#I’m going to go through and answer a bunch of old ones I still have tho today!!!!

[moonchildstyles]

prosecco h at her graduation!! he would have the biggest bouquet of flowers and take so many pics of her just bringing her around the school so that he can get a pic of her in front of every building and she is all embarrassed when she notices that everyone is staring at how adorable they are because harry has the biggest grin on his face the whole time

no you know he would have HUGGEEEEE flowers and be so excited the whole time just so proud of her and I’m so obsessed w all the pics they’d take and he’s just so clingy and happy w her even if she’s a little embarrassed from how much attention ppl are giving bc he’s being so much😭

[anglbunny]

VIDEO CALL 2

♡. calling them while they're away and they talk you through it, smut mdni, phone sex, fingering, includes: choso, megumi, geto

prev part

CHOSO KAMO

You miss him.

It’s been four days. Four nights. Four cold pillows and lonely mornings.

Choso’s away on a trip — some dumb assignment with Yuuji and the others — and even though he calls every night, it’s not enough.

So tonight, when he answers your FaceTime — hair messy, hoodie half-on, cheeks flushed from the warm hotel shower — you don’t even try to hide it.

You’re already laying back in bed, wearing one of his old shirts, no shorts, no panties, eyes soft and watery.

“Hi, baby,” he says gently. “You okay?”

You nod, even though you’re not. Not really. Your hand’s already between your legs, slow and shy, just enough to keep the ache away.

“I miss you.”

His breath catches. Then he sees your hand shift under the hem of the shirt.

“Are you… touching yourself?”

You nod again, biting your lip. “Wanted to wait for you.”

You angle the phone so he can see — thighs spread, shirt bunched up, fingers teasing just above your clit.

“Oh—shit,” he mumbles, voice going low. “You look so good, angel…”

You whimper, heat bubbling in your stomach. His eyes are glued to the screen now — pupils blown, lips parted, breathing heavier.

“Can I… talk you through it?” he asks quietly.

“Please.”

And just like that, Choso’s voice turns low and careful. Gentle. Absolutely wrecking.

“Start slow, okay? Just rub small circles, the way you like.”

You obey — gasping softly at the contact, hips twitching as your fingers glide through slick.

“That’s it,” he breathes. “You’re doing so good, baby. Just like that.”

He props his phone on the nightstand, hands in his lap now, barely moving. Watching you like he’s memorizing it.

“I wish I was there.”

“Me too,” you whisper, curling your fingers in. “Y-You’d feel so much better…”

“I’d kiss you while I do it,” he murmurs. “Hold your legs open, go slow so you can feel everything.”

Your hips rise. Your hand shakes. You’re already so close, and his voice keeps going — steady, worshipful, laced with want.

“You’re so pretty like this. Fuck. I’m not gonna last watching you.”

“M’gonna cum, Choso—”

“Let go, baby. I’m right here.”

You break with a cry, body curling in, fingers still inside as you shake through it, calling his name like a lifeline.

He’s silent — in awe. And when you come back down, teary and flushed, he’s still there. Blinking at the screen like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“I’m gonna hold you so tight when I get home,” he says softly. “And you’re not gonna have to use your hand ever again.”

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

You’d been missing him all week.

He was off on a mission with Gojo, of course — which meant texts here and there, a few blurry mirror selfies (shirtless, no face, just enough to make you stare), and one video call before bed.

Which is exactly what you were doing now.

Your legs were tangled in your sheets, shirt riding up as you laid on your side. He was propped against the headboard of his hotel bed, black hair messy, eyes low-lidded, voice a soft rumble through the speaker.

“You look flushed,” he said. “What were you doing before I called?”

You hesitated.

“…Nothing.”

His eyes narrowed a little. You knew that look.

“Don’t lie.”

You swallowed. “I… missed you.”

His head tilted. “How much?”

Your thighs shifted under the covers. He caught it.

“Show me.”

You blinked. “W-What?”

“You’re already touching yourself, aren’t you?”

Silence.

“Yeah,” he said, voice darker now. “That’s what I thought.”

You shifted the phone lower, heat rushing to your cheeks as you showed the outline of your hand under your panties, fingers moving slowly — not quite enough.

“Don’t do it like that.”

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

“You always try to do it the way I do,” he said. “But your fingers aren’t mine.”

Your stomach flipped.

“Y-Yeah,” you whispered, breath shaky. “They don’t feel as good.”

“Of course they don’t.”

His hand came in frame, pushing his hair back, long fingers spread, veins flexing. You felt your thighs clamp at just the sight.

“my fingers fit inside you better than yours ever could.”

You whimpered, sliding two in — but it wasn’t the same. You weren’t as full. You weren’t as stretched. And you knew he could tell from the way your hips twitched.

“Slower,” he murmured. “Curl them. There. There. Right where I always hit.”

Your toes curled. You moaned his name, louder now.

“I can’t—Megumi—please—”

“You gonna cum already?” he asked, voice low but breathless. “You get that close just thinking about me?”

You nodded, frantic. “I miss your fingers—”

“I know, baby,” he whispered. “But until I get home… just pretend they’re mine.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and let go, moaning through it — but even as you came, you could hear his voice in your ear, steady, hungry.

“Doesn’t feel the same, does it?”

“N-No…”

“Good. I don’t want it to.”

He let you catch your breath, staring at you through the screen, dark lashes low over that pretty, serious gaze.

“Next time you’re needy,” he said calmly, “wait for me.”

“I’ll make sure you forget what your own fingers feel like.”

GETO SUGURU

The call connected late — just past midnight. You were curled under your sheets, face lit by the soft glow of your phone, missing him something desperate.

“Hey, baby,” Geto's voice came through, smooth and deep, already making your thighs shift.

The camera flipped — he was shirtless, hair up, towel around his hips, fresh out of the shower. His hotel room lights were low, chest glowing golden, and the second he saw you pouting?

He smirked.

“Miss me that bad already?”

You nodded, all soft and whiny.

“You shouldn’t call me like this looking that needy, pretty girl,” he murmured, propping the phone so he could lean back. “Now I gotta take care of you from miles away.”

You chewed your lip, silent for a beat. Then, quietly—

“Can I?”

His brow ticked up.

“Can you what?”

You hesitated, then slipped your hand under the covers, camera wobbling as you repositioned it to show the outline of your thighs, your pretty panties — the ones he liked.

“Touch myself…”

He groaned, deep in his throat.

“Shit. Yeah. Of course you can. Gotta ask me like that every time now.”

His voice turned dark with heat, sharp and low:

“But be good. I want your phone down at the end of the bed. I wanna see all of you while you play with that pretty pussy, yeah?”

You obeyed.

Slid your phone down, propped it so he could see you laying back — nothing on but your underwear, fingers ghosting over the band.

“Pull ‘em to the side. Don’t take ‘em off,” he instructed. “You know how much I love seeing you like that. So desperate you can’t wait.”

You did — tugging the lace aside and dragging your fingers through your folds, already slick. You could see his jaw clench, his hand shifting under the towel.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he groaned. “Missed me that bad, baby?”

“Y-Yeah,” you whimpered, starting to rub slow circles. “It’s not the same when you’re not here.”

His voice dipped even lower.

“Let me help. Two fingers. Just like I do it. Slow at first.”

You obeyed — and he praised you every step of the way.

“That’s it. Just like that. Curl them. You know where to touch yourself now, don’t you?”

You nodded, hips lifting off the bed, thighs trembling.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he breathed. “I wanna see the look on your face when you cum.”

And you tried. You really did — but your eyes rolled back when you hit that spot, rubbing your clit faster, your body arching as your orgasm crept in.

“Gonna cum?” he whispered, watching your face with that dark, hungry smile.

“Yes, Geto—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“Let go. Be loud for me.”

And you did.

Head tossed back, hand shaking between your thighs, soft gasps spilling into the mic while he jerked off to the sight of you falling apart.

You collapsed after, chest heaving, and when the camera settled, you saw him wiping his mouth, smirking like he hadn’t just come in his own hand.

“When I get home?” he said, voice low and rough. “You’re gonna do all that again. But with my mouth between your legs this time.”

TL: @samm1e13 @syleepy @werfiedeii @mikemsmm @yanderebluelockfan @cyberheartrebel @arwawawa2 @valexqpt @snowsilver2000 @mitsurisupporter @meikstv @ravenbc @mihyas-dieehefrau

A/N: my mans, megumi, choso and geto, my black hair baddiess.

ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.

Masterlist

[p0orbaby]

pillow princess wife who struggles to relax due to her high stress job and alexia or leah who just want their wife to stop being a bitch/snappy/sassy to everyone

18+ and not proofread 😍

-

“I don’t need sleep,” you snap, without looking up. “I need five uninterrupted hours to finish this brief and no one breathing near me.”

She’s been stood in the doorway for three full minutes. Sports bra, boxers. Fresh out of the shower. Hair wet, ends dripping. You think she’s doing it on purpose, standing there looking shiny and bare and faintly disappointed.

You turn back to your monitor.

The cursor’s frozen.

You click it. Nothing happens.

You click again. Twice. Nothing.

Your laptop lets out a sound like a dying animal.

“Fucking brilliant.”

You shove your chair back. Not to get up—you haven’t left the room since just after lunch—but to jolt the machine into respect. It doesn’t work. It never does. You do it anyway. You have rituals, and they comfort you.

“Qué hora es?” Alexia asks, slowly, like she knows the answer but is giving you a chance to lie.

You ignore her. Your jaw is clenched.

“Cariño,” she tries again. Still soft. Still calm.

“Don’t ‘cariño’ me,” you snap. “It’s not like I’m out clubbing. I’m working. I don’t exactly enjoy it either.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she says, and walks into the room.

You frown, still clicking around the dead screen. The top button of your shirt’s undone. The bottom half is bunched above your thighs. You’re in your pants and an old pair of Adidas socks, mismatched ones she refuses to throw out. Your hair’s scraped back and you’ve had exactly two sips of water all day. You’re running off cortisol, caffeine, and a full-scale superiority complex.

She crouches beside you.

You don’t look at her.

“You’re being rude again,” she says.

“No, I’m being busy.”

She tilts her head. “You always rude when you’re busy?”

“I’m always rude when I’m interrupted.”

She exhales through her nose. Not quite a sigh. Her fingers find your bare knee. You twitch but don’t swat her away. That would require energy you’ve long since spent shouting into a Google Doc.

“You said twenty minutes,” she murmurs, sliding her hand higher. “Hace una hora.”

“I didn’t ask you to wait.”

She laughs. Just once. No humour in it.

Then she kisses your inner thigh.

You freeze.

“Don’t start,” you mutter.

She kisses again. A little higher.

“I mean it, Alexia. I have—”

“You’re being a bitch,” she says, lightly. Not unkindly. “And I let it go all day.”

You look down at her. Her eyes are already on you, completely calm.

“You think you can—”

Her hands slip under your thighs and pull you forward. Your arse just reaches the edge of the chair. She presses your knees apart and doesn’t need to say a word about how wet you already are.

“Don’t—”

She licks you through your knickers.

You jolt.

You weren’t expecting that. Your body betrays you instantly, hips lifting a fraction. She smirks against you. Her fingers curl into the waistband and pull them down. You don’t stop her. She knows you won’t.

“Wet already,” she murmurs, accent slipping through. “Qué sorpresa.”

You scowl. “I’ve been sat here all day, my body thinks I’m dead.”

She doesn’t answer. Just leans in and licks you, slow and firm, flat-tongued pressure that makes your jaw clench.

“Alexia.”

“You’re impossible,” she mutters, mouth still on you. “Always angry. Always so stressed.”

“Maybe if everyone around me wasn’t so fucking annoying—”

She sucks hard on your clit and you choke on your words. Your whole body jolts. She does it again, just to prove a point.

You grip the arms of your chair. She slides two fingers inside you, slow but without warning, and it knocks all the air from your lungs.

You gasp.

Her tongue doesn’t stop moving.

“Jesus Christ—”

“You need to come,” she says simply. “You’ll feel better.”

You shake your head, but it’s weak. Your eyes close. You tilt your hips forward. You hate how quickly you give in, how easy it is for her to shut you up.

She fucks you gently, rhythm steady, fingers firm. Her thumb presses where you need it and her mouth stays right there, hot breath, tongue moving like she’s got all night.

She does. You don’t.

You cling to the chair like it’s a life raft. “I’ve got—fuck—I’ve got work to do—”

“You’re done working,” she says.

Your thighs are trembling. You hate how wet you are. How good she is at this. How right she is. It’s infuriating.

“Let go,” she murmurs. “Let me take care of it.”

You try to hold on, but she moans softly into you and that’s it—you shatter. A low, guttural sound punches out of you and you grind forward shamelessly, riding her tongue through it. You come so hard it almost hurts. She doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even flinch. Just takes it. All of it.

It lasts longer than it should.

You don’t move.

Your knickers are hanging off one ankle. Your shirt’s damp between your shoulder blades. Your heart is thumping against your ribs like it’s late for something.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, then leans up and kisses your cheek, maddeningly sweet.

You stay exactly where you are. Head back. Shirt stuck to your chest. Breathing like you’ve just run six flights of stairs.

She stands.

“Now,” she says, voice amused but gentle, “are you ready for bed?”

You blink at her.

You still can’t feel your legs.

“Ten minutes,” you whisper.

“No,” she says. “Now.”

And somehow, you stand.

[hugheswho]

I Will Lay Me Down

Summary: You finally get to reunite with your boyfriend, Luke, after his shoulder surgery. Helping him recover proves to be a little more work than you thought. 

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Reader (any gender!)

Warnings: swearing, suggestive themes/language but no smut, luke being a drama queen, pet names, fluff, i think thats it but let me know if i missed anything 

Author’s note: Luke sign of life in the sling inspired me to finally finish this. This is my first posted writing sooo if its bad please lie to me…is english my first language? Yes. is grammar/punctuation my strong suit? Absolutely not. Enjoy! This is also really dialogue heavy because I’m not good at describing things lol 

Word count: 3.5k

“Wait, can you cut it the other way?” Luke asks before you start to cut into the sandwiches you prepared for the two of you. He sits across the kitchen island from you in his sling, still recovering from his shoulder surgery a few weeks ago. You were still at school when he had his operation, then had two weeks of final exams followed by senior week and graduation. This is the first time you’ve been able to see him post-surgery. Luke is definitely making up for lost time.

He follows you around like a lost dog and begs you to come with him when he leaves the room, just to return two minutes later. You, being the best partner in the world, put up with his shenanigans because how could you not when he gives you that adorable little pout? 

The sling doesn’t make life easy when you’re a 6’2, almost 200-pound professional athlete, which is why you are eager to help your boyfriend with all daily tasks. Luke adores that you take care of him while he recovers, but he definitely abuses the power. 

================================================

“Babe?” Luke calls out for you.

“What’s up?” you reply, walking out of the bathroom to see Luke sitting on the bed, shirtless and no sling, surrounded by clothes. 

“Can you please help me get my shirt and hoodie on?” 

“Yeah of course,” you answer while grabbing the loosest tee he has in the pile, some old Michigan hockey shirt that looks like it was bought decades ago and has seen some shit.

You gather the bunched-up fabric on the left side to slip his bad arm through first, then carefully mimic it on the right side, and finally over his head. 

“Good?” you ask, hoping you’re not hurting him.

“Perfect,” he smiles back at you.

Next, you pick up the hoodie, which is not as loose as the shirt, and let him place both his arms in their respective slots. You begin to pull the fabric higher to go above his head, his arms slightly raising. Luke hisses as his bad arm goes higher than he expected. 

You jump back, immediately pulling your hands off of him. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

“No, it’s okay. It happens every time I do it myself,” he reassures you.

“You can do this yourself?” you ask, lowkey impressed. If you didn't have mobility in one of your arms, there's no way you could pull a hoodie over your body.

“Trust me it’s not that glamorous.”

Luke exhales and takes a moment to let the pain dissolve from his body. Once free from tension, he meets your gaze.

“Ready?” you ask. He nods and lets the hoodie engulf him. His head gets a bit stuck in the neck hole and you can’t help but giggle trying to see him wrangle free. Finally, he pops through and has his crooked grin plastered across his face. 

“Hi baby,” he breathes out before jetting his lips out, looking for a kiss.

You lean down and softly kiss his lips. You pull away for a few seconds, just to stare into his eyes. His eyes filled with warmth making you break out into a smile before leaning down to press another quick, tender kiss on him. 

“Hi Lu-ba-lu” you respond, his face turning red at the pet name. 

You make a mental note to get him a zip-up sweatshirt. 

================================================

“I think I’m gonna head up to bed,” Luke yawns and stands from the group hanging in the living room. He had a tough day with physical therapy and was feeling the aftereffects. 

“I’ll come with you bub,” you convey while getting yourself up from your spot in the corner of the couch.

“No babe I’m fine. Stay down here I know it’s early. 

“Well, how about I help you get ready for bed and then I’ll come back down here after?” you suggest, wanting to make sure Luke is comfortable. 

“That sounds great,” Luke smiles back at you. 

The two of you head up to your shared room. You begin to pull the comforter back and prop up all his pillows so he can sleep snugly and not bother his shoulder. Luke smiles to himself as he sees you adding pillows from your side, fully knowing how much you love your pillows. His heart warms at you giving up your own comfort for him. 

Luke decides to just leave his t-shirt on for bed rather than going through the whole taking the sling off, taking the shirt off, and putting the sling back on rigmarole. His breath hitches when you loop your fingers into the waistband of his pants and carefully drag them down his legs. You kneel on the ground and gently hold his ankles as he lifts each foot to step out of the pants. 

“Do you want other pants or just want to be in your boxers?” you ask, looking up at him. 

“Like this is fine, thank you baby” he replies, heart beating faster. 

You stand back up and let him settle against the mountain of pillows in bed. You feel kind of sad to leave him but also know that he’s going to knock out right away and you’ll still be awake for hours just staring at the ceiling. Nevertheless, you double check. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“I’m positive. Go back down, I'm going to fall asleep in five minutes anyway,” Luke answers truthfully, confirming your thoughts. 

“Do you need help with anything else before I go?”

Luke laughs to himself. 

“Well there is one thing…”

“What?”

Luke’s head lowers to look between you two. Your head follows him and finds the gazing point. His crotch. You look back up and find Luke’s pink-painted face and mischievous eyes staring back at you. You shake your head and scoff, amusement hiding behind your actions. 

“Do you actually want me to?”

“Like yes but I’m actually so tired I don’t even think I could get it up right now,” Luke confesses.

“I’ll make it up to you later. I don’t want to hurt my fragile boy.”

“Hey! I’m strong!”

“Soooo strong,” you hum, hand grazing his bicep before traveling up to cup his cheek. “Good night my love. I’ll be up soon. Just text me if you need something,” you murmur as you kiss his cheek and cover him with the comforter. 

“I will. Good night I love you!”

“I love you too,” you respond, shutting the lights off and closing the door behind you. 

Once you leave the room, Luke sneaks your pillows back over to your side. He’d rather have a sore shoulder in the morning than let you give up all your amenities. 

================================================

Showering with Luke wasn’t unfamiliar territory. You were both very used to sharing the water and helping each other clean up. So when he asked you to help him bathe after a day on the boat, you didn’t bat an eye. The water cascaded over the two of you as you finished lathering and rinsing his body. 

With Luke in no position to bend down and you not being able to fully reach his head to properly wash it, you both decided that Luke sitting on the floor of the shower would be the best option. 

Luke sat crisscross applesauce at your feet while you gathered the shampoo in your hands. You slowly began to lather the cleanser through his wet curls, gently dragging your nails across his scalp. Luke’s eyes fluttered closed as he rested his cheek against your thigh and let his good arm fall to hold your ankle. 

It was these gentle, intimate occasions that meant the most to you. The two of you knew neither had to say anything to let these moments speak the loudest. The quiet comfort proved just how strong your bond was. 

Sure, the two of you could yap to each other til the cows came home. You both love to playfully argue about something stupid and until you’re both yelling that the other person is wrong, fully in stitches laughing. There is no shortage of chaos in your relationship. But if someone were to ask what moments in your relationship truly defined you and Luke, it would be this. You both found solace in your silence. Neither of you ever felt awkward, or uncomfortable, or like something was being left unsaid. 

“Can you lift your head towards me please?” you say softly, not wanting to break the calm the two of you built. Luke turns his head to look up at you, eyes hazy from the comfort. If you hadn’t said anything, he would have fallen asleep against your leg. 

You pump some face wash into your hands and begin with his cheeks, letting your digits dance along his strong cheekbones. Your hands turn in and follow the curve of his nose, showing extra care to the freckle on its side. His forehead is the next to receive attention as you wash the space that contains the little lines that appear when he raises his eyebrows. It doesn’t matter what emotion Luke is portraying at the time, whether it’s shock, confusion, disgust…those lines are going to appear just the way you love them. Then finally your hands meet again at his chin. 

Luke is looking at you with so much love in his eyes you can’t help but lean over and place a small kiss on his nose which makes him shyly smile, almost as if he was just made aware he was caught staring. 

Once you rinse his face of the cleanser, you put your hands out for him to grab with his good arm.

“Come on big boy,” you encourage as he grabs a hold of you. You hoist him up and help him catch his balance when he stumbles. Your bodies are pressed close together and you can feel the goosebumps growing on his skin. Once grounded, Luke looks you in the eyes, a smile blossoming along his face. You are so in love with him. 

And then Luke had to go and open his big mouth. 

“Are you gonna manscape me?”

“You’d be brave to trust me with a razor down there right now.”

================================================

The sunlight slipped through the slats of Luke’s window blinds in the early morning. You stepped out of his bathroom to see the golden light draped across his sleeping face. Quietly, you walk over to his side of the bed and lean down to delicately scatter kisses across his nose and cheeks.

“You missed,” Luke mutters, eyes still closed and voice raspy from sleep.

“Oh did I?” you throw back, fully knowing what he means.

“Mhmm,” he nods before continuing, “can’t get up without my morning kiss.”

You laugh at Luke’s neediness but entertain his antics by pressing a long kiss to his lips. Once you pull back you see his eyes have finally opened and his lips curl upwards.

“Good morning lover,” you whisper just above his face.

“Now it is.”

You playfully roll your eyes as you pull back to stand up fully. 

“Come on, get up and get ready for the day,” you say while helping him up.

Luke grumbles something under his breath and rubs his eyes while you push him towards the bathroom. You continue to get ready for the day, brushing your hair when you hear the bathroom door open after only a minute. 

“I can’t brush my teeth” Luke states while standing in the doorway just staring at you as if what he said didn’t make your head shake in confusion. 

“I’m sorry?”

“My arm is out of commission. You need to brush my teeth for me,” he shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world…which it would be if he only had one arm in total. 

You exhale before saying “Luke. You got surgery on your left shoulder. You’re a righty.”

“I shoot left.”

“Oh my bad, I didn’t realize the American Dental Association recommended shooting pucks along with the two minutes of teeth brushing. I must’ve missed that update in the newsletter.”

Luke has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing. He instead pulls out his famous pout. 

“Come on pleaseeeee! You always say how much you love my smile! Would you really take part in ruining it?” 

You love all his smiles, but the ones where his teeth are showing are your favorite. Motherfucker knows how to play his cards. Next thing you know, you have Luke resting with his butt against the bathroom counter. With his toothbrush covered in toothpaste, you get to work. A grin forms across his face as you begin to brush his teeth. 

“I can’t believe I'm doing this right now,” you huff out as you work on his back molars. 

“You’re like the best person in the world,” Luke slurs, mouth full of toothpaste and saliva. You nod towards the sink, letting him know to spit. 

If someone offered him a ticket straight to the playoffs next season in exchange for looking away from you right now, he’d tell them to kick rocks. His eyes are full of admiration as he stares at the love of his life performing his dental hygiene for him. 

“Open and stick your tongue out,” you command, suddenly taking your job very seriously. You violently brush Luke’s tongue, making him gag in the process. 

“Babe oh my god,” he chokes out, eyes wide staring at you in shock. 

“Oops! My mistake!” you exclaim, playfulness gleaming in your eyes. 

“Yeah, that was a mistake alright…” 

“Oh, but when you make me do it it’s fine?”

A smirk dances across Luke’s stupid, pretty face. 

“Touch��.” 

He can’t believe how lucky he is to have someone like you. You rolled your eyes when he asked you to do this, but you’ve made sure to get every single tooth in his mouth. Brushed his tongue. Kept your free hand against his waist to hold him steady, close. The request from Luke was ridiculous, but you did it. 

This moment is one he never wants to forget. The way you brushed a stray eyelash off his cheek absent-mindedly. The way you’re humming the song that’s playing distantly somewhere in the house without even realizing it. The concentration of your eyes. Luke almost wants to ask what you're thinking about in that beautiful head of yours. 

“The toothpaste leaking out of your mouth makes it look like you have rabies. I wouldn’t be surprised. You are feral.” 

Yeah, he’s gonna marry you one day for sure.

================================================

The rain had just started to die down in the evening. The group was originally meant to go on a night boat ride, but the guys didn’t want to wipe up all the water from the storm inside the boat, knowing no one was going to swim anyway. You all decided a bonfire would be the perfect nighttime activity. 

Bundled in your sweatshirt and holding blankets, you wait for Luke at the bottom of the stairs. He finally comes barreling down them and walks over to the shoe rack. 

The grass was all still wet outside so shoes were definitely encouraged. But it wasn’t completely drenched outside so you could still wear your sandals.

Luke, however, walks past all his easy slip-on shoes entirely. Crocs? No. Slides? Nope. Vans? No way. Instead, Luke reaches for his sneakers and turns on his heel to hand them to you. Without thinking, you hold them as you watch him sit on the stairs. You assume he just wanted you to hold them while he got situated so he could slip them on. 

Rather, he sits and waits, looking at you with his lips rolled inward, feet dangling off the stairs, waiting to be covered.

“Oh you’re just doing this on purpose now,” you gather, seeing his smile break out into a full grin. 

“I don't want my feet to be cold! Need to be fully covered!” Luke argues back, stifling his chuckle. 

“You can put them on yourself!”

“But I need your help to tie them!” 

WOW. This must be what it’s going to be like when you have a mini Luke running around one day. 

“Why do you even need them tied? You can’t just wear them loose?”

“Oh babe no way. These are brand new. Can’t be ruining the laces with the wet grass.”

“…..but we can ruin the shoe altogether?”

“…..just do it. Will you please?” Luke implores you, defeated.

And of course, you oblige. 

“You really are unbelievable, you know that?” you mutter while leaning down to slip the sneakers on his feet. 

================================================

You and Luke lay in bed, you scrolling your phone and he flipping through the TV channels. 

You speak up, “Oh by the way, I’m going to go home for just a little but then I’ll be back.”

Luke immediately whips his head towards you, pout gracing his lips. 

“Nooo don’t leave me!”

“Luke, I haven’t seen my home friends since before graduation. I’ll be home for two weeks and then I’m coming back. I promise you’ll be okay.”

“Who is gonna take care of me?” Luke whines, hands trying to grab any article of your clothing, proving he needs you near him. 

“You got surgery three weeks before I even got here. Who was doing it then?”

“Jack.”

“And why can’t he help you now?”

“I mean he could. He’s just not as pretty.”

You laugh out loud, making Luke break too. 

“I think he would take offense to that.”

Luke stays silent as he listens to your laugh slowly fade. His favorite sound in the world. 

“I’m just going to miss you,” he says shyly. 

“I know, baby. I’ll miss you too but I’ll be back to be your personal servant before you know it,” you console him, brushing your hand through the side of his hair. 

You smile softly at your boyfriend and go back to scrolling on your phone. Luke frowns at your statement. Not knowing what to say, he remains silent but lets his mind race for the rest of the night. 

================================================

Luke was starting to go a little stir-crazy. He was still stuck in the sling for the time being and he was sick of having to limit himself in everything. He still hasn’t been able to hold you in the way he desires. Nor has he been able to do anything for you, to make up for all of his mischief. 

You could sense his tension from the other side of the couch. Yes, you’ve complained about the nonsense he’s made you do while being here, but seeing him in distress truly breaks your heart and you’d do it all 100 times over to make him feel better. 

“Hey,” you start softly, “let’s go for a walk around the neighborhood.”

He turns towards you and just nods. You grab his hand to help him stand and aid in putting his shoes on, without him asking this time. 

The two of you walk silently for a bit, your hand interlocking his good one. Your thumb naturally strokes against his knuckles, something you’ve done a million times before. 

As you and Luke get further into your walk, he breaks the silence. 

“I'm sorry,” he says weakly. 

“About what?” you ask, truly having no idea what he could be apologizing about. 

“About making you feel like you’re my personal servant,” he explains while stopping in his tracks and turning towards you. “You’re more than that to me and I’m sorry if I didn't make it seem like that.”

His eyes stare into yours, trying to figure out what exactly you’re feeling. You’re taken aback by Luke’s confession. You meant that comment as a joke. You didn’t think he’d take it so earnestly. 

“Luke honey, it’s okay,” you tell him while squeezing his hand gingerly. 

“I’m serious. I know I’ve been hamming it up but your help truly means the world to me. This hasn’t been easy physically or mentally…” Luke’s voice catches on itself and he takes a moment to steady himself. “…but you being here and helping me with whatever I need, no matter how foolish, makes it all a little easier.”

You drop his hand so you can grasp either side of his face. You look him in the eyes for a few moments, not saying anything, letting that silence you love so much grow between you two once again. He knows this is your way of saying “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Finally, you find the words you need him to hear, “you know I’d drop everything for you, Lu.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. You’re letting him know this is true. This is real. This is us. 

A small smile appears on his lips as his anxiety leaves his body. 

“I’m so lucky to have you in my life,” he whispers, resting his forehead against yours. 

“We’re so lucky to have each other in our lives,” you lean in to kiss him, “plus it helps that you’re really cute.”

“The cutest.”

[wonderjanga]

"In Clark’s mind, he’s imagining a nine-year-old, itty-bitty Marvel with a baby Freddy massaging Freddy’s little baby leg because he was crying."

Imagine expanding on this from your Teen dad Marvel prompt where the league wonder if Marvel has baby pics of Freddy so he has to hunt down pictures through the foster care system. Imagine captain marvel pulling up at some random family door asking if they have photos from some kid that ran away from them. Or the league ask Marvel how he handled raising Freddy and Mary so young and Billy tweaks thinking they figured out his identity but they just assume he had the kids super young. I hope you write more for teen dad Marvel because it's Def my favorite one of your prompts.

Supes: “Cap, do you have any pictures of Freddy as a baby?”

Marvel: “Uh… n—” *has to pause and slowly look to him* “I’m sorry what did you just call him?”

Supes: “…Freddy?”

Marvel: *still staring at him, scandalized, wondering if you got found out already*

Supes: “…I heard you call him that a while ago! I’m sorry! Do you want me to stick normal names?”

Marvel: “No, it’s fine.” *still staring, now suspicious  before he shrugs* “To answer your question… yes?”

Supes: “You don’t sound so sure of that.”

Marvel: “I am! Just give me a couple days, okay? Then I might be able to show it to you.”

Supes: “You’ll actually show it to me?”

Billy was already out the door before Clark could even finish that sentence. As he walked, with a completely blank face mind you, he was internally screaming because where in the world was he gonna find baby pictures of Freddy?! (J’onn, who floated by him, flinched)

That’s how he ended up going to a bunch of Freddy’s old foster homes. They all turned him away. Thankfully though, a couple of them mentioned that Freddy came with photo album of him in his baby and toddler years.

He. Had. To. Hunt. It. Down.

It took three days of nonstop searching and asking around, but he finally got his hands on it. See, turns out, a homeless guy was using it as pillow. That’s how the 12 year-old Billy wrestled it from the probably forty year-old man. In the end, Billy had to trade it for a thick blanket and an actual pillow. All for a photo album.

He showed it to Supes.

Supes: “He’s adorable, but why’s the photo album so dirty? Did you have to sort through an attic or basement for it?”

Marvel: *ptsd flashbacks of the methhead homeless dude trying to fight him for it* “Yup.”

Soon after that, a bunch of other heroes gathered around to leaf through the album.

Wondy: “How come there aren’t any pictures of Mary?”

Marvel: “Supes wanted the one for Junior, but uh…” *pulls out magical wallet, unfurls it, and a bunch of photos drop down of Mary as a tiny girl*

Flash: *still looking at the photo album* “Aww! Geez, Cap, how do you handle raising these two little munchkins so young?”

Marvel: “Pardon?” *tight smile instead of normal one*

Flash: “Uh… well, dude, it isn’t really a secret you were a teen dad.” *awkward*

Marvel: “Oh.”

Billy was utterly confused because he was 12? Did that qualify as a teen? Also, “were”? As in past tense?

Flash: “Not that it’s a bad thi—”

Marvel: “I guess I was just resilient?”

Supes: “You really must’ve been to raise them that young.” *nodding, solemn, patting Billy’s back*

[giuliettagaltieri]

Not Her Man

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Childhood friend!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Feathers fall gracefully slow

Warning: Girlrotting

Word Count: 3193

Part 1 • Part 3

You were always scared to do drugs.  

You saw Rafe at his highs, you were with him, keeping him from doing anything stupid like when he was so sure he could backflip from Tanneyhill’s rooftop and land on the grass perfectly. 

But you also wondered how difficult it was for him to get clean.  To suffer from withdrawals.  And as you lie on your fur carpet, staring at the glimmering crystals of your chandelier, with your closet half emptied and scattered all around your room, along with rolling wine bottles on the polished hardwood floor of your bedroom, you think you might have understood just a little.

Blocking him was the hardest thing you have ever done in your life, especially when it was your routine to giggle over whatever interaction you had through text that day.  The itch to open his account for any update made you want to bind your hands together.

Your parents are out of the country, busy overseeing their business, forgetting to oversee their daughter.  Your maids were there for you, at least they try to be.  They bring you food on schedule, even sliding in a few scoops of ice cream every now and then in your room when your sobs start to echo around the halls.

Rafe tried to contact you multiple times.  First, through your phone, but you blocked him.  Next, he tried to throw pebbles at your window, but your seventy-six year old gardener fired a shotgun at him, thinking that he was a burglar.  Next, he tried a different approach, he was sending you gigantic bouquets of your favorite flowers, making the hallway leading to your room look like a wedding set up, the flowers perfumed the entire house too, drawing a concerning amount of bees.  One epipen to your chef’s thigh later, Rafe stops sending them.

He never really does anything right.  All he does is mess up, create more problems for himself.  You almost wanted to give in, but you remind yourself of the things he said.  Anger and hurt quickly replaces pity.

A familiar chime of your phone had you groaning.  Your friends are probably going to have another attempt of making you step out of your room, like inviting you to have your nails done or shop, just to get your mind off of Rafe.

You just let the ringtone end and you go back to staring at the chandelier, wondering if you’ll be quick enough to get out of the way if it somehow falls.  Before you can plan a strategic roll, your phone rings again.

Blindly reaching underneath the scattered pillows, you finally locate the buzzing device.  You answer without looking at the caller ID. 

“Y/N speaking.”  You mumble lazily.

“Hey, girlie.”  There goes the high-pitched voice of your friend.  “Sooo, the girls and I-hush!”  You hear a bunch of girls giggling behind the line and your brows crease together in annoyance.  “We’re going on a party tonight and we’re thinking that maybe you’d liketocomewithus?”

You play with the lace of your dress, eyes just following the patterns when you hear your name being called again over the phone.

“I’m not in the mood for parties.” 

“You are never in the mood for anything anymore.”  She whines behind the line.  Her tone prompts you to sit up to pick up the stale wine you left out in the open for too long.  Taking a sip and ignoring the thin coat of dust it caught after you ransacked your closet for something that made you look confident, only for you to end up squeezing in the dress that Rafe got you as a present for your 13th birthday.  He didn’t pick it out for you, of course, but it still made you all fizzy and bubbly and excited inside.

You put down the wine to scratch at the waistband that is digging on the skin of your under bust, the fabric being stretched beyond its capacity.

“I know.”  You tried to sound apologetic.  “I just can’t, okay?”

She sighs, making you let out a grateful sigh.  There’s still some ceiling viewing you had to get back to.

“I’m picking you up at seven.”  She speaks with finality and before you can answer, she continues.  “Please don’t let that awful man get the satisfaction of knowing that he has this much effect on you.”  You can hear her begging behind the phone.  She and the other girls are just looking out for you.

With an unwilling heart, you decide to get on your feet, your socked foot nearly slipping the moment it touches the wooden floor.  Cursing, you finally crouch on the piled up clothes you threw earlier. 

“Fine, I’ll come.”  You roll your eyes.  “Dresscode?”

You hear an airy chuckle and you can imagine her pinching your cheeks if you were within her reach.  “Party’s open to all, Kooks or Pogues.  In the community beach house.  You dress however you like.  I’ll match your vibe, if you’d like.”

This makes a smile creep on your lips.  She’s definitely on the top 10 list of the most annoying people you know but you thank God everyday for a friend like her.  “You know I love you, right?”

She snorts before bursting out in a fit of laughter.  “Duh.  I love you too.”

“See you later.”  You grin.  “Tell the girls I’m coming too.”

“Sure, see you!” 

You hang up and get started on searching for the right outfit.  Well, there’s the classic white flowy dresses, but everybody wears them.  You could wear a short and a cute top, show some belly?  Blech, you’re not exactly in one of your maneater moods.  But perhaps if you covered it with that oversized white pinstriped polo, it could work?  Yeah, something casual yet put together.  It’s not like you’re dressing to impress anybody, or somebody in particular, you’d prioritize comfort over fashion tonight.

A knock on your bedroom door pulls you from your thoughts.  With a shrug, you throw your chosen clothes on your bed.

“Coming.”  You call while trudging over to open the door.  There stood your maid, she was looking anxious, wringing her wrinkly hands.  “What is it?”

She glances at your odd choice of clothing before she looks away so as to not make you uncomfortable.  “Well, uhm, Sir Cameron is here again, miss.  He’s waiting for you downstairs, in the drawing room.”

You press your lips in a firm line.  “Tell him I’m not here.”

Your maid smiles apologetically.  “He…he saw you in your bedroom window before he came in, miss.”

Huffing, you tap your feet impatiently.  “Just tell him I’m busy.”

“He said you’ll say that.”  She mutters, amusement in her tone.  “And he asked us to tell you that he can wait.”

You close your eyes to keep them from rolling.  “Whatever, he can stay as long as he likes, but I’m not coming down to meet him.”  You push the door a little wider and your maid’s eyes widen at the state of your room.  “I’m sorry, I know you’re busy but can you help me clean up?”

The rest of the afternoon was spent tidying up your room. 

It was dark out, a couple of minutes past seven when your phone buzzed.  Knowing that it’s your girlfriends, you pick your bag, filled with the usual party necessities and head downstairs.  It’s a habit, assigning yourself as the responsible friend who stays sober to look after the others.

You are slipping in the pearl bracelet your grandmother got for you last Christmas when you hear your name being called and in instinct, you turn around.

“Oh, right.”  You say with a tone that is drier than the Sahara desert.  “You’re here.”

Rafe’s standing just outside your drawing room, his hands falling to his side.

“Yeah.”  He spoke awkwardly, his eyes glancing at your outfit, familiarity crossing them before he looked at your eyes again.  “I was waiting for you.”

You exhale softly and he just stood there, waiting for your reaction.

“I know.”  You say simply.  “Gotta go.”  You start walking again to your door.

“Wait, Y/N.” He easily catches up.  ��You’re…you’re coming to the party, right?”  He asks hopefully.

“Yes.”  You respond without looking at him.

Rafe smiles but it quickly dissipates when he sees a different car waiting for you.  “Hold on, I can drive you there.”  He says quickly, his hand gripping yours just to get you to listen to him.  “I can drive you to the party.”  He says in an uncharacteristically sheepish way.

For a second, you look at him, really look at him.  His smile grows wide.  He missed having your eyes on him.  You’re his best friend, and he’s used to doing everything with you by his side.  He also liked how dependent you were on him too, always asking for his approval.  You have a bit of an overbearing attitude but he would be lying if he’ll say that he doesn’t miss you doting on him too.  Perhaps you’re not the only one who’s dependent on this odd friendship you both have.

“No, thank you.”  You say before pulling your hand away with a sharp look thrown his way.  He watches you walk away to greet your friends.  He’s still stuck there, staring, even after the car drives away.

He doesn’t understand it.

You’re the emotional one, why are you doing so well without him?  You never go to parties with other people, it was always him that you stick close to.  Clinging on him, pulling him to the dance floor when he’s about to do a line of coke, or accidentally knocking his cup when he’s had too much drinks.

Running a hand through his face, Rafe decides to hop on his car and follow you to the party.  You’ll be in the same space as him in the next few hours.  He’ll get another chance there.  He’s certain of it.

He didn’t get the chance.

With you by his side all the time, you memorized his set of activities at parties and you evaded him perfectly.  Rafe decided that it was best to stand by the punch table.  You’d get thirsty eventually, and he’ll be there waiting if you do.

On the other side of the house, farthest from Rafe, there you sit by the porch swing, admiring the push and pull of the waves.  The party was at its climax and everybody was cramped inside the house, dancing and drinking, or doing unholy activities.  You don’t know how you managed to slip away from your friends but you’re glad you did.  You needed the fresh air.

You’re just starting to get comfortable when a man stumbles out the door.  You watch him struggle to keep himself up.  He looked lost? Or just flat out drunk.  You watch in amusement as he scratches his blonde head, he must be having a whiplash from all the blinding neon lights inside and suddenly his vision switches to the bright light provided by the LEDs. 

His feet twist and he starts to fall to the side, your head tilting to follow his fall.  You wince when you hear the loud thud of his body hitting the floor, followed by his muffled but loud groaning.

“Motherfu-”  He sits on the floor, his legs sprawled out in front of him as he shakes his head like a dog.

“You alright, JJ?”  You chuckle.

He whips his head to you, cursing again when his vision spins.  “Y/N?”  He drawls out while rubbing his eyes.  “You saw everything?”

Still laughing, you get up to crouch next to him.  “I did.”  You smile when he groans out again.  “Are you okay?”

He props up a knee and rests an arm there, he looks buzzed, his eyes are heavily lidded as he stares off into the ocean.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”  He glances at you.  “Well, this is a strange sight.”

“What is?”  You mumble as you look away from him, deciding to play dumb.

He shrugs animatedly, hands gesturing to you and the entire space of the porch.  “Usually, wherever you are, your boyfriend is not that far behind.”  He points a thumb behind him.  “And if I wasn’t imagining it, I’m pretty sure I just saw him brooding over the drinks.”

You chuckle dryly as you bring your knees to your chest.  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

JJ looks at you with an unimpressed face.  “That’s all you heard.”

Playfully punching his shoulder, you sigh.  “We fought.”

He frowns, back straightening immediately.  “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”  It’s kind of sweet how your words seemed to have sobered him really quick.

“No!  No, he didn’t.”  You reply right away.  “Well, at least not physically.”

You watch him grimace.  “Outside physical fights, I have little to no idea how to respond.”

“That’s okay, JJ.  I don’t wanna talk about it, anyway.”

He gives you a boyish grin, as if to reassure you before scratching at his jaw, your eyes mindlessly follow his movements and you see a scratch.

“You’re hurt.”  You tell him, pointing at your own jaw.

“Huh?”  He touches his jaw and winces.  “Ow!  Must’ve scratched myself when I…uhm.”

“When you decided to attack the floor.”  You finish for him and he clears his throat.  “You’ll have to disinfect it.”

“Pfft, it’s fine.”  He shakes his head.  “It’s just a scratch.”

But you are already grabbing your bag by the swing and you return with a small kit.

“I forgot to bring wipes.”  You mumble before crouching down in front of him.  He swallows at your close proximity.  “Come on, JJ.  It’s just antibacterial cream.”

He hesitantly shows you his face and you gently apply the cream, tutting when he dramatically pulls away.

You grab his face and tilt it slightly and JJ squeezes his eyes.

“It fucking stings.”  He nearly whines, making you roll your eyes.

“Don’t be a baby!”  You huff and he stays still for a second, allowing you to smear the cream evenly and he rolls away from you as soon as you’re done.

JJ was muttering about God knows what while you’re busy putting your stuff away.  When you sit next to him again, he’s much calmer, a lazy smile back on his face again.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

You throw him a playful glare.  “You’re welcome.”

He touches the scratch and you almost tell him off but he quickly pulls his hand away. 

“Why didn’t Cameron make you his girl?”

You blow out a big sigh.  “He doesn’t like me.”

“Bullshit.”  He laughs but he clears his throat when you look at him unamused.  “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”  You smile at him genuinely before averting your eyes.  “I wouldn’t blame him.  I mean, you saw how I can be.”  You chuckle this time but there’s no humor on JJ’s face, he’s looking at you rather sadly.  “I care too much and everybody suffocates around me.”

“I don’t.”  He says quickly.  “I was just being dramatic earlier.”  He rubs his nape.  “I’m not used to having people tend to me, I mostly just do it myself.”  He seeks your eyes and you finally look at him. 

You hear a creak behind you but before you can look, JJ cups your face to keep you from breaking your eye contact, making your breath hitch.

“I liked being taken care of like that.”  He whispers and your lips part slightly.

“JJ.”  You say breathlessly and he grins, his face leaning dangerously close to you.  “You’re drunk.”

He gently bites his bottom lip and you have to look away from his blatant flirting.  “I’m sober enough to kiss, I promise.”

This…this isn’t right.  

You gently push him away and his lips immediately form a pout.  “You’re such a kid, JJ.”

He clicks his tongue and angrily stoops as he glares at the ocean.  “You had no idea how long it took me to build the courage to do that.”

“Five minutes?”  You jokingly bump his shoulders, making his act break at the edges, a smile threatening to crack on his lips.  “Seriously, J, I can’t kiss drunk guys.  It’s unethical.”

He mimics you in a childish voice and buries his face on his palms harshly.  He turns to you again, with his hair disheveled and sticking to his forehead and red blotches appearing on some areas of his face.  “I’m not as drunk as you think I am.”  The way he glances at your lips had your throat drying up.  “I really wanted to kiss you.”  Aside from Rafe, you have little to no experience with the male attention and frankly, you don’t know what to do.

You place a hand on his shoulder and stiffly pat it twice.  “You’ll get over it.”

JJ looks at you exasperatedly.  “You’re taking this too lightly, this is my feelings we are talking about.”

You stifle a laughter.  “Oh, so you have feelings for me.”  You raise a brow at him and he nods his head enthusiastically.

“Every guy on this island has a thing for you.”  He says animatedly.  “If it wasn’t for your bodyguard, we would have made our move long ago.”

You are deeply flattered, you can’t resist the girlish smile from tugging on your lips, your cheeks slowly heating up.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

He looks deeply offended and places a hand on his chest.

“You’re the ultimate dream girl, stupid!”  He dodges a punch from you.  “You’re like the total package.  You’re sweet, and smart, you’re also very pretty, you can be funny too when you let loose.”  He wiggles his eyebrows at you and this pulls a laughter from you, a real, genuine laughter that had your shoulders shaking.

“When are you gonna get serious, J?”  Wiping the tears from the corner of your eyes, you get up.  “Wait here, I’ll get us a drink.”

He gives you a two finger salute before lying smack down on the floor, with his arms spread out.  You shake your head, chuckling when you open the door.

And your hair stands on end.

There stood the very person you have been avoiding the entire night.

But for once, he isn’t wearing a scowl or a condescending cocky smile.

He was looking at you like a man defeated and broken.

“Rafe.”  You whisper as you reach for him but you stop yourself before your skin can touch.  He looks at your hand and then your eyes.  You don’t know if it’s the trick of light but you could have sworn his eyes are glassy.

“Hey, Y/N, everything alright?”  JJ calls.

Rafe glances at JJ and then back at you, he nods slowly as he takes a step back.  Your heart aches as you watch him take another step away from you but you will yourself not to follow.  He runs a hand on his mouth and he turns away from you.

You stare at his back as he leaves, torn between choosing your own pride or running after him.  For what seemed like hours, you stood there, frozen.  Still lost in the onslaught of emotions that surged through you.

Not Your Girl • His Girl

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wanderlust 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, kidnap, size difference/kink, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You go travelling to get some world experience but you don't get the one you're expecting.

Characters: Nick Fowler, Bucky Barnes (reader in 30s, short!)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You’re not afraid of flying, just not a fan of travel. It would be nice to go out and do more but the reality of getting there often deters you. Not this time. You finally bit the bullet and bought the ticket. 

Thirty isn’t old. You know that but it feels like a good time to start doing things. Your twenties went fast in hindsight, even if they felt like a slog. Miserable, emotional, and near disastrous. 

You have your first steady job, bills aren’t tight enough to strangle you, and it’s about time you did something just for you. Everyone is obsessed with ‘self-care’. Are you finally on trend? 

You shuffle along with the slow trawl of passengers. You look for your seat by the number on your ticket, holding up your phone awkwardly to compare. Your compact suitcase hangs from your vice grip as you haul it along, the wheels hitting your heel. 

You stop as you find your assigned seat. Hm. Middle seat. Headphones on and you’ll be fine, you’re sure. You reach up to open the overhead, just barely able to pop it open. 

Your carryon threatens to slide off your arm. You ignore it and bend to grab your suitcase. You watched a bunch of tutorials on how not to overpack. As you grip it, your bag slips down your arm and you lift the suitcase overhead. You hit the edge and it bounces back, nearly landing on your head. 

You brace for impact. The weight lightens in your grasp. A man grunts as you look up and see a large hand hooked on your bag. A pinky ring shines back at you. 

“Careful,” he warns. “Here, let me get it.” 

He uses his other hand to push it up and slides it out of your grip into the compartment. You watch, embarrassed. You can try to do things yourself but you still end up in the way. 

“Thanks, uh, sorry.” You eke out. 

You turn and sidle into the row of seat. You cradle your carryon as you do. You sit and hug it as you wait for the man to pass. He doesn’t. He follows. 

“I’m in the window.” He points casually. 

“Oh? Uh... my bad.” You flatten yourself as he turns and he brushes against the seat in front of you to get past. Unlike you, he’s too big for the cramped coach row. 

He sighs as he sits down. He shifts around as he gets comfortable. He flips up the window cover and rolls his head so his neck cracks. He pushes his feet out as far as they can go. 

He must be a frequent flyer. He seems perfectly at ease. Meanwhile, you’re twenty steps ahead in your mind.  

You need the flight to land, then you need to get your bag back. You don’t expect getting it down to be any easier. Then you have get through the airport, show your passport, and fine a taxi. Then the hotel, unpack, review itinerary for tomorrow. 

The more you think about it, it doesn’t seem so fun. Sure, you’ll get to see all sorts of cool things, but that’s only if you don’t get lost. You wiggle your foot nervously and put your elbow on the armrest, only to hit that of your seat neighbour. You apologise and let your arm hang at your side. 

“No problem,” his silty tone tickles your ears. “You scared of flying?” 

“Huh?” You look at him and follow his own gaze to your foot. You still it. “No, just... travelling is stressful. I’ll try not to bother too much.” 

You put your hands on your knees, as if holding yourself still. 

“Isn’t it?” He chuckles. “Can’t make anything easy these days.” 

“Mhmm,” you nod. You’re not the greatest with strangers either. Thirty years old and you’re still just as clueless as you were a decade ago. 

“Nick,” he says.  

You flinch as you see something at the edge of your vision. He offers his hand. You stare at it before you shake it. You’ve never been one for the outdated gesture but you’re too meek to refuse it. 

You shake his hand and give your own name. He grins and you turn your head straight. He’s not a bad looking guy but you shouldn’t think about it. He’s older. You can just tell. Not just the crinkles beside his eyes or the light lines in his forehead, it’s his confidence. Maybe this trip can help you find your own. 

“Pretty,” he says. “What’s in New York?” 

You hesitate before you understand his question. You sniff and fidget. “I’m a tourist. Just wanna see some historical stuff. Brooklyn Bridge, an old jazz bar... “ 

“Huh. All alone?” He wonders. 

You open your mouth to answer then pause. “Meeting friends,” you utter cautiously. 

“Girls’ trip. Fun,” he says. “Business. Again. Always got me back and forth.” 

He leans on the armrest and pushes his shoulders back into the seat. His knee breaks the boundary of your seats, pressing against your own. You try not to pull away too obviously. 

The overhead snaps shut and startles you. Another man drops into the seat on your other side. He huffs as he sits. He’s as big as your other neighbour, maybe a bit thicker. 

Where Nick has short tidy hair and subtle shadow of stubble coming through, this man has a thick beard and hair to his shoulders, there's some silver woven into both. He looks agitated as his cheek ticks and a woman’s bag nearly hits him. He swats the D&G luggage out of his face and growls. 

Your foot begins to go again. You only realise as the man sighs again. You cross your ankles and shrink down. 

Another bag comes close to the aisle passengers face and he grits, “watch it.” 

Nick snickers. The man slowly turns his head, eyes drifting over darkly. You glance between them, then to the back of the seat ahead of you. 

“Wanna switch?” Nick offers. 

The other man puffs through his nose, “don’t bother.” 

“Well, let me know.” Nick says coolly. “We were just sharing out gripes about travelling. Fun, isn’t it?” 

The man in the aisle seat curls his lip, “I guess.” He curls a finger and pushes down with his thumb until his knuckle cracks. “You too on a honeymoon or something?” 

Nick laughs, you look at him in shock. 

“Just met. Solo riders.” Nick answers. You’ll let him do the talking. 

The other man clucks. Nick reaches across you. “Nick.” 

His hand is ignored. He retracts it with a soft scoff. Nick introduces you next. The other man exhales loudly. 

“Bucky,” he says. “Keep the lights off and the noise down.” 

He leans back, his arm thick enough that it fills more than the armrest. He pushes his shoulders wide and leans his head back. He closes his eyes and you flick your thumbs nervously. 

You unzip your bag and search for your headphones. The aisles empty out and the attendants begin their pre-flight routine. As the plane thrums, the safety presentation begins. You keep your headphones around your neck. 

You buckle in, Nick does too. Bucky does it without opening his eyes. You shift and wait for takeoff. 

“Wanna look out the window as we lift off?” Nick offers. “You can lean over me.” 

“All good.” You assure him. “Thanks. 

“I don’t mind,” he says. 

“Really, it’s fine.” 

A low rumble comes from your other side. You seal your lips and push the button on your headphones. You go to lift them over your ears. 

“You listen to music or podcasts?” Nick asks before you can put them on. 

You lower them down, keeping your hands on them. “Music.” You answer quietly, mindful of the man on your other side. 

“Oh? Let me guess, Olivia Rodrigo?” He suggests. 

You shrug and shake your head, “never heard of them.” 

He snorts, “really? Hm. You look young, I thought...” 

“Just old stuff,” you answer. “Patsy Cline and whatever... boring.” 

“Boring? I don’t think so,” he muses. “All those pop stars come off the conveyor belt these days. Nothing wrong with taste.” 

You give a sheepish smile and lift your headphones again. You put them on then turn forward. You scroll your phone for your ‘most played’ playlist. You tap shuffle and sit back. 

Nick sits calm and still. He doesn’t take out his phone or try to play around with the screen in front of him. He just watches the clouds as you reach cruising height. 

Bucky is still. By the measure of the breath, you think he’s sleeping. You wonder how as you every now and then you can hear the squeal of a toddler through your music. 

The snack cart comes by. None of you get anything; Bucky doesn’t stir at all. 

Your leg sways back and forth as the flight stretches on. You check the time over and over. You knee hits Bucky’s leg as your nerves bubble. You push your legs together and peek over at him. He opens one eye; you mouth ‘sorry’. 

You chew your lip. You bite down until it hurts. The hours unfurl torturously. This is what you hate. Spending all that money to sit in a seat, overcrowded and impatient. 

The seatbelt sign flips on again. You take off your headphones as the Captain announces landing over the PA. You put them away in your carry-on and wrap your arms around the bag. 

The plane touches down with a jolt. You squeak and Nick wraps his warm hand around your wrist. You glance at him. He’s just being nice. 

“I’m okay,” you insist. 

Once the wheels stop, the restless passengers begin to disembark. Bucky is up and off, shoving past those struggling to get their bags. He’s at the front without obstacle. 

Patiently, you stand and watch your fellow travellers. Nick looms behind you. You crane around to see him. 

“I’m just waiting,” you say. 

“No problem. I’m patient.” He waves you off. “So,” he grips the seat by you. He’s close enough you can smell his cologne. “Where are you staying? East side? Uptown?” 

“Um... I’m not sure exactly. I don’t really know the city.” 

“Big place,” he comments. “Transits not too bad though. Just don’t make eye contact.” 

You nod. You’re already nervous enough. You heard all the horror stories from your mother and the headlines. 

As the aisle clears, you step out and turn to open the overhead. Nick gets it first. He takes down your bag for you. You thank him. 

You turn down the aisle as he shuts the compartment. He travels light. Or he checked his luggage. He has nothing but himself. 

You wait through the tedious disembarking and exhale deeply as you get to the ramp. Inside the airport, you follow the tides to the gates. The people disburse as you find a quiet place to order a taxi. 

“Hey,” Nick startles you as he struts across the terminal. “You looking for a cab?” 

“Oh, uh...” you lower your phone as your data won’t respond and you can’t sign into the airport WiFi. “I was just...” 

“Come on. I’ll help you flag one down the old-fashioned way. Gonna need one myself.” He insists. 

“Oh, you don’t have to--” 

“Hey, it’s no worries. You’re gonna wanna snag one before the next arrival,” he grabs your bag and extends the handle. “Come on.” 

He rolls your bag behind him as he marches away. He’s helpful if not a bit forward. You scurry after him. 

“Uh, thanks. I appreciate it.” 

“You kidding me? This place is like a city of its own. Can be overwhelming. You said you hate travelling. If I can make it easier, eh, why not?” 

You come out through the automatic doors and he slows to scan the long line of taxis and the clogged traffic of those trying to leave.  

“I got a trick, come on,” he beckons you behind him and you follow. 

“I can take my bag,” you offer. 

“Don’t worry, honey,” he carries on. “Let’s find...”  

He raises his hand to hail one of the cabs into an empty space along the curb. You look up as his fingers move but stop before you can make out the signal. Strange. 

“There we go,” he proclaims. 

A black car pulls in and the trunk pops. You frown. That doesn’t look like a cab. He puts your bag in the back and shuts the lid. You stay on the pavement. 

“Um, Nick, I think--” You stare at the tinted windows. 

He nears and puts his hand on your arm. “Stop doing that,” he pushes his jacket open with his other hand and grips the gun holstered on his belt. “Get in.” 

[takumiraine]

Once Upon A Time Chapter 2

<prev> <next>

So Danny? 100% has PTSD. I do have a vague plan for this. And most of the next chap written. The Fentons may or may not be terrible parents. You’ll have to wait and see. I do have plans to break everyone’s hearts at least once. Anyways. This is considered my like…. Audience test before Ao3. Things may change. As a reminder all I know about dc is from fandom and wiki and everything I remember about dp is prob poorly remembered.

—

Once upon a time, there had been a young boy who was happy. Once upon a time, there was a young boy who had dreams and a future. Once upon a time, there was a boy who had been alive in every sense of the word. Once upon a time, everything shattered. Once upon a time, there was a man who was filled with anger. Once upon a time, there was a man just as alive as he was dead. Once upon a time, there was a man who was haunted and hunted.

As the stabbed kid shuffled off, leaving Jason baffled, he grabbed the guy who he had slammed into the wall. His head was bleeding but his breathing was steady and Jason huffed. He knew he definitely cracked the guy’s skull, but he had survived worse.

“O, what do we know on this guy?” He asked the woman in his ear. Oracle’s answer would determine whether he took the guy in to the ER or let him roll the dice of fate.

“Rap sheet about a mile long. Pretty basic stuff. Armed robbery, possession with intent, B&Es, assault and battery, the usual.”

Jason shrugged then and dropped the guy against the wall. Rolling the dice it was. He turned away, looking towards where the kid disappeared around the corner “and what about the guy he was mugging?”

“That’s where it gets weird.” Oracle’s typing was coming through loud and clear. “It’s hard to get a clear picture of him. He has some sort of distortion on the feed. Everything else comes out clear but…. He’s a mess of pixels. Voice too. Scrambled. It’ll take time.”

“Think he’s a meta?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me, considering he got knifed and just…. Walked off with it. Wonder what his issue with B is though.”

“Couldn’t tell you. Think it might be time to update my armor if I’m being lumped in with people B and the bird brains have pissed off.” Jason took an evidence kit out of his pocket and swiped at the blood on his chest. Old habits and all. “Got a sample of the kid’s blood though.”

“Good thinking. Wonder if he’s in any databases. I’ve got a cleaned up picture now. Enough that it’s pinging in GU’s database. Dan Nightingale, Mechanical engineering major. It says he’s 19, it’s his freshman year and he’s in like every remedial class he can take, high school transcripts are mediocre at best. No other information about him really. Rogue in the making that one.” Oracle reported. Jason groaned, grapneling up to the rooftops to follow where the kid went off to.

“Someone should keep an eye on him. Ugh. This’ll be a conversation for B and the birds won’t it? Kid won’t like having a bunch of birds following him.” Jason flicked through the different visual modes on his visor, finding…. Cold moving through one of the apartment buildings. It was human shaped, but where he expected to find heat…. “Weird…. You seeing this?”

“Very weird,” Barbara agreed, tapping into his visor’s feed. “And hey, you could just…. Not tell him. You wanted a Lit degree right? Go to class, befriend him. Do some recon.” Jason knew Babs always walked the fine line between what Bruce needed to know about the rest of them and what she had to keep secret to keep helping them. He didn’t envy her position. Jason still wanted Bruce to hurt sometimes. Not as much as he used to, something about the sins of the father and all that. He just wanted Bruce to be aware that everything he had ever hoped for his boy to be was… out of both of their reaches forever.

“That sounds annoying.” He was 23. He didn’t have any interest in taking on a degree on top of his full time crime fighting and criminal empire running jobs.

“Yeah, but what other choice do you have? It’s go back to school, tell B, or wait for him to become a rogue.”

“I hate you sometimes.” He muttered, unsure of what made him suddenly so interested in that angry guy.

“Feeling’s mutual Hood,” She replied with what was definitely a fond tone. He grimaced.

—-

In the apartment, Danny was less than thrilled. That was his favorite shirt! Now not only was it covered in blood, it had a huge hole in it. His core still thrummed with the urge to fight, but he tamped it down. Slowly, as he pulled the knife out, he sealed the wound with a layer of ice, pulling his shirt off and throwing it into the bathroom sink. The knife was dropped into the kitchen sink. His keys and phone in his bedroom on the battered nightstand next to the bed.

He returned to the bathroom and turned the water on cold. He let it spray full blast before working on scrubbing the blood from his shirt. He looked up to eye himself critically in the mirror before noticing the waistband of his jeans were saturated with blood too. Damn it. He kicked off his shoes and pulled his pants off, throwing them into the now overfilled sink. The bathtub would probably be a better choice. Turning off the sink and turning on the tub Danny picked up the sopping clothes and dropped them with a wet thump into the basin of the tub. Carefully he lowered himself onto the floor, wincing at the way pain clawed through him.

He would need to actually eat food to heal from this at any reasonable speed. He thought of the two dollars he had, then the emergency stash of….he racked his brain to remember how much of the emergency cash he was left with once he got to Gotham…right. Twenty bucks…. That was all he had in the wall.

He missed the days when Sam would just throw money at him whenever his parents forgot to do things like pay rent or put food in the fridge.

As if agreeing his stomach rumbled loudly, demanding actual food to sate the expense of energy healing his injury would take. He thought about calling Sam. Seeing if she could arrange a prepaid card for him. He knew she would in a heartbeat.

Even cut off from family money she seemed to be doing better than he was. Wracking his brain, Danny thought she was working in Bludhaven as some sort of personal assistant. He wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion that came from sustaining a human body on nothing but ecto or if he had been too distracted in the moment to pay proper attention, but he couldn’t remember if that was right. Getting the blood out of his clothes he wiped at the remaining blood on his body, getting most of it off. He grabbed the clothes and turned off the water.

Slowly, Danny pushed himself to his feet. He had survived worse, multiple times. But pain never seemed to stop being painful. It lanced through his side and he almost fell back to his knees with the way it stole his breath and doubled him over. He wished he could go back to the Zone and just… wait it out. But in order to do that without drawing attention he’d need a portal. The only ones he knew of were either destroyed or…. Compromised.

Maybe he should call Vlad. Danny shook that thought away almost immediately as he realized how silly it was. Vlad spent most of his teen years antagonizing him. Besides the GIW had probably gotten to Vlad too. If he wasn’t captured he would likely be compromised. Memories of Amity Park flooded in before Danny could stop them. Of asking for help. Over and over. Of the GIW storming in and locking everything down. Of Danny frantically telling his parents, only for their eyes to dart to the kitchen before they could stop it. Of the sound of energy. The smell of his flesh burning. Of pain.

Danny forced himself to take a breath. He focused on the wet clothes in his hands. On the tiles beneath his feet. Of the too harsh fluorescents in the bathroom that buzzed. The sounds of the people above him arguing over bills and needing better jobs.

Slowly he banished the memories back where they belonged. He’d… figure it out. He had to. Somehow. For now, sleep. Danny hung up the wet clothes over the shower bar, made sure there was a towel on the floor and shuffled into the bedroom. Double checking that his alarm was set, even though his class wasn’t until early afternoon, he didn’t want to miss it, he slid into his bed and pulled the pile of blankets up over him.

Almost instantly, he was out.

—-

“B,” Jason said in lieu of a proper greeting as he stepped into the Batcave, hood tucked under his arm.

“Jason,” Bruce looked up and turned the surprised expression into something more fond. “To what do I owe the visit?”

Jason leaned against the rock. Foot braced against the wall. “I know semester’s already started, but something came up. How hard would it be to start at GU?”

Bruce stared at him for a long moment and Jason knew it was his way of trying to figure out what buttons to press. Then he tilted his head and turned back to the computer screen. “Not too hard. It is early yet. Anything I should know?”

“Babs was lonely.” It was an out and out lie, but it seemed to soften things in Bruce further, reminding him of the two children that failed him within months of each other.

“Hm.” Bruce was silent at his computer for a long moment. Convinced that was the end of the conversation, Jason tightened his grip on the helmet he had tucked under his arm. “Either way. It is a good choice. Literature?”

The comment and question rankled Jason, the thing from the pit scratching at his carefully contained emotions. Pushing for any crack. Bruce was trying he reminded himself. Too little too late, but trying.

“Yeah. Going in in the morning.”

“Should I call ahead?”

“No. I can handle it. If not I have no business being there.”

“You will do fine.” The ‘you are a Wayne’ was left unspoken.

Jason snorted. “Right. Good talk.”

“Are you staying the night?” An olive branch. Jason wanted to burn it. He tempered the impulse to a spark.

“I have my own place.”

“Your room is still yours when you want it.”

“Yeah. The room of the worst Robin in history. Pass.” Jason turned and walked stiffly back up the steps. Hearing the soft growl of Batman behind him. The start of an argument.

He considered it a victory that he didn’t run into any of his siblings or Alfred on the way out.

[meadowfics]

not your concern

the salesman x f!reader

part two to the regular

warnings: mentions of death, I used the actor's name as a placement name for the salesman (who's real name is not known or canon)

one year.  

three hundred and sixty-five days of marriage. when you had agreed to his offer, you never thought life would turn out this way. better than you expected, even. there had not been a single time when you had to think about money.

gong yoo had taken care of everything before you even had the chance to. rent? nonexistent. bills? never crossed your mind. your old habit of checking your bank balance every night before bed? unnecessary.  

your life, once dictated by numbers, debt collectors, and sleepless nights at that rundown café, had transformed into something entirely foreign. no financial stress. no work. only comfort.  

he had only one rule: never ask about his work.  

fine, you thought at the time. you had worked enough in your life, exhausted yourself in ways you never wanted to again. so you stayed out of it. no questions. no curiosity. just… existing in the life he gave you.  

in your free time, you indulged in things you had once pushed aside… painting, skincare, even sightseeing. sometimes, you spent entire afternoons in art galleries, admiring brushstrokes and colors. 

other times, you lost yourself in the quiet ritual of self-care, trying every serum, every mask, every oil you once could never afford.  

it was a strange kind of freedom. one you had to get used to.  

as a husband, he had been nothing short of great. loving, attentive, surprisingly kind. not once had he been cold or dismissive. he touched you like he cherished you, looked at you like he meant it. 

intimacy between you both was never lacking. it was fulfilling, tender, and, above all, real. he wasn’t a sugar daddy figure at all, just an older man that you’ve grown to love, just after getting the ring. 

nothing to complain about. no reason to question anything.  

until one encounter on a late afternoon. 

you remember the scent of fresh herbs and ripe fruit filling the air as you browsed through the produce store, picking out what you needed for dinner. cooking had become something you enjoyed since you no longer had to work long shifts. 

now, you had the time to make meals from scratch, experiment with recipes, and create something warm for whenever your husband returns home. it was a simple pleasure, one you never got to indulge in before. its been turning out great, since gong yoo always compliments your skill in culinary. 

you grabbed a bunch of green onions, then turned to head toward the tomatoes when—  

thud.  

"oh my… sorry! excuse me," you said instinctively, stepping back.  

the man you had bumped into didn’t move right away. he was dressed in all black, a cap pulled low over his face, obscuring most of his features. something about him made you uneasy, but he didn’t seem outright dangerous. 

still, you weren’t in the mood for small talk, so you moved to step around him.  

"wait," his voice stopped you.  

your fingers curled slightly around the plastic bag in your hand. 

"...yes?"  

"i have a question..” 

the man says, determined for an answer that you’ll say.

“go ahead?” you say in confusion. 

you hope it's not a date proposal, you’re already married to the man of your dreams. 

“do you know a man who’s always in suits? plays ddakji with strangers all around seoul? hands out cards with shapes on them afterward?"  

your heart nearly stopped.  

he was describing gong yoo.  

your husband.  

your expression remained unreadable, the years of learning to mask your emotions paying off. you blinked once before shaking your head, feigning confusion. 

"i’m sorry, i haven’t seen anyone like that before."  

you had no reason to trust this man. your loyalty was to your husband, not to some stranger lurking in a grocery store asking odd questions.  

the man hummed, tilting his head slightly, as if studying you. 

"i ask because i’m looking for him," he continued, "he’s partially responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people every year."  

the man's words were absurd. ridiculous, even. you almost wanted to scoff. sure, you didn’t know the details of your husband’s job, but murder? hundreds of people dying because of him?  

yeah, right.  

"i’m sorry, but i have no clue who you’re talking about," you said, shaking your head again, reinforcing the lie.  

the man exhaled through his nose. 

"you’re protecting him," he stated. not an accusation, just a fact.  

this time, your heart did stutter.  

he knew.  

you kept your face neutral, but the blood in your veins felt like ice. 

"you must’ve gotten the wrong person," you said smoothly, forcing out a small, apologetic smile, 

"i’m sorry, but i have to go."  

without waiting for a response, you walked to the register, casually placing your items on the counter. your fingers trembled slightly as you tapped your card, but otherwise, you kept yourself composed.  

as soon as you stepped outside, you checked, subtly, carefully, if the man was following.  

he wasn’t.  

still, the unease didn’t leave you.  

clutching the bag of produce a little tighter, you made your way home, the stranger’s words replaying in your head.

when you returned home to your sky-rise penthouse, the tension in your chest still hadn’t fully dissipated. the city lights casted soft glows along the sleek, expensive interior of your home. it was a lifestyle you had grown accustomed to, one of quiet luxury, security, and ease.  

however, placing the bag of produce on the marble kitchen island, you let out a slow breath. that encounter had shaken you more than you wanted to admit. you weren’t naive. you knew gong yoo’s work wasn’t normal. 

the idea that he was responsible for people’s deaths? that part didn’t fit or make sense.  

before you could spiral too much, the sound of the door unlocking pulled you from your thoughts.  

"y/n, sweetheart, i'm home," his familiar voice filled the space.  

you turned, greeted by the sight of your husband stepping inside. he loosened his tie as he walked toward you, the usual warmth in his expression unchanged. 

as always, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pressing a soft kiss against your temple before pulling back just enough to look at you.  

"how was your day?" he asked, brushing a strand of hair from your face.  

"fine," you replied, but your hesitation must have been obvious. he tilted his head slightly, silently prompting you to continue.  

you sighed, leaning against the counter. 

"something strange happened today. i ran into this man at the store. he asked if i knew someone who plays ddakji in subway stations and hands out cards to strangers."  

gong yoo’s expression didn’t change. not even a flicker of surprise, even though he knew exactly who you were talking about.  

seong gi-hun.

"what did you say?"  

"i told him i didn’t know anyone like that," you admitted, "but then he said he was looking for you because you’re responsible for… the deaths of hundreds of people every year."  

for a moment, there was only silence between you.  

suddenly, gong yoo exhaled lightly, a small, almost amused smile on his lips, "and do you believe him?"  

you hesitated. 

"...i don’t know. i mean, i don’t know much about what you actually do."  

he reached out, gently cupping your chin, his thumb brushing over your jawline. 

"you don’t have to. that’s not your concern."  

he said it so easily. so calmly.  

you searched his eyes for something, anything, but all you found was unwavering certainty and really, what more could you ask for?  

as long as you were comfortable, as long as you weren’t in danger, what reason did you have to dig any deeper? you had agreed to this life a long time ago, and it had given you everything you never thought you’d have.  

so, you nodded. 

"you’re right. it’s not my concern."  

he smiled, pleased with your answer, and pressed another kiss to your forehead. 

"good girl."  

just like that, the subject was closed.  

you turned back to prepping dinner, the encounter at the store already beginning to fade from your mind. 

after all, you had everything you could ever want so why question it?

masterlist

[nana-luvy]

. So I can't help with training now ?

Installment of the Mine series

warnings: fluff, playboy!Luke, fem!reader, daughter of Athena!reader, swearing

Because maybe if he tried to like what you like, things would go back to how they were.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Just as you usually did, you had chosen to lead the newbies’ training session, for the inexperienced, new campers who needed special attention, care, and most of all patience, and those were qualities you could pride yourself with. Usually, you lead this lesson with the help of a Lila, a Demeter kid who fought like an Ares one, but with a patience none of Clarisse’s siblings could ever muster to teach the youngers. Except, unlike the usual, you had to take care of the lesson by yourself this time, as Lila was apparently lying in a bed in the infirmary after an unsuccessful experiment in the greenhouse.

So there you were, setting up the practice dummies in an empty part of the field before you’d get too busy helping to actually do it, rearranging the wooden swords on the rack so they’d be ready to practice with, and eventually going over the plan you had for the lesson. As you tried a mini version of the moves to remember the small dance to teach later, you heard heavy steps coming closer, looking their way. ‘Luke, fuck no.’

“Hey, bunny.” His tone was giddy, face still harboring that flirty smile he seemed to always show whenever you were in his vicinity, like he was trying to catch a fly with displayed honey.

“Don’t call me bunny, Luke.” In comparison, your tone was dry, devoid of any of the previous sweetness you seemed to always muster whenever he was around, like your brain was reacting to his mere presence.

“Wooh, it’s too early to be harsh like that, you should really consider-”

“What are you doing here? Straight to the point please.”

His smile didn’t falter, or at most his lips slightly pursed in frustration, and he walked just a little closer, a few feet separating you both. “Well, I’m here for the training session, of course.” And his tone was as matter-of-fact as his eyes screamed mischief.

Your lips pursed as your eyes narrowed, taking Luke in for a second before deciding it was not worth it, you'd already given him way too much of your time over the course of the past months, and you were not gonna carry on with this doomed cycle. So you turned away from him, not giving him the satisfaction of a witty answer. And you silently vowed not to spare him any more thought than needed.

But as the session began, your vow quickly broke, mind working overtime to understand what the fuck Luke Castellan was doing there. From what you knew of him, and after years of pinning you knew a lot, he was one to help —of course, the sweet, always-here-to-help golden boy, the perfect counselor— but not this way. No, what he liked best was challenge. So he always lent a hand to practice with the most advanced, the most skilled of swordsmen, proving to whoever that he deserved his title as the number one, and practicing techniques on people who could at least block them, maybe even counter.

Luke liked challenge, he didn't like novice mediocrity and never-used potential. So he had absolutely no reason to be there, in the morning, teaching a bunch 10-year-olds kids who could barely hold straight up their wooden swords and looked more like scared kittens with wobbly legs when they had to fight one-another rather than actual warrior. He had no reason. Unless he did have one.

You tried to push through the whole hour and a half without giving it much attention, your look obviously avoiding him when he expected instructions on how to continue the session; yet you couldn’t help but have to shake out of it when you caught your gaze softening as you looked at Luke, with his back turned, helping a kid adjust his stance and throw a nice blow at a straw figure, high-fiving him in the process… Why did he have to be this perfect image all the time, and yet this total douche in real life ?

Deep in thought, you didn’t realize Luke had moved by now, your eyes still trained to the struggling kids, and only got startled by his presence as two large hands went to rest on your shoulder, casually massaging the tensions off your muscles. “Wow, bunny, you should stop being so anxious, doesn’t do wonders for your posture.” And maybe this was meant as a joke, a playful, mindless little quip. But oh, did it get on your nerves.

You slapped his hands away as you turned to face Luke, immediately taking a step back at the compromising proximity. “I said stop ca- ugh, whatever…” The way you ran your hand down your face exuded frustration, not even giving the courtesy of pretending. “I can’t stress it more, what are you doing here ?”

He had to give it to you, at least you kept the foul language for out of innocents’ ear shots. “What, so I can’t simply want to help with training now ?”

“No,” you immediately cut him off, mimicking the way he crossed his arms over his chest, though yours did look like twigs in comparison. “You don’t want to, you have no business here.”

“Uh, ouch ? Where does that come from ?” he questioned, eyebrows quirked in both amusement and uneasiness, under your blazing gaze. One he’d seen before, but had appreciated way much more that time.

“You don’t help youngers, Luke, you like the challenge and pride you get from training with the strongest around and beating them again and again.”

His smile twisted into an even more annoying one, if that was possible, stretching in a smug crescent as his head tilted to the side. “Wow, how do you know so much ? One would almost think you’re kinda into me.”

“Funny story for you, Castellan,” you started, pinning him in place when your gaze turned ice cold. “It wasn’t just a thought, it was a fact, and you threw your opportunity away, mkay ? Notice the use of past tense. So yes, I might know a few things, and yes, I might be inclined to throw them in your face at every occasion I get, though I hope our meetings will be scarce. That doesn’t mean anything anymore.”

You barely left one more second looking at the poor boy, his smirk long lost and morphed into a slightly slack jaw, clapping your hands together loudly to get the kids’ attention, freeing them from the session as the nymphs were soon to ring the bell for lunch.

“You know, I kinda get why you help them, it’s also pretty rewarding,” Luke chimed in from behind, apparently back from his…moment as he looked at all the young children run in direction of the cabins.

You looked at him behind your shoulder with a small smirk, before training your gaze back to the absolute chaos of a scenery stretching in front of you, straw dummies discarded on the grass, wooden swords scattered on the ground and water bottles lying there to top it off.

“You know the most rewarding thing ? Not being yelled at by the earth nymphs after a session that looks like that. Wouldn’t want to get on their bad side on your first day, would you ?” You reached for a nearby rake, shoving it in his hands. “Thanks for volunteering to clean up, Luke, that’s very nice of you ~”

Many expressions passed through the counselor’s features, contentment wasn’t one of them. But he couldn’t let an opportunity slide when he had you there.

“So when’s the next session ? I feel like I’m getting the hang of this.”

“Don’t feel pressured to come back. Actually, no…” You turned to him from a few feet away, your smile soft but your eyes devoid of any of that. “Feel pressured not to come near me, I say it with all my heart.”

“Oh, bunny…” he simply sighed, watching the small bounce in your steps as you walked away.

Second part up, everybody say yaaaaay

Hope you guys like it so far heheh <3

- Love, Nana

taglist. @cas-planet @spider-ghoul @smileysunshinesworld @mlbmarichat13

[lostbookmark]

MDNI 🔞

Main Masterlist here

Game Masterlist here

Summary: After the death of your brother and his wife. You find yourself adjusting to a new role in your life. A single parent to your teenage nephew. How do you help him heal? How do you help yourself heal? You're not sure. You don't think you can, until an annoying basketball coach enters your life and turns everything around.

Pairing: Basketball Coach Yoongi x Single Aunt F. Reader

Genre: Romance, Angst, Smut, Strangers to Lovers,

Warnings: Death Of Parents / Brother/ Family, Car Accident (Cause), Swearing, Explicit Sex, Arguments, Physical Fighting, Past Abusive Relationship, Talks Of Domestic Violence,

!WARNING! Talk of domestic violence !WARNING!

The entertainment center was lopsided. You and Nicky had spent the better part of two hours putting it together in his bedroom, and it was lopsided. Not just skewed a little to the side, but full-on lopsided and ready to fall to the floor. Nicky lifts his leg and gives the wooden mess a slight shove with his foot. You watch in horror as it rocks and completely collapses.

“I don't think we did it right,” he says, looking at the pile of wood.

“Well, they clearly messed up the directions. I mean, look, they gave us extra pieces of wood and a bunch of extra screws,” you tell him.

“We should call grandpa,” he says.

“No, absolutely not. I can do this,” you tell him. “I must have missed a step….or two….possibly three. I'll just…” you start, but the doorbell ringing through the living room stops you.

“I'll get it,” Nicky says, leaving his bedroom.

“Don't answer if it's a stranger,” you call out softly. “Unless they are selling cookies.”

Sitting on his floor, you grab the instruction manual. Going back to page one, you examine the book every which way. Where did you go wrong, and why were there so many extra parts?

“Sunshine,” your nephew says, coming back into the room.

“Maybe we were looking at it upside down,” you tell him, turning the book around. “Wait, then the words are upside down.”

“Sunshine,” he tries again, and you finally look at him. Your heart stutters. Yoongi is standing right beside him with some flowers in his hand, looking awkward and out of place amongst your mess. Nicky looks between the two of you silently before moving and taking his phone from where he had placed it earlier on his bed. “I’m going to watch tv in your room. There's a tv show about some old ladies getting catfished coming on in a few minutes. I've been wanting to see it.”

“He watches interesting things,” Yoongi says jokingly as Nicky leaves the room, but you don't say anything. Instead, you go back to looking at the manual in your hands. “I got you flowers.”

“I'm allergic,” you say, still avoiding his gaze.

“Are you really?” He asks, voice wavering in uncertainty.

“Shove them in my face and find out,” you dare him.

You throw the book down and pick up your drill. Crawling to the mess on the floor, you start to unscrew the wooden pieces from each other. Placing the screws safely off to the side, you struggle with moving some of the bigger pieces. Yoongi is at your side in an instant, taking the heavy material from you.

Damn him and his flowers.

Damn him and his help.

Damn him for making your heart feel this way.

“You're going to let me explain,” he tells you, taking the drill from your hand.

“Oh, is that so?” You sass, trying to take the drill back from him, but he won't let you as he moves the drill further from your reach.

“Yes,” he answers. “I'm going to explain, and then if you don't want anything to do with me….I'll leave. I don't want to leave, but I will,” You look at him, giving him an impatient stare. “Okay, well…..yes. Ara and I did…”

“That's enough. You can go,” you say, stopping him.

“Ara and I did have a small moment,” he continues, ignoring your attempt at stopping the conversation. “I wouldn't even call it a small moment. It was hardly anything at all.”

“I'm getting bored,” you warn him, cutting him off again.

“It lasted two weeks. She and her husband were going through a separation. My girlfriend just dumped me, and one night after practice, her husband picked Jake up. She stayed and we…”

“Spare me the details,” you snap. “I don't need to hear how you fucked her in the gym or something.”

“It meant nothing, and I wish it never happened. Her husband absolutely hates me. I get it. He thinks that it went on before the separation even happened. I know I should have told you, especially since the two of you have issues, but I thought you wouldn't want anything to do with me if I had. It was selfish of me.” He explains.

“Did he really catch you in bed with her?” You ask, turning your head to look at him. He licks his lips, biting his lower before nodding his head yes.

“Dragged me right out of there. Busted my lip,” he said.

“Good,” you say, crossing your arms.

“Don't be like this, please,” he begs. “It was in my past.”

“Is that why she runs everyone off? She doesn't want anyone to have your attention?” You ask, remembering what Mark had said to you. She always runs the new moms off. “If her husband tells her what he thinks he knows. She is going to make my life hell, and I will end up in the back of a police car for beating her ass.”

“I won't let that happen,” he promises.

“Oh, come on, Yoongi,” you say, laughing. “She wants you. She wants me gone because she wants you. She can probably smell you all over me.”

“I know she does,” he admits. “I have already told her that would never happen, and that was long before you came along. I do not want her. I can't stand her.”

“Then why keep her around?” You ask, and with that question, he finally looks defeated. “Money?”

“Doll,” he sighs.

“They are thirteen year old boys. I thought it was all learning about teamwork, but it's not. It is about rich parents throwing money around to treat others like garbage and coaches, letting it happen,” you snarl.

“Hey,” he snaps back. “I stopped that! I can't throw her out. She and Jake haven't violated anything in the handbook or our contract. Trust me, I would get rid of her if I could.”

Trust him? You barely know him, and he wants you to trust him. How the hell are you supposed to trust him? You haven't trusted anyone in years. Your fingers pinch the hem of your shirt as you look at him. Uncertainty shoots through you at the thought of trusting him. If you put your trust in him, then he holds all the cards, and that makes you nervous. Can you put your trust in him and eventually have him crush you? Although everything in you is telling you to trust him, your head is screaming at you not to do it. It was a tiring fight, but here he was, trying to fight for you. While you were trying to run, he was trying to fight for you. He was clearly the stronger one of the two of you.

Dammit!

“But I don't know how,” you admit quietly as your chin starts to wobble. Yoongi takes the chance to gather you in his arms, and you rest your head on his shoulder, surrendering to him. “I want to trust you, but I just don't know how.”

“Well,” he says,“That’s a good starting point.”

“She's the reason for the whole conflict of interest, isn't she?” You ask, pulling back to look at him, and he hums, confirming your question. “So…there weren't any other moms, right? He made it seem like you slept with them all.”

“No, absolutely not,” he assures you, pushing some hair out of your face. “It was a stupid choice that just made me miserable afterward. I told myself to stay away from the parents after that. No friendships and definitely no relationships. Then you came along and happened to be the exception to the rule.”

“I don't know….” you say uncertainingly.

“You have a past. I'm allowed to have a past too,” he tells you.

“Not with the Creature from the Black Lagoon,” you say, making him cover his mouth, trying to hide his smile.

“You told me that you don't give second chances, and here I am asking you for one. Can we start over again? I swear I have no more secrets. No one you have to worry about. We could have a fresh start. I'll get on my knees and beg If I have to,” he tells you once he gathers himself.

“What about Nicky?” You ask. “What if you get tired of him being around because he's not going anywhere. He will always come first. It's not always going to be fun and games with him. He's a moody teenager who lost his parents.”

“I know this,” Yoongi assures you. “You're a packaged deal, and I accept that. I would never force him out, and I'm not going to force my way to parent him. I'll just follow your lead.”

“Dammit, why don't you have to be so….great,” you say with a disgusted face.

“I'm…sorry?” He apologizes in confusion.

“A fresh start?” You question, and he nods his head, yes. “I guess that I can do that, but on one condition.”

“What's that?” He asks.

“Can you put together a media center?” You ask, quirking your eyebrow.

Laughing, Yoongi picks up the drill and hands you the instructions. Taking them from him, you move yourself out of the way and onto the bed. He busies himself, taking everything apart as you watch him. Maybe giving him a second chance wasn't a bad decision as you feel those tight chains start to shake and rattle. You're not ready for them to fall away yet, but maybe you'll let them loosen.

Just a little.

“I told you we didn't need grandpa,” you tell Nicky as you bring in his playstation from the living room into his bedroom.

“That's only because coach put it together,” he says as he shakes the newly put-together media center with his hand to test it.

“You can call me Yoongi as long as we are not with the team,” Yoongi tells him.

“Yea, but I like calling you coach. Maybe one day,” he says, leaving to grab the rest of his stuff.

“I think we will be just fine,” Yoongi comments as he inspects the work that he did.

“Oh, why is that?” You ask, piling up the mess on the floor.

“We put this together without fighting,” he says, like it's obvious. “That's not an easy task.”

“I didn't do shit. I just read the instructions to you,” you say laughing a little bit.

“Which is amazing because I thought you couldn't read,” he jokes and you pinch his side, laughing with him.

“Thank you for helping,” you say softly. “And … thank you for the flowers. They're beautiful. I never got flowers before. I mean, you know, other than from my dad.”

Yoongi maneuvers you to stand in front of him. Gently he cups your face, making you look at him. He studies you for a minute before nodding his head.

“You're welcome,” he says just as softly. “You know what I'm going to do? I'm going to woo you.”

“Woo me,” you look at him like he was crazy. “What century is this again?”

“I mean it,” Yoongi says, looking serious. “I'm going to date you properly.”

“I've had boyfriends,” you say. “I've been on dates.”

“But you said that they were toxic,” he reminds you. “I'm going to do this right. Show you what you have been missing. After we win our game on Saturday. Let me take you and Nicky out.”

“You're serious, aren't you?” You ask, as Nicky comes back into the room with a stack of wires and games. He tosses everything on his bed before leaving again. “You accept us as a packaged deal?”

“Very serious,” he confirms.

“Are you sure you know what you are getting yourself into?” You ask, staring up at him.

“Nope, but I'm good at thinking on my feet. I won't let you down,” he promises. “And maybe one day…. you'll let me help you carry your baggage.”

“But it's really heavy,” you warn.

“Good thing I'm stronger than I look,” he says quietly.

Yoongi pulls you into a hug as Nicky comes back in with an arm full of his things that were lying around the living room. He doesn't seem bothered by you and Yoongi in the slightest as he starts to arrange his mess onto his media center. It gave his room a little life, making it look less bleak. Maybe that's why Yoongi came into your life. Maybe he was here to make your own life look a little less bleak. He makes you want to trust him. You just hope that he has the patience of a saint because you have no idea how long learning to trust him will take. Closing your eyes, you breathe in his calming scent of laundry detergent and a hint of coffee. You'll work on it. You swear you will. After all, you think you deserve a little happiness.

“Why do I have to dress up?” Nicky asks as he pulls at the collar of his blue dress shirt.

“The email said dress shirt and tie,” you say, swatting his hands away so you could do his tie.

You giggle, looking him over. He looked so grown up in his outfit for his team dinner that they would be listening to special speakers. Where they were going to learn about the importance of teamwork and blah, blah, blah. Thankfully, Chris offered to take him tonight in exchange for helping Elly with some wedding stuff. You had quickly agreed. Nicky would have someone with him who cared about basketball, and you wouldn't have to be around the parents.

It was a win-win situation.

“Ready to go?” Your brother asks, and Niky nods, pulling at his collar one more time. “We will see you later.”

“If he hates dressing up, then he will hate his tux for the wedding,” Elly says as the two of you make yourselves comfortable on the floor, surrounded by several boxes.

“He will be fine,” you say, opening a box and pulling out personalized shot glasses one by one. “He's excited to be Chris's best man.”

“I'm glad,” she says softly as she arranges black gift boxes for you to place the shot glasses in. “Do you have a plus one yet?”

“Nicky is my plus one?” You answer like the answer was obvious.

“Absolutely not,” she disagrees. “He's leaving midway through the reception with your parents. You need a date. I figured you would ask his coach.”

“Yoongi?” You ask.

“Unless I completely misread the whole finding you bed with him and the blowjob joke at Nicky's game,” she laughs.

“It's too soon to ask him for something like that. Besides, mom….” you start.

“Your mom needs to mind her own business,” Elly says. “You're allowed to have a boyfriend, and you're allowed to bring a date to my wedding. I don't think you're going to get into too much trouble at the reception. The police station is right across the street, and the retirement community is right next to them.”

“Very funny. It would still be weird,” you argue. “You and Chris don’t even know him.”

“Yet,” she says suspiciously, and you give her a look. She smiles at you all too innocently and cuts some white ribbon to wrap around the gift boxes, acting like everything was normal. “Chris offered to go tonight so he could officially meet him without you around.”

“WHAT!” You exclaim. “I'm going to kick his ass.”

“No permanent damage, please. I need him to look good for our wedding pictures,” she comments, not taking you seriously. “He's just wanting to look out for you.” You make a disgusted noise and start placing the shot glasses into the boxes. “I know you can take care of yourself, but he feels really guilty. After Jay….”

“Don't say his name,” you say harshly at the name of your ex-boyfriend, and right away regret fills her features.

“I'm sorry,” Elly apologizes. “He told me that he was going to be a better brother to you. He was going to start to pay more attention to your life. He made a promise to himself that he wouldn't let you down again.”

“Elly,” you say, trying to crack your neck, but you never could figure out how to do it.

“I know, I know, but your brother is the love of my life and the way it haunts him…..” she pauses and looks you over. “Just let him do this if it makes him feel better.”

You dig your nails into the meat of your thighs. Distracting yourself from the memories of your past and the hurt that came along with it. You hated it when your family would bring him up. You wish they would just leave it alone. Instead of responding, you pass her a gift box and continue filling the others.

“Did you decide on an open bar or a cash bar?” You ask.

She gets the hint and doesn't continue with the conversation.

The two of you spend the next hour and a half ignoring the elephant in the room. Neither one of you mention Yoongi, dating, or your mom again. You had kept the conversation light until your front door opened and the semi tense atmosphere lifted.

“How was it?” You ask, not looking up as you try to finish tying your last few bows out of that white ribbon.

“Pretty good. We had spaghetti, and Uncle Chris dropped some all over his shirt,” Nicky says.

You wanted to laugh, but the two male voices walking into your home stopped you. Your brother with Yoongi walking right beside him seems to be in some sort of conversation. Elly has to take the gift box away from you so you don't smash it by how hard you were holding it before she looked at her fiancée.

“You did drop it all over yourself,” she said, crossing her arms. “That shirt was new. Help me pack up so I can get that soaking in the sink. Thanks for your help, Y/N. It was nice seeing you again, Yoongi.”

Yoongi nods his head politely at her.

“No problem,” you say, as you watch your brother quickly help the two of you clean up before they head for the door.

“Don't be mad,” your brother whispers when you give him a hard look.

“I'll see you at dinner tomorrow,” you reply. Elly gives you a hug on her way out, and you finally turn to Yoongi, who stood there awkwardly in the middle of your living room. “How nosy was he?”

“He wasn't,” he answers, but you don't believe him. “He apologized for our first meeting, and we just talked a bit.”

“So, you just talked about….nothing,” you say, walking closer to him, clearly not believing him.

“Pretty much,” he nods before giving you a knowing smile. “I mean, other than him telling me you were arrested once.”

“I was not arrested,” you deny, slapping him lightly on the arm.

“Skinny dipping, huh?” He smirks, pulling you closer to him by your hips.

“I was seventeen, and the cop was an asshole who had nothing better to do,” you say.

“I think he was scoping me out, but our talk wasn't that serious,” he tells you, and you bite your lower lip as you grab his tie, pulling him down to you. Pressing your lips to his, his fingers sink into flesh just under the hem of your shirt. He looked so good all dressed up. You couldn't help yourself.

“You should stay,” you whisper against his lips, trying to tempt him.

“That's probably not a good idea,” he mumbles back.

“Why?” You ask, trying to tug him closer. “I think it's a great idea. Do you have a curfew? We can be quick.”

“I'm trying to be a gentleman,” he explains.

“I don't need a gentleman,” you argue lightly.

“I think you do,” he says before he bends and captures your lips once more. Inhaling deeply, he pulls away, taking a step back from you. The newly created distance felt forced, like he didn't want to move away. “I'm going to leave before I change my mind about that quickie. I just wanted to drop in and say goodnight.”

“Are you sure I can't tempt you into staying?” You tease, and he bites his bottom lip.

“Weellll,” he presses his lips to yours once more, letting you sink into the kiss before abruptly pulling away. “Nope, I'll see you at practice. Have a good night.”

“I hope you have to take a cold shower,” you say in parting as he walks out the front door.

After he leaves, you plop on the couch, and Nicky joins you with a take out container from the night before. You look at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Didn't you just eat?” You ask.

“Yeah, but I'm hungry again,” he tells you as he shrugs his shoulders. “Uncle Chris said he thinks that coach seems like a good guy.”

“What did they talk about?” You ask, trying to get information out of him.

“I don't know,” he answers and you huff.

“You need to learn to spy,” you tell him. “I have so much to teach you.”

“I'm sure grandma would love that,” he jokes, standing up to retreat to his bedroom.

“Hey!” You exclaim. “I take offense to that.”

Crossing your arms, you stare up at the ceiling. He wasn't lying. Your mother would hate it if he turned out like you. Honestly, a part of you would hate it, too. You didn't want him to run from his feelings and be bitter over things in his past. You wanted him to be better than you. You needed him to be better than you. After all, isn't that what being a parent was all about?

“Where do you want to eat after your game tomorrow?” Your mother asks Nicky as everyone sits around the table for family dinner night. “We pass a lot of different restaurants on the way back home. We can go anywhere that you want.”

You and Nicky make eye contact from across the table, knowing that you two already had plans with Yoongi. Nicky had chosen some expensive family restaurant where they had arcade games you could play. He said he was determined to beat the high score playing Hoops, the arcade basketball game. You tried to change his mind, telling him to pick something cheaper, but Yoongi quickly cut you off, telling him that he was going to win first, challenging him. You wanted to argue. You wanted to let him know that you didn't need him spending that much money on the two of you, but it was a waste of breath. He wouldn't hear it. You were accustomed to being the one to always pay, and this made you feel guilty. It made you feel like you were taking advantage of him, and that was not the impression that you wanted to make.

“We already have plans,” you say quickly, stuffing your face with the mashed potatoes on your plate. “Maybe we can have dinner again next time.”

“What do you mean you already have plans?” She asks, focusing solely on you.

“Exactly that,” you say back. “He and I already have plans. We can have dinner next time.”

“Well, I wasn't aware of any plans,” she tells you. Your shoulders droop, and your eyes find their way to your brother and Elly, who both give you a knowing look. “What was that?”

“What?” You and Chris answer at the same time.

“That look you gave each other. What was that look?” She asks suspiciously.

“There was no look,” Chris says, lying to your mom, knowing damn well what that look meant.

“There was a look,” she argues. “Y/N, who do you have plans with?”

“Coach Min,” Nicky speaks up.

Your mother looks sharply at you as you look at your nephew with wide eyes for ratting you out. There is a lot you are going to have to teach this kid, and not ratting you out is at the top of your list.

“Which one is he?” She asks him. “The tall tattooed one? The one you called a horrible name?”

“I think he’s the blonde one,” your dad speaks up. “I think he’s the president of the program.”

“He is?” You asked, surprised by the new information. “How do you know that?”

“It's on their website,” he tells you.

Website? Damn, you really need to get your shit together and invest more of your time learning about this whole basketball thing. He was the president? Now it all makes sense why he could break a few of his own rules for you. He wasn't worried about getting in trouble because it was his damn program.

“Can I talk to you….. outside?” Your mom asks, pushing back from the table, not giving you an option to object.

Following her out to the backyard, she closes the patio door a little too harshly. Crossing her arms, she stares at you, waiting for you to explain what was going on, but you were not going to give in. Running your tongue across your teeth, you stare back at her, waiting for her to make the first move.

“Of all the men you had to go after. You had to go after one of his coaches,” she scolds.

“I didn't go after him,” you grit your teeth, denying her words. “It just happened.”

“So, what happens when this goes south?” She asks. “What happens if it ruins everything for Nicky?”

“When this goes south? Thanks for the vote of confidence,” you snap. “He's a good guy.”

Your mom laughs.

Literally laughs.

It's a very bitter laugh.

“Remember that guy that stole your bank card and completely wiped your bank account because he owed his drug dealer money. Your dad and I had to bail you out of that one by loaning you money. How about the one who had the stolen car that left you in the middle of nowhere? Your dad and I had to drive two hours in the middle of the night to come and get you with Nicky in the backseat.”

“I get it,” you say.

“We thought Jay was a good guy,” she tells you. “Look at what happened there.”

“Stop,” you tell her quietly.

“He actually fooled all of us,” she says just as quietly as you. “Then he beat you. Beat you so bad that he put you in the hospital.”

“Knock it off,” you say, tears welling in your eyes.

“Do you know what that was like? Hmmm, do you know what that was like for your little brother? Finding you on the floor of your apartment thinking you were dead. Do you know how distraught Chris was finding you like that? Trying to find your pulse while he was trying to call for help.”

“I don't want to talk about it,” you growl.

“Of course you don't,” she responds. “You never want to talk about anything. You keep everything bottled up until it all explodes. Do you know how selfish that is? That didn't just affect you! He's so scared to talk about it because he doesn’t want to upset you, but it affected him too. God damn it, I almost lost you too, and we are not allowed to talk to talk about it!”

“What is going on out here,” Chris asks, coming to stand next to you. You and your mother go quiet before quickly looking at each other.

“You know that she's seeing that coach, don't you?” Your mother asks, turning her attention to your little brother and changing the subject. He stays silent. “That's just great. It's such a good feeling when your children turn against you.”

“No one is against you,” Chris argues, in your favor. “So what? Y/N is dating Nicky's coach. It's not a big deal. She's an adult and can choose whoever she wants to date.”

“Nicky….” she starts but is cut off.

“Nicky is fine with it,” you speak up. “If he wasn't, then I would put an end to it. He likes spending time with Yoongi. It's been good for him. He seems happy.”

“You can not replace his father!” She snaps.

“No one is replacing anyone,” your brother snaps back. “Nicky needs support. Y/N needs support. He is giving that to them.”

“We support them,” she says.

“No you don't,” you butt in. “All you do is make me feel bad. All of your little comments upset him, you know? Nicky is young, but he's not stupid. He understands that you don't want him with me and he doesn't like it.”

“Well if he was placed with me in the first place, all of this could have been avoided,” she explains.

“JUST STOP ALREADY!” You scream.

“See, right there it is,” she says, crossing her arms as if she proved her earlier point.

“If you think you're such a great mom and that you can do a better job than me. Then why did you give up on me? I made some bad choices, and I'll be the first one to admit it, but where were you when I needed you the most? The long sleeves on hot summer days. The clumsy excuse to cover up the black eye. The way he would never let be alone with anyone. Why didn't you see it? Why didn't you care?” You ask calmly. She stares at you, a single tear slipping down her face. Your brother stares down at the ground. No one answers any of your questions. All you could hear was the chirping of the crickets in the evening air. It was such a calm night. “Yes you had to clean up my messes but only when it was too late. I will never let Nicky slip through the cracks like you let me. Now, you can stop throwing your little comments at me and be on our side, working together, or we can work out a visitation schedule with a lawyer because I will not be around this shit anymore.”

Quickly, you turn to go back into the house and gather your things, as you call for Nicky to gather his things before she can give you an answer. Getting into your car, you wait for him. You feel good. You feel lighter. You laid everything out there for her. If she didn't accept it, then that's on her. You were done putting her feelings first. You were moving forward. It was you and Nicky from now on.

You, Nicky and possibly…Yoongi.

And….. you were okay with that.

《CHAPTER 9》

A/N: HELP IS AVAILABLE

NATIONAL DOMESTIC VIOLENCE HOTLINE

CALL 800-799-7233

TEXT: BEGIN to 88788

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[clarkeysbedchem]

whatever happens, i’m letting it | part eleven

previous part | next part

will lenney x fem reader

summary: will falls for chris’ new assistant

masterlist | main masterlist

The pub was already busy with a low hum of chatter and cups clinking when Will walked in, trailing behind Theo and Reev. In the back of the pub, a few of the tables had already been pushed together, and filled with a mess of pint glasses and half-finished packets of crisps.

The boys were in their usual form - Cal and Chip were locked in to some unnecessarily passionate debate about something that would be irrelevant in 20 minutes, while Chris and Bach were three pints deep and attempting to get George to agree to karaoke later (he was weakly resisting). ArthurTV and Arthur Hill were swapping gossip like old women at a tea party.

Will had barely sat down when he noticed it - the slow, dangerous smile spreading across Sabina’s face from across the table.

“Oh no,” he muttered.

“Oh yes,” Liv said, sliding into the seat beside him with a cider in her hand.

Flo followed, nudging Sabina with her shoulder as they formed a sort of half-circle around Will.

Becky arrived last, plopping down across from him, taking a casual sip of her pint like she wasn’t about to go full prosecutor.

“Where is y/n tonight?” Becky asked innocently.

“Family stuff,” Will replied, glancing toward his beer, “She’s had to go back home for a few days.”

“Mm,” Sabina hummed, leaning forward on her elbows, “So you’re unsupervised.”

“That’s dangerous,” Flo added dramatically, “Who’s going to stop us from asking you all the things we’ve been dying to know?”

Will’s eyebrows rose slightly, “You lot’ve been waiting for her to leave town so you could interrogate me?”

“Of course,” Liv confirmed, “It’s called strategic timing.”

Becky put down her drink and folded her hands like she was about to deliver closing arguments in court, “Let’s begin.”

Will let out a breathy laugh, already bracing himself.

Sabina was first, “When exactly did you realise you liked her?”

Will blinked, “Straight to the heavy hitters, then?”

“Answer the question,” Flo deadpanned.

He rubbed the back of his neck letting out a breath, “I dunno.” He muttered.

“There’s not like, one moment. I knew I found her attractive the first day I saw her in the office.” He said with a small shrug before a sigh fell past his lips, “But like there’s just a bunch of small things. Like the first time I ended up at hers and we just spoke for hours about shit that had no meaning but that was okay. Or when she fell asleep on my couch halfway through whatever film she had been watching while I was catching up on emails. Or when she turned up at the office on her day off with food because she could tell I was having a bad day. Just everything she does.”

The girls melted in unison.

“Oh no,” Becky whispered, “He’s gone.”

Liv reached over to pat his hand like he was a tragic Victorian widow, “You poor thing.”

“She’s not even here and this man is in shambles,” Flo muttered, shaking her head.

Sabina narrowed her eyes, “Okay. So what is this? Are we officially calling it something? Or are we still hiding behind the ‘we’re just seeing where it goes’ line?”

Will sighed, but not in a tired way. Like it was a relief to be saying these words out loud, “We haven’t put a label on it. But it’s not casual. Not for me.”

That seemed to satisfy them, if only slightly.

Becky leaned back, sipping her drink, “Alright. Next question. How do you plan to apologise for feeding her cats McDonald's?”

Will groaned. “It was one time—”

“Twice,” Liv corrected.

“They liked it!”

Sabina looked personally offended, “They are felines, not fast food connoisseurs.”

“Scar growled at me when I tried to take the nuggets back!”

The girls broke into a wave of laughter, and somewhere nearby Chip was yelling about karaoke again. Flo composed herself just enough to ask, “Okay, real question: do you see this, you and her, going somewhere?”

Will’s answer came quicker this time, “Yeah. I really do.”

There was a beat of soft silence - the kind that only ever happens when the teasing stops and something real shows up in its place.

Will shrugged back into his seat, suddenly a little self-conscious, “It’s just easy. I didn’t expect it to be, but it is. And I feel like I’ve got more room to be myself around her than I have with anyone else.”

All four girls cooed in unison.

“Don’t,” he warned, pointing at them with a mock glare.

Sabina, of course, ignored him completely, “We approve.”

“You passed the test,” Becky added.

Liv raised her glass toward him, “To Will - certified lover boy and officially one of us by association.”

Will clinked his beer against hers, unable to stop the grin pulling at his lips, “Cheers.”

Flo narrowed her eyes as she raised her glass, “But just so you know - if you hurt her…”

“I won’t.”

“No, no, I know,” she said brightly, smiling, “Just wanted to remind you that we know your address.”

Becky nodded solemnly, “And that I know how to pick locks.”

“Duly noted.”

The rest of the night descended into typical chaos - karaoke did happen (Chris sang Taylor Swift, obviously), Chip nearly knocked over a full round of drinks , and Cal started a heated pub quiz in the corner for no reason other than competitive rage.

But even through all the noise, Will kept finding himself smiling.

Because even though she wasn’t there, she kind of was - in the way her friends talked about her, in the ridiculous stories they shared, in how fiercely they’d shown up to make sure he was worth her time.

It was past midnight when your phone buzzed against your bedside table, vibrating just loud enough to wake you from the light sleep you’d slipped into. The name on the screen made you smile instinctively: William 🩷

You answered before the second ring, voice still heavy with sleep, “Hey.”

There was a pause, then the low hum of his voice, a little slower than usual, a little warmer, “Hey you.”

You sat up slightly, shifting beneath the blanket, “Are you drunk?”

“Not drunk drunk,” he said, stretching the word in a way that made it immediately clear that yes, in fact, he was, “Just a little buzzed.”

You laughed quietly, “How was the pub?”

“As you’d expect. I think Cal tried to start a pub quiz war. Chip spilled like three pints on someone. Pretty sure Chris convinced Bach to duet Taylor Swift.”

You could hear the smile in his voice, that loose kind of happiness that only came after too many pints and good company.

“And how were my girls?” you teased.

There was a long, dramatic sigh from his end, “They grilled me.”

You gasped, “No.”

“Yes,” he groaned, “Becky started like she was opening a courtroom drama, Sabina leaned forward like some villain, Flo was too happy watching me squirm, nd Liv just sipped her drink like she was the judge waiting for a confession.”

You were creased, covering your face with your hand, “Oh my god. I told them not to.”

“It’s alright, they’re just looking out for you.”

“What did they ask you?”

Will was quiet for a second, and when he did speak, his voice was softer, more sincere, “Stuff like... when I knew I liked you. Whether I saw this going anywhere.”

You were suddenly wide awake, “And what did you say?”

He let out a small, tired laugh, the alcohol in his system making him a little loose lipped and willing to be vulnerable.

“I told them the truth. That I didn’t have one big moment - just a bunch of small ones that added up before I even noticed. And that it’s not casual for me. That I want this to go somewhere.”

“You really said that?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, “Didn’t even have to think about it.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward - it was full, warm, stretched across the miles between you like a thread pulling you closer to each other.

“I missed you tonight,” he said suddenly, voice dropping to something quieter, “Like, properly missed you.”

You blinked at the ceiling, your smile returning slow and sure, “I missed you too.”

“You should’ve seen them, though. They were like your protectors. Absolute knights in ASOS dresses.”

You laughed, brushing a hand through your hair, “But they like you.”

“They better,” he mumbled. “I fed the bloody cats.”

“They’re still mad about that,” you giggled, “Apparently chicken nuggets don’t count as a balanced diet.”

Will let out a sleepy groan, “Scar judged me. Like, visibly.”

You were both grinning now, talking nonsense in that late-night way only people who knew each other this well could. There was a pause where you thought maybe he’d fallen asleep, but then he spoke again, a little quieter, a little more honest.

“You know I’m serious about you, right?”

The words caught you off guard in the best way - simple, but real.

“Yeah,” you said, voice soft, “I know.”

“I don’t say it enough, but I like being around you. I feel better when you’re around.”

You didn’t reply right away - your throat was a little too tight to do it without your voice cracking.

“I feel the same,” you whispered finally.

He hummed, like that answer had soothed something in him, “Okay. Good.”

“Get some sleep, Will.”

“I can’t, that’s why I called you.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was already melting.

“I’m not singing you a lullaby.”

“Rude.”

But he was already quieter. You could hear the rustle of sheets, the muffled sound of him settling in. Eventually, the line went quiet apart from the soft sound of his breathing.

And there you were - on the other end of the line, a miles away, smiling like an idiot in the dark of your childhood room.

taglist: @jamiekluivert @reidyourpalms @roc-haze @whisperturnedecho @graceln4 @dopeysunflowers @super-gay-for-u @bethorwhateverr @livvymd @lilyyxoii @4ngelrealm @kiyoomology

[revelboo]

Are your shoulders tired from carrying the entire Transformers fandom right now, Rev?

Your fics are also inspiring a bunch of people?!? Nice. Love your fics, dying from the angst, but now I'm writing fluff fics while waiting for you to post hahaaha *dies*

I just started writing TF fics because I couldn’t find what I wanted to read 😆 but I’m loving that more people are starting to write stuff, too! I’ve been trying to pester a writer friend (one of the ones that convinced me to start writing TF smut originally to create a Tumblr and share her stuff, too)

Everything Is Alright Pt 107

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Your palm resting against his own, fingers lined up with his servos drives home how much smaller you are even when he’s mass displaced. How fragile. And yet you can still entrust yourself to him as he curls his other arm around you and tries to explain what he knows of how Cybertronians are sparked. How that spark can become transferred into a waiting protoform. But a hybrid spark? He has no idea if it will still work the same way. You’re so small, will the spark stay your size? Smaller than a true Cybertronian? As defenseless as you are? It’s a struggle to keep his tone calm, to pretend he’s not as scared as you are. As unsure.

• Laying your head against him as he talks, some of your tension eases at the confidence in his rasping voice. Because you really need to believe that one of you has a clue what you’re doing. And there’s still Megatron, who even though he knows you’re no pet, seems determined to force you to keep up the act and play one for his amusement. He’s dangerous. Know that, but speaking to him? You think he’s also lonely and more than a little tired. Hating that he can startle a laugh from you when he wants to, that those big hands are so gentle. That you like those rare smiles and- you like him. Stiffening in Star’s arms, you press your face against his neck, because you can’t possibly like Megatron, public enemy number one and the biggest threat to your life. “What’s wrong?” Starscream asks. What is wrong with you? You have Star and Soundwave. You’re happy with them. You can’t like Megatron, too.

• Wings flaring slightly when you don’t answer him, he takes your shoulders in his hands and pulls you back, not liking when you avoid his optics, face heating. And then hiding your face in your hands as he vents. Another weird human thing? Or something you just don’t want to talk about? Optics narrowing, he rests his helm against your forehead and waits. “It’s nothing. Really,” you murmur, head tipping to brush your mouth against his, trying to kiss away his frown. Wants to trust that, but knows you. Knows you rarely complain or ask for anything. And right now that bothers him. How can he take care of you when you won’t tell him you need something? Resting a palm against your throat before sliding it down to rest over the steady beat of your heart, his optics shutter. Grounding himself in the feel of you. Of home and hope. Won’t push, because he knows he’s terrible at this, too. But he wants to get better. To be better. For you to trust him.

• Megatron can feel Soundwave’s optics on him through the visor. Can also feel the tension in his old friend and he vents softly. “I’m not going to hurt your little human, but you’ll still bring them to me.” But what Soundwave is hinting at, proposing in veiled, cautious words? That he make his own claim upon you just to force Starscream into stopping his attempts to ursurp him is clever, because it’s tempting. And his second in command will despise it. But he knows Soundwave, knows how protective he is of his cassettes and can imagine that protective instinct extends to you as well. If you’re tied to all three of them? Shared between them? You’d be guaranteed safety. “I’ll consider it,” he adds on a growl, annoyed with himself. But when he remembers those angry eyes, the way you’d defended Starscream, arguing with him? You’d challenge him while being no real threat, a little, affectionate mate to sit at his peds while he’s on his throne. Respected and safe because you belong to him. And he remembers the way you’d looked under Soundwave. The sounds you’d made.

• Inclining his head respectfully, some of Soundwave’s tension eases. Betting on Megatron’s own loneliness. That he’ll keep demanding you be brought to him, speak with you and come to know you. Doesn’t really hope that Megatron will love you, only arranging a mating for convenience. To keep you safe whether you want it or not. Telling himself that this is necessary as Megatron strides away, but there’s a shadow of doubt in his spark. Afraid that you’ll hate him for this, won’t understand that he’s doing this all for you. For a future he’s desperate to have.

Previous

Next

[writhyv]

⋆｡°✩ [ch.2] for when you see me

Songs on the charts, sold-out shows, the kind of career most musicians dream about—everything’s perfect. But success doesn’t fill the emptiness. And then, just when you think you’ve moved on—there he is. Your past, standing in front of you like a love song you never finished.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ pairing — park jongseong x male!reader

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ word count — 1.8k

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ tags — male reader, jay x reader, estranged exes to lovers, famous singer!reader because we're built like that, is this angst? i have no clue, memories of your past together just hits hard ughhhh, jay has a new lover omg the drama-mama-mamah, you are dramatic as hell but we love you for you, you are insane to still think of him, i understand though you are in love with jay we see each other WE SEE EACH OTHER, more to come!

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ warning + notes — use of male pronouns, has some implied relationships, swear words, mentions and use of alcoholic substances, author's interpretation of the people in this fic might not reflect them irl, story update lengths may vary~

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ way back into love : the full masterlist

The whiskey still burned in your chest when you woke up. You hated the feeling of alcohol within your system, but god does it soothe your tangled mess of a head.

Sunlight stabbed through the blinds, unforgiving. You groaned, rolling onto your side, half-expecting the bed to dip under someone else’s weight. But the sheets were cold. Empty.

Just like always.

The CD player had long since shut off, but the song still looped in your skull.

You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes until colors burst behind your lids.

Pathetic.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. Leah’s name flashed across the screen, followed by a string of texts:

Leah: u alive?

Leah: also sarah says sorry abt last night. she didn’t know it was ‘that song’

Leah: …u gonna answer or am i sending mira over?

You typed back with one thumb.

You: i’m fine. don’t worry.

A lie. But what else was new?

The boxes in the corner taunted you. You’d only opened one last night, and already it felt like picking at a scab. The rest were a minefield of old playlists, ticket stubs, and the kind of photos that made your ribs ache.

You kicked the nearest one under the bed. Out of sight, out of mind.

The day was bright and bold. You set yourself up on your feet and got ready. Today is work day.

˚　　✦　　.　. 　 ˚　.　 . ★⋆.　　✦　.　　.　 ˚　.　　✦　˚ 　　 ˚　.˚

“Going to Floor 26.” The pristine elevator voice echoed around you as you got in it.

The studio was your sanctuary. Or at least, it was supposed to be.

Atlas Records had given you the space after your first album surprisingly went platinum immediately after it was released (only days before it went double.) It was a token, a ‘reward,’ they’d called it. As if the pristine soundboards, the premium tech setup and gears, and some Grade-A acoustic paneling could make up for the fact that they owned you.

You slumped into the chair, scrolling through the latest track list your producer had shoved at you: that and a mere bunch of memos from the people upstairs.

Upbeat. Radio-friendly. More of what’s working, just like last cycle.

You crumpled the stupid paper into a ball and threw it straight into the can.

"Rough night?" You almost flinched as you heard a booming voice behind you.

Mira, your manager, leaned against the doorframe, sipping a matcha latte with extra foam. Walking just enough meters beside you, she offered another cup with the same taste — your favorite.

"Something like that," you muttered, taking the cup and popping the lid off instantly. You smelled the fresh aroma, before sipping soundly.

She arched a brow. "Leah’s wedding, right? Tell me about it."

You strummed a dissonant chord on the nearby guitar. "Played ‘Wonderwall.’ The crowd loved it."

Mira didn’t laugh, sitting with her back against one of your designer chairs. "Liar liar, pants on fire."

You shrugged. "It’s in my contract. Must lie convincingly to press."

“Press!? We lived in the same roof for a year and that’s all I am to you?”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m famous.”

She groaned, taking it lightly. But then her eyes flicked to your hands—the way your fingers trembled ever so slightly against the strings.

"Who was it?" she asked, softer.

You didn’t answer. You could feel her eyes burning through your thick skull as if almost reading the contents of your brain.

She exhaled. "Take the day, hmm? Sleep it off. We can push the schedule to—"

"I’m fine." You grabbed the nearest lyric sheet, jaw tight. You sat across her in your leather chair, focusing on sorting out the busy contents of your workspace before speaking yet again. "Let’s just work. We’ve got three hours before we go, yeah?"

Mira studied you for a long moment before nodding. "Yeah.”

After taking a long winding breath, she slowly went to the door to take her leave.

“If you start crying into the microphone later, I’m charging you for ruined equipment." She retorted one last second.

“Blah blah, go do your manager things!” You smiled as you tried to throw a crumpled sheet to her.

“Alright, alright!” She shut the door gently, leaving you alone on your vices.

Right ... you were going to sing today. A lot.

When you least expected it, the skill you had fun as a hobby had already become a chore.

˚　　✦　　.　. 　 ˚　.　 . ★⋆.　　✦　.　　.　 ˚　.　　✦　˚ 　　 ˚　.˚

The neon sign outside flickered—YE OLD TAVERN—in all its peeling, ironic glory.

You hadn't set foot in this place since your university years. Back when sticky tables and cheap beer felt like an adventure, not exhaustion. Back when he was still beside you, laughing into his drink as you butchered a karaoke song.

Now, the bar was packed—word had spread about the "intimate, unplugged" tour Atlas had forced you into. Authenticity sells, they'd said. Fans eat this shit up.

You just wanted nothing but sleep.

"Five minutes," Mira muttered, nudging you toward the old stage—a vintage relic of this bar’s storied past, all with a single mic stand waiting.

The crowd was a blur of your fans; young adults like you, some adults that you remind of their youth, and a lot of younger people that definitely fit the criteria of modern fans, holding up LED signs and phone screens. You adjusted the guitar strap digging into your shoulder and forced a smile.

Your signature voice flowed through the space like a gentle autumn breeze, carrying warmth and nostalgia with every note. The raw emotion in your delivery resonated deeply with your supporters, who hung on every word and inflection.

You can definitely see it in their eyes. They were enamored by you.

Your voice filled the room with a simple kind of magic. The crowd melted into the music as you sang, each word honest and raw. This wasn't just another show - it was real, and everyone could feel it.

Then you saw him.

Blond hair, roughly swept back to the side like he'd run a hand through it one too many times. Broad shoulders under a fitted black shirt. That face—sharp, unfairly handsome, watching you with an intensity that made your fingers twitch against the strings.

Jay.

Right there. On the side of the bar area, sat on a comfy wooden stool.

Your breath caught. And his too.

He hadn't meant to come.

But then he'd seen the posters outside the tavern—your name in bold letters—and suddenly he was nineteen again, sneaking in with his new ID just to see you play again and not miss his shot.

Now, he‘s frozen as he sees you perform so whole heartedly under the might of a single incandescent light.

You looked beautiful. Real.

Not the polished version from magazines or Leah's wedding—where you'd stiffened the second Sarah requested that song. Where your voice had cracked on the chorus, raw in a way no studio could autotune.

Where he’s just able to see you again.

And now here you were, strumming the opening chords of something new—voice low, rougher than he remembered. The crowd swayed, but Jay didn't move.

Couldn't.

Not when you glanced up mid-verse, gaze snagging on his like a caught breath.

˚　　✦　　.　. 　 ˚　.　 . ★⋆.　　✦　.　　.　 ˚　.　　✦　˚ 　　 ˚　.˚

You finished the set in a daze.

No one noticed the way your hands shook. No one except him.

Backstage—if you could call a storage room with a large old leather loveseat a ‘backstage’—Mira shoved a bottle of branded distilled water into your hands. "Good crowd. Atlas'll be happy."

You didn't answer.

Mira sighed, looking at you with that same concern yet again. She knows your situation, and she feels bad being so helpless and useless to ease your pain the way you want.

She taps your shoulder and presents a light grin back at you. "Van’s out back. Avoid the fans, yeah?"

You nodded, seeing her leave the room shortly.

Until when can you stomach this feeling? This sensation? Being trapped in world you dreamed of was never in your plans, yet here you are, sitting inside your gilded cage.

As you took a deep breath, you fixed your hair and showered yourself in your favorite perfume yet again. You took a faithful step and approached the exit.

When your senses met the stench of New York’s streets opposite the alley door, Jay was already there. Leaning against the brick wall, arms crossed, like he'd been waiting for years.

"Hey," he said.

The streetlight caught the gold in his hair. God, he looked good.

"Hi." Your voice came out hoarse. You walked slowly, approaching him with some needy caution. Just for yourself.

A beat of silence passed. Then Jay pushed off the wall, stepping closer. "You killed it in there."

You scoffed. "It was a dive bar, Jay."

"Yeah. Our dive bar."

The words hung between you. Quiet, and more of that still silence.

“The dim lights suit your features.”

You shot up a glance towards Jay, hearing him say such a ridiculous thing in the middle of your self-inflicted turmoil.

You could say the same for him.

Right then, you forced yourself to look away. "Shouldn't you be with … Naomi, right?"

Jay's jaw tightened, his hands flexing against his sharp jaw. "I … wanted to see you."

Why?

You didn't ask. Couldn't possibly.

Instead, you watched as he pulled something from his pocket—a crisp white card.

PARK JONGSEONG, with some unreadable fine print at the side you couldn’t see much under the street lights. His name is embossed in sleek black and accents of regal purple.

"If you ever want to grab matcha," he said, holding it out. "No pressure."

You stared at it. Four years ago, you'd have taken it without hesitation.

Now?

"Jay," you said softly, "what about … her?"

As he opened his mouth—

Ring.

His phone lit up. As your curious eyes darted over, the name span the screen. Naomi.

Jay cursed under his breath, still not answering as he held out for your advise.

"I should—"

"Yeah." You stepped back. "I don’t mind."

He hesitated, card still extended. "Just please... think about it."

Nervous as you can be, you took the card in hesitation.

“A card, huh?” You flipped the sheet of stiff paper on your fingertips.

“Yeah.” Jay perked up his one-sided smile, genuinely happy at the gesture. You couldn’t help but smile back — it was contagious when you see Jay act that way.

“Park Jongseong … got your whole government name here too, hehe.” Jay couldn’t help but chuckle a little at that comment, and neither could you.

Then he was gone—turning by the corner—swallowed by the city lights.

You stood there, fingers clenched around his card, until Mira honked the car horn.

“Drive or bust, superstar!”

Lost in thought, his voice played like a broken record in your head.

Think about it.

As if you could do anything else.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ kai's notes — HAHAHA THE GODS HAVE GIVEN ME THE SIGN SO ITS UPDATE TIME AND OH WE'RE IN CHAPTER 2!! what is all the juice abouttt, find out next chapter~ also excited for en-chella!! GO TEAM WOOOOOO

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ story taglist — tagging @kaiyunsim @firstclassjaylee @ryes-brownies08

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ can i join the masterlist? — sure! i do frequent posts and updates so just be warned! leave a reply on any posts and i'll add ya in the future updates, much love~ 

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ way back into love : the full masterlist

[PREVIOUS CHAPTER]

my masterlist! | don't forget to reblog! | made by writhyv 💘

[kumkaniudaku]

Peace and Quiet

Summary: Terry spends a summer day with Patrice.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC (Patrice Ellis)

Word Count: 2.8K

Warnings: Mentions of Death, Blood, and Injury

The worst had come for Deidra Richmond and the Richmond family. 

Months of doctor’s visits leading to long hospital stays full of machines that beeped incessantly to taunt any who found enough courage to visit Catherine Alexander slowly devolved into a grim diagnosis, rapidly declining health, hospice care, and, finally, the end. At 75 years old, Catherine transitioned to a realm beyond the physical to suffer no more from the pain of late stage breast cancer. She passed away with her loved ones standing beside her bed, oscilating between laughter and painful wailing until the sounds became one. 

Terry watched his mother crumple into a mess of tears from the doorframe before turning away to entertain his twin sisters who couldn’t quite piece together what was happening with grandma. He could though. He knew exactly what’d happened to grandma. He’d never hug her neck again and hear his nickname, Peanut, come in her wonderful high-pitched Southern drawl. She wouldn’t make him another double chocolate cake for Thanksgiving or gift him sneakers for Christmas. All of her birthday cards were no more. Monetary gifts for good grades became relics of a time before his first dose of grief nearly knocked the wind from his lungs. Grandma was gone. 

A full day of crying and consoling two ten year olds clinging to their big brother quickly became a dizzying week full of people parading in and out of the Richmond household. Routine condolences became like nails on Terry’s mental chalkboard. Yes, he knew how much his grandma loved him. No, he didn’t know where he mother wanted the flowers. He didn’t want to be strong. He wouldn’t be okay. He just wanted to be left alone and released from walls closing in one him with every unwanted hug and request to help type the funeral program. 

Patrice offered to come over on day two. She could sense his heavy heart over the phone when he called to break the news and ask if her mom knew how to make a good potato salad because his aunt was still barred from making the dish for their family after the last debacle. 

“Yeah, she does,” Patrice answered, hoping he could hear the sympathy in her voice. “I could bring some by if you wanna taste.” 

Terry sighed and chewed the inside of his cheek. “Actually, can I come over there instead?”

He didn’t stay long for his first visit. Rosalyn offered the boy with a forlorn smile and tired eyes a healthy helping of her special dish and he picked his way through it, too sad to say anything but a quiet “thank you” and ask if she minded making more for the repast. 

“Of course, baby. Whatever you need.” Rosalyn didn’t need Patrice’s pleading to convince her. Terry was just as much one of her children as Patrice and Junior. 

Mournful silence followed the pair out to the driveway as they prepared to part ways and agree on the what time Patrice should meet at Terry’s house to accompany him to the funeral. 

He stopped short at his truck’s driver’s side and leaned against the door to face Patrice. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want, Treece. It just gonna be a bunch of people crying and actin’ like they ever came to see her when she was sick.” 

“Stop sayin’ that, TJ,” Patrice admonished. “If you’re going, I’m going. So I’ll have my mama drop me and the food off at 10, okay?” 

“Yeah.” Passing cars swept Terry’s murmured response into their cacophony of sounds. Eyes committed to counting the pebbles beneath his feet finally looked up to ask the question clawing at his throat, itching to break free. “Can I…come back tomorrow?” 

It was then, with the summer sun high in a cloudless sky, that Patrice could see the faint pink hue coloring the whites of his eyes. Tears shed in private and a burden far too heavy for a child brought to light without a word spoken between them. She didn’t draw attention to her discovery or reach out to pull his shoulders into a tight hug in the only window of unsupervised time they’d had all day. 

Instead she nodded and answered plainly. “Come here whenever you want.” 

Patrice didn’t ask either of her parents for their blessing. She didn’t consult them for permission or even alert them to Terry’s intention to use their home as his escape pod. When Rosalyn found him sulking at the kitchen table, a bowl of chips and half eaten sandwich in front of him while he stared absently into the distance, she didn’t disturb his moment of reflection. She didn’t scold Patrice for her lack of communication or tiptoe around as if she’d inherited an unwanted house guest. Leon didn’t ask questions when he found Terry dressed in all black and quietly watching Junior play video games with Patrice nowhere in sight instead of eating dinner with his extended family a neighborhood over. No one said anything when a week had passed and their bonus kid and extra sibling was still finding solace in a home free of death’s heaviness. 

Lunch had just wrapped when Terry trudged up the front steps, rang the doorbell twice to cue Patrice, and slipped into the ice cold confines of his safe space. 

“You look tired.” Patrice didn’t mince words and Terry couldn’t find it within himself to lie his way through an answer. 

He shrugged. “I was helping my mama clean up Granny’s house last night. Guess it got late.” 

“Did you sleep after that,” Patrice questioned over her shoulder as he followed her toward her bedroom.

“Kinda hard to get rest when you have two kids in your bed.” His attempt at a laugh sounded more like a bitter huff, dry and lacking the goofy joy only Patrice was privy to on a day to day. 

She followed his every move around the room while carefully propping the door open for when her mother eventually made her way back in from Mrs. Wright’s next door vegetable garden. 

The weary sigh escaping his lungs melded with slow moving, heavy legs easing his body into her favorite chair in the house. Patrice made herself comfortable at the head of her bed, allowing silence to blanket the room.

Terry let his eyes drift closed for a moment, only to open them and find a set etched with concern staring back at him. “I’m fine, Treece,” he asserted, hoping to quell any worry. “What’s the plan for today? Wanna take Junior to the skate park like we promised?” 

“I think my daddy wants y’all’s help finishing that bench swing on the back. Then maybe we get ice cream after that?” 

“Sure.” Terry’s thoughts had taken him to some far off land too secluded for even Patrice to accompany him on his journey, leaving her with a half-assed response and a friend staring blankly at the wall ahead. 

Patrice shifted in her cross-legged position before speaking. “Are you…okay, TJ?” The question felt incomplete and went entirely unanswered, but not unheard. Terry quickly glanced in Patrice’s direction but remained silent. She tried again. “If you aren’t we can talk. Or we can sit here and watch movies until my daddy gets back. It’s up to you.” 

Still nothing. Time passed painfully slow while Patrice waited for any sign that Terry might twist the lid on canned emotions and welcome her inside his head. But, he provided nothing and she didn’t press. 

Terry sat motionless, suspended in a state of paralysis, wanting to speak but not possessing an iota of strength to open his mouth and ask for help. He was drowning. Water from his tears and some of his mothers had long engulfed him a wrafthful, unyielding high tide slowly pulling him into water too deep for rescue. He wrestled with himself, desperately begging his tongue to move to no avail. 

A wavering breath steadied rising emotions as Patrice appeared to give up on any possibility of a conversation and searched her nightstand for the television remote. “No.” His voice paused Patrice’s shuffling to shift her attention across the room. Terry closed his eyes and sighed again to push the words out of his mouth. “All my days are bad. Unless I’m over here. Then it’s less bad. I know I have to be happy for Zanah and Zorah and mom and dad so they don’t have to worry about me too, but -” He paused to gather the anger bubbling inside his chest before starting a new thought. “I like being here. It’s peaceful. Cold as bitch, but still. It’s a good break.”

Patrice scooched closer to the edge of the bed to lay on her stomach and study Terry. He kept his gaze low to avoid eye contact he knew would make him cry in the presence of his own high school crush to stick past a few weeks.

“You’re dramatic about the cold. It’s hot as the Devil’s kneecaps and you worried about the cold,” she joked. Terry allowed himself the gift of laughter, chuckling along with Patrice before finding enough resolve to return her curious stare. She offered a smile that he mirrored without effort. “I can’t tell you what to do, but it might help for you to spend a little more time with your mom. I’m sure she misses having you around. Maybe y’all could figure out how to be happy together.”

An unreceptive heart and mind sorted Patrice’s lofty idea into the pile of advice Terry had labled nice but ultimately just a thing to say when someone dies. He shrugged in indifference then slid deeper into her beanbag that had all but molded itself into his body shape after days of being its only inhabitant. “Maybe. Can you find something to watch, though, Confucius?” 

Roller her eyes, Patrice mumbled a retort under her breath and turned on the TV to scroll through the channels list for something worth their while. A seemingly endless search yielded little results, leaving Terry to drift back to his private mental island. Already waning speech crept to a halt. Defenses lowered. Limbs became putty under the weight of crisp air conditioning blowing from the vent across the room.

“Wanna watch Bad Boys 2?” Patrice’s question fell on deaf ears for a spell before she looked in his direction. Her frown slowly loosened into a fond smile while she watched his chest rise and fall, mouth slightly ajar to release the beginnings of a deep snore. Tossing a pillow from her bed, Patrice sent a soft mound of down feathers to startle him awake. She snickered at the wild look on his face when he came to. “Movie or no movie TJ?” 

“Girl! Movie! I said that, right? I said movie,” he grumbled, placing the pillow behind his head and wiggling his long body until he was comfortable again. “You play so much, Treece.” 

She waved him away and selected their first feature of the afternoon. “Whatever.”

Martin Lawrence and Will Smith had at least one active viewer. The other, slumped on the floor with a bean bag chair and an orange satin pillow case as a makeshift bed, chose dreaming as the alternative to action packed comedy. Patrice resisted the jester on her shoulder recommending different ways to interrupt his rest and convince him to join her for hijinks and pointless conversation, preferring to quietly slip a throw blanket over his body, draw the curtains, and tip-toe out of the room.

Life in the Ellis household went on with Terry out cold on Patrice’s bedroom floor. Rosalyn put a snack to the side for when eventually emerged from slumber. Junior tried his hardest to keep his voice down in the bedroom just down the hall with threats on his summer freedom as a motivator. Leon, though worn ragged from a days work and ready to start his weekend with a cold beer in the backyard, delayed completing his wife’s porch swing project to allow Terry a little more time to nap. All in the home conspired together to allow the young boy with heavy burdens space and opportunity for needed rest. 

Two hours later, once the sun had started to cast orange and pink hues on the city and turned the backyard into a golden paradise, Terry appeared in the living room feeling emotionally lighter and ready to work. Patrice saw him first and offered a small wave and smile that he returned with more visible happiness than before. She was right about the nap, and when she wasn’t so hellbent on gloating in her wins one day, he’d tell her she was right about him being tired.

He gave his thanks to Mrs. Ellis for saving a sandwich for him, playfully wrestled with Junior to satisfy his need for a little boyish horseplay, then dutifully follow Mr. Ellis outside to see his joint work through to completion. 

Patrice played supervisor as she stood with her arms folded and eyes darting between Terry’s muscles contracting from the effort and various blunders from the motley crew of handymen trying and failing to hoist the bench onto its metal chain.

“Alright, lift one more time, boys. I think I got it now,” Leon instructed Terry from the top rung on his ladder. 

Terry and Junior signaled their understanding then counted down from three to brace themselves for their fourth attempt. 

Counting down from three was inexplicably confused with counting to three in Junior’s mind. Somewhere in the middle, wires were crossed, yelps of pain rang out loud enough to disturb a flock of birds perched on the nearby wooden fence, and blood from a deep gash in Terry’s hand trickled down his aching, bruised fingers. 

He hopped around the back porch grimmacing and holding his hand while Junior apologized profusely. “It’s okay,” Terry gritted through clinched teeth. “Can I get a bandaid?” 

“Oh my God,” Patrice gawked. “Terry! Come inside and sit down. Mama!”

“Son, you gon’ need more than a bandaid. Ros! Grab the kit! The boy damn near lost his hand!” 

Leon’s exaggeration nearly sent Terry into shock as he wobbled his way into the kitchen. He finally understood where Patrice got her flare for the dramatic once Rosalyn had carefully cleared away all the blood and debris to reveal an ugly but totally normal cut running the width of his palm. 

While she worked to heal his wound with gentle care, Terry’s mind drifted to his mother a few neighborhoods over and what she might do to make him feel better. He knew she’d go to great lengths to kiss away his pain and mend his body until hurt passed and all that was left was her love. She deserved as much from him. They deserved as much from each other. He had to get home. 

Down one unharmed hand and up an almost full roll of gauze wrapped around his palm, Terry walked in front of Patrice on the way to his truck, laughing at the spectacle from before. 

Terry took a gander at his new accessory and chuckled. “At least I get a couple days out of conditioning. Shoutout to Junior for that.” 

“I don’t even know why Daddy had him out there. The boy gets out of school and forgets how to count every summer. Now I can’t get any ice cream!” Their shared laughter rang out on the empty street, floating into the sunset intertwined like two pieces of a whole. “When you come back tomorrow, I’ll have some cupcakes or something for you. By then, Daddy oughta had somebody by here to hang that thing and we can sit outside.” 

Terry chewed his bottom lip before responding. “Uh…I think I’m gonna hang out with my mama tomorrow, actually. Probably go get lunch or something. You can come too, if you want.” 

“No, that’s okay. Don’t even think about me. Spend some time with your mom. It’ll be good for you two.” Patrice didn’t hesitate to quell Terry’s anxiety with a tight squeeze around his shoulders. “Drive safe, Terry. Let me know when you get home.”

Terry brought his uninjured hand to the small of Patrice’s back and pressed her closer. “I will. Love you.” 

“Yeah. Love you, too.”

Quick bursts of electric energy passed between them before becoming the very energy to repel their bodies for good. 

Terry flashed a final smile at Patrice, putting all 32 teeth on display, then climbed into the front seat to make sense of driving without his dominant hand. The loud roar of his engine and two quick honks sent signaled his departure. Patrice chose to stand in the driveway until his was out of sight, giving Terry a mental picture to cherish forever as she grew smaller in his rear view mirror. 

He smiled when she finally seemed to go inside, unaware of the heart string spooling its way into existence.

------

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[emakataken]

Part 5.B

Idea: After a chance meeting at a firefighter bar, Tommy Kinard a guarded Air Ops pilot and Buck a restless academy recruit, fall into something neither of them saw coming.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5.A

~*~*~

They lean against the hood of Tommy’s truck while they eat, watching the line shuffle forward, letting the city hum around them. There’s something peaceful in it. The kind of quiet that Buck never takes for granted.

“You’ve got, what, a month left?” Tommy asks, casually licking a streak of salsa from his thumb.

Buck nods. “Three and a half weeks. Then two weeks off before I report to my probationary house.”

Tommy doesn’t look at him right away. Just finishes his taco and tosses the wrapper into the trash can near the curb. When he turns back, he lets out a sigh and their a flicker of nerves in his gaze that finds his. “So,” he says, “how about we take a trip?”

 “A trip?”

“Yeah. I was thinking Moab,” Tommy says, casual like it’s already decided. “Mickey’s letting me borrow his plane for the week. Sal’s brother Gio owns a bunch of vacation rentals across the U.S. said he’d rent us one cheap.”

Buck blinks at him, taco halfway to his mouth. “Wait, you’re serious?”

Tommy grins. “Hell yeah. Hiking. Rafting. Maybe some ATV trails. Skydiving, if you still feel like showing off.”

There’s something in his voice, light and deliberate. Like he’s offering more than just a trip. Like he’s asking for something neither of them has said out loud.

“I was also thinking,” Tommy says slowly, “quiet desert skies. A cold beer. Just us.”

He doesn’t push, watches as the words take root. The streetlight above them flickers on, bathing Buck in flickering, golden light. It halos him, makes the bruise on his jaw look like warpaint.

Buck swallows, a little too hard. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, okay.”

They drive back with the windows down, music low, the kind that crackles like it’s playing off an old tape deck. Buck’s laughter catches in the wind. He looks loose. Unburdened. Like someone who hasn’t had to fight for this moment.

Tommy pulls up to the curb, headlights casting a long glow across the cracked driveway. The house looks even worse at night. Paint peeling. A broken porch light flickering weakly. A busted screen door rattles in the breeze.

Buck reaches for the handle. “Thanks for today.”

Tommy doesn’t answer right away. He just watches the front porch, brows slowly drawing together. There’s a shape in the shadows.

A man sits in a lawn chair just left of the steps, one boot propped up on the railing, arms folded across his chest. He’s got a cop’s haircut and a jawline sharp enough to cut someone. His gaze is locked on the truck.

Buck freezes halfway out. His face goes pale. “Fuck.”

Tommy glances at him. “Friend of yours?”

Buck’s jaw tightens. “Stay here.”

He shuts the door before Tommy can argue.

Zen stands as Buck reaches the bottom step, voice low and pissed. “What the fuck, Buckley?”

“Jesus, Zen,” Buck mutters. “You stalking me now?”

“Didn’t have to. You weren’t answering your texts. Your phone was going straight to voicemail. So I used the last address you had on file. Figured I’d find you dead or drunk. But this?” He gestures to the house, disgust curling his mouth. “This is worse.”

“Don’t start,” Buck snaps, already moving past him toward the porch.

Zen follows. “You living in a rent-share frat den with mold on the siding and a mattress on the floor. Are you fucking using?”

Buck spins. “What?”

“You heard me.” Zen’s voice sharpens, slicing through the air. “You drop off the map, stop responding to the team, cut off Ghost’s goddamn mother after she tried to send you a care package. So yeah. I have to ask.”

“I’m not using,” Buck growls.

“Then what the hell is this?” Zen gestures toward the sagging porch. “You’re a Medal of Honor recipient, Buck. And you’re sleeping ten feet from where someone OD’d last week? I talked to your landlord. Told him you were prior military. Flagged a wellness check. He said you haven’t missed rent, but you come and go at odd hours and don’t talk to anyone.”

Buck shoves a hand through his hair. “This is temporary.”

“You’ve been out here for fifteen months.”

Buck’s voice drops. “I didn’t ask for a rescue.”

Zen steps forward, eyes narrowing. “You didn’t ask for anything. You disappeared. You ghosted the only people who ever had your six.”

“Bullshit,” Buck spits. “I called Trigger. You were in D.C. A coma. I was here. Alone. And you know what he said? He told me to lose his number.”

Zen doesn’t move, but his jaw ticks like Buck just confirmed his worst suspicion.

Buck lets out a bitter laugh. “So don’t stand there pretending I’m the one who walked away. Your golden boy made it real clear I wasn’t welcome anymore. I tried to save Ghost. I did.”

The porch door creaks behind him. One of his roommates stumbles out, stinking of weed as he disappears down the street.

Zen watches him go, nose wrinkled. “You call this living?”

“I call it starting over,” Buck snaps. “I blew through my entire savings just surviving. The surgeries. The rehab. The meds. The shit I had to outsource because the VA denied me at every other turn. You know why? Because my file is so redacted I can’t even verify half of what happened.”

He takes a step forward. “I joined the academy because I had to. Because I didn’t know how to be a civilian. But I sure as hell couldn’t be a ghost.”

Zen exhales like he’s been hit. “We didn’t drop you.”

“You could’ve fooled me.”

“I was in the hospital,” Zen says, sharp. “Six months. Then another six in rehab. I only found out what happened in Ghazni from Jace, months after the fact. By then, Ghost was gone. Trigger was a mess. Everyone else was still deployed or scattered, and no one knew how to reach you. We thought…” He hesitates. “I thought you needed space.”

Buck’s expression flickers. Not enough to crumble, but it cracks something under the surface.

“I needed someone,” he says quietly. “And no one showed.”

Zen doesn’t have an answer for that. He just stands there, jaw clenched, guilt flickering in his eyes.

The truck door opens behind them, slow and deliberate. Buck tenses. Zen turns.

Tommy approaches calm, quiet. His posture reads military, steady in a way that sets off every instinct Zen has.

“You good?” Tommy asks Buck, voice low and even.

Buck nods once.

Zen’s eyes flick between them. “Who the hell are you?”

“Tommy Kinard,” he says simply. “Friend.”

Zen clocks the pause. The way Buck doesn’t correct it. The way Tommy doesn’t flinch.

“Right,” Zen says. Too sharp. “Friend.”

Buck steps in before Tommy can speak. “It’s late. You’ve said your piece. Go home, Zen.”

Zen doesn’t move. “We’re not done.”

Buck’s voice drops. “I know. We’re brothers.”

Tommy stays quiet as Zen stalks off down the sidewalk, boots crunching against broken glass.

Buck watches him go. Tommy reaches out. Just enough to rest a hand lightly between Buck’s shoulder blades. “You okay?”

Buck’s nod is more breath than motion. “Can we go?”

“Yeah,” Tommy says. “Yeah. Come on.”

They drive in silence for a while.

The city slides by strip malls with blinking neon. Empty bus stops. Busy restaurants, bars and gas stations.  As they hit their fourth red light in a row, Buck exhales. “I didn’t want you to see it like that,” he says finally. “The place. Me.”

Tommy’s hands stay steady on the wheel, but his voice is quiet when he answers. “That’s why you usually meet me.”

Buck doesn’t deny it.

The next turn comes up fast. Tommy takes it smooth and the truck hums as he speeds up. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks after a beat.

Buck lets out a breath as the truth spills out. “Because the second you knew, you’d want to fix it.”

Tommy doesn’t argue.

“And I’m not a rescue mission,” Buck adds, voice low.

Tommy doesn’t reply, not with words. Just flicks his blinker and pulls over into the nearest parking lot. He reaches out, fingers brushing lightly against the back of Buck’s neck. “I’ve seen your fight,” Tommy says quietly.

Buck finally looks at him. The tiredness is back in his eyes. Something frayed and old behind the brightness. “I’m not ashamed,” Buck says. “But I didn’t want you to look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I need saving.”

Tommy holds his gaze. “That’s not what this is.”

Tommy shifts back into drive.

Buck leans his head against the window, watching streetlights flicker past in soft intervals. There’s no tension in his shoulders now, just that quiet kind of exhaustion.

Tommy doesn’t take him back to the frat house. He doesn't take him to his own place either.

Instead, he turns onto a familiar residential street lined with citrus trees and kids’ bikes abandoned in yards.

The truck slows in front of Sal and Gina’s. The porch light is still on.

Buck frowns. “What are we doing here?”

“Gina’s making coffee,” Tommy says simply. “Sal’s been pretending not to spy on your living situation for months now.” He looks over at Buck. “You’ve got people,” he says. “Let them show up.”

The house smells like garlic bread and baby shampoo. Somewhere inside, a toddler shrieks with laughter. Gina’s in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, pouring coffee like she’s been expecting them.

“Sit,” she says, not looking up. “Sal’s putting the girls to bed.”

Buck perches on the edge of a stool. Tommy stands behind him, his hand resting against Buck’s back. Warm. Steady. Solid.

“You’re not staying in that shithole anymore,” Gina says.

Buck opens his mouth, but she cuts him off.

“Before you argue, we’ve got a garage apartment out back. It’s ugly, but it’s functional. You help us fix it up, it’s yours.”

Buck looks to Tommy then back to Gina. “You’re serious?”

Gina snorts, grabbing a stack of crayon-covered drawings from the fridge. “You think I’m letting a war hero live next to a bunch of barely-legal who throw keggers on weeknights?”

She shakes her head, thumb brushing over a child’s scribbled picture of a stick-figure firefighter looking up at a helicopter. “Please, Buckley. Between four daughters under twelve and Sal’s ‘home improvements,’ you don’t even crack my top five disasters. “Her voice softens. “We love you, kid. The girls adore you. Family helps family.”

Buck shifts, throat working. “You don’t have to do this. I don’t want to… take advantage. Or complicate things.”

Tommy sets his mug down, slower than usual. He leans forward, elbows braced on his knees. His voice is steady at first, but there’s a pause before he speaks, like he’s weighing each word. “If it were just me?” he says. “I’d ask you to move in.”

Buck’s head snaps up.

Tommy meets his gaze, but he doesn’t look at Gina. “I would. In a heartbeat.” He pauses and lets out a shaky breath. “But I don’t want to screw this up by skipping steps. What we’re building… it matters. And it’s working.”

Buck doesn’t answer right away, just watches him. His eyes are wide, uncertain and soft, and Tommy feels every inch of Gina’s presence at his back like a spotlight.

“I want you close,” Tommy says, quieter now. His voice frays at the edges, a bit shaky. “But I also want you to have space that’s yours. Somewhere safe. No strings. Somewhere you can land on your own feet.”

Buck nods slowly, understanding coiling around him. “I’m not used to people thinking that far ahead.”

Tommy huffs, the sound small. He rubs his palms against his knees, glances once quick toward the living room, then back to Buck.

“Well,” he says with a crooked, wry smile that doesn’t quite hide how much he means it, “get used to it.”

Buck lets out a quiet breath.

Tommy nudges his shoulder, just enough to bring them back to earth. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s go see what you’re working with.”