier.” With a deep sigh of resignation you tugged his hand into your lap, playing with his fingers to as you began to explain, “I never really worry about the pain, it’s never that bad, but the sensation of everything and how loud it all is just makes me so sick and always gives me a headache. Plus you can’t really move or anything, everything happens so fast and I never have a chance to prepare myself and even if you try to get them to stop they don’t always, just saying to hold on a bit longer. Just all of that is so overwhelming and makes me panic. Feels like I’m being tortured and can’t even move to get away. I know it’s stupid, but the fear and panic once it starts is just so all-consuming.” As you spoke, Kento listened intently, free hand gently rubbing along your back.

“First of all, it’s not stupid. Secondly, I had no idea it felt that way for you, for me its just, uncomfortable, but for you it sounds awful love, I’m so sorry.” He pressed a sot kiss to your temple, hoping to bring a bit more comfort. “I can come with you and we can ask about booking a longer appointment that way they can take their time. I can make sure they stop if you need a break and we can ask them to talk you through things so it’s not so fast. How does that sound?” Chewing nervously on your lip as you contemplated if that would actually help or not, eyes flickering up to meet his and relaxing a little again, “That could help.”

You’d spent the next hour talking about ways to make the whole thing easier on you, with the goal to make it tolerable more so than to fix it all. After that, Nanami had made an appointment for the following day and taking the day off work so that he could be with you the whole time as well as look after you afterwards. Despite all the preparation and talking, you were now sat in the dentist office, leg bouncing as you picked at your nails, mind reeling as the panicky feeling slowly climbed. Kento had signed you in and had just sat down beside you, hand coming to pry yours apart and interlock your fingers. “Breathe for me dear, deep breath in and hold, then out slowly, ready?” and he did as he asked of you, encouraging you to copy which you did. Between his calm hazel eyes and large warm hand encompassing yours, you felt that panic begin to subside, easing into a more manageable bubble of anxiety instead. That was until your name was called and it all came rushing back in an instant.

Nanami held your hand as you walked into the room, only letting go once you’d settled into the waiting dentists chair. He checked with the dentist before moving a chair over to sit by your feet, hand coming to rest on your ankle as a physical reminder he was there. The appointment took a long time, however every time you started to get jittery, Kento’s hands were massaging along your ankles and calves, the occasional softly spoken “You’re doing so well love” a reminder you weren’t alone. A reminder you weren’t trapped, that you could make it through. When you motioned for breaks the dentist listened after the first time where he had hesitated and was met with the clearing of Nanami’s throat and cold, stern look. The image would stay with you forever of you’re doting boyfriend, staring down your dentist and you couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your lips in response.

The second you were out of the chair, Nanami was pulling you in to his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “You did great, I’m so proud of you love, I love you.” And if the dentist and assistant were looking at you both funny, neither of you cared enough to notice, no, instead you were tucking yourself into him with a muffled “thankyou, I love you so much Kento, thankyou.” You walked back out, hand in hand, to pay for the appointment before leaving and climbing into the car. “Now, as promised, lets get that drink you love so much. We’ll order your favorite for dinner rather than lunch seeing as you’ll be numb for a little while” He mused, ruffling your hair as he pulled out of the clinic parking lot. “Hey, Ken, thankyou, really. You didn’t make me feel silly or childish, it sucked but it wasn’t as bad as it usually is so, thankyou.” He smiled, eyes flickering over to you before taking your hand in his, entwining your fingers as he brought them up to kiss the back of your hand. “Of course, I love you, I’ll never treat your fears as silly or childish. I’m just glad I helped even a little bit.”

The rest of the day was spent doing things you loved while Kento babied you. Curled up in Kento’s arms on the couch with a comfort movie playing was a great way to spend your afternoon, it certainly helped the memory of the dentist fade quickly. So, as you curled up together in bed for the night, face peppered in kisses from Kento that had you giggling, you couldn’t help but feel nothing but love. Love for Kento Nanami, a man who would drop everything to make you feel better, who never once would belittle your fears, who thought you were simply the most beautiful human being ever and truly felt happy just to be in your presence. The love held for one another truly shone in times like this, where he knew everything that made you happy and comfy and where you felt safe and stronger with him by your side, or in this case, your feet.