#again if you're worried that it's about you IT'S NOT- this has been going on for a while

[solxamber]

Oh Hero, My Hero || Riddle Rosehearts

You’re a villain. Riddle’s your destined hero. He wants to arrest you—you want to hold his hand. It’s love, it’s war, and honestly? You think you’re winning.

You are a villain. A rather good one, if you do say so yourself.

And you do. Often. With flair.

Not because you're arrogant—heavens, no—but because it’s important to maintain workplace morale. Your minions, bless their easily influenced hearts, thrive under positive reinforcement.

They chant your name with gusto during heists, schedule evil meetings with color-coded agendas, and once threw you a surprise “Congratulations on Burning Down That Insurance Building (For Tax Reasons)” party. You cried. It was beautiful.

Your lair is everything a villain could want: spiky towers, ominous mood lighting, and traps that range from “mild inconvenience” to “psychological evaluation required.” You’ve even installed a mechanism that drops glitter every time someone steps on the wrong tile. It’s technically not dangerous, but it is infuriating, which is honestly better.

Yes, life is good. But... something’s been missing.

You know how these stories go. For every great villain, there is a great hero. A dramatic, infuriating, righteous counterpart with impeccable hair and a moral compass that spins violently in your presence. You’ve read the lore. Studied the tropes. Ripped out pages from “The Villain’s Guide to Theatrical Longing” and taped them to your dream board.

One day, your hero will be chosen, and when they are, oh, what a pair you’ll make. You’ll clash! You’ll banter! You’ll bring balance to the world through mutually assured flirtation and destruction!

After all, that’s how it’s supposed to go, isn’t it?

It’s a slow day, which is the perfect time for a little recreational crime.

Nothing major, of course—you’re not cruel, you just think the local artifact museum has gotten far too cocky with its security system. Besides, the cursed amulet you’re currently attempting to swipe really ties together the “apocalyptic-chic” shelf in your lair.

You’re halfway through disarming the exhibit’s alarm—a very fiddly one, with far too many wires and a voice that keeps saying “You are not authorized to touch that” in an increasingly judgmental tone—when you hear it.

“Stop right there, villain!”

You pause.

Slowly, theatrically, you turn.

There, bathed in a ray of dramatic light that absolutely wasn’t there a second ago, stands a guy. No. A hero. Red hair, grey eyes, and an expression so stern it could cut glass. His hand is clenched around the hilt of his sword like he knows how to use it, and his entire posture screams “I memorized the moral code and I will recite it to you.”

You blink. Then beam. “Oh, you’re adorable. What’s your name?”

He blinks back, completely derailed. “...What?”

“Your name,” you say, stepping away from the pedestal like you’re not currently committing a felony. “I feel like we’re about to start a very meaningful rivalry and I’d rather not label you ‘that handsome one with the righteous fury.’ Although it does have a ring to it.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “Riddle,” he says eventually, in the tone of someone who isn’t sure how they ended up in this conversation and regrets all their choices. “My name is Riddle. Riddle Rosehearts.”

“Riddle,” you echo, tasting the name like fine wine. “Delightful. Very ‘divine mission meets repressed rage.’ I love it.”

He takes a step forward, clearly gearing up for a speech. You cut him off by snatching the amulet with a flourish and tucking it into your coat. “Well, Riddle, I’m afraid I have to run. Villainy doesn’t wait for anyone, you know. But don’t worry—we’ll see each other very soon.”

And then you skip away.

Like, full bounce-in-your-step, cartoon-character skipping. It’s important to commit to a bit.

Behind you, there’s a moment of silence. Then, from the museum steps, a cry of pure indignation:

“YOU CAN’T JUST LEAVE AFTER—WHAT WAS THAT?!”

You grin as the scream echoes after you.

Oh yes. He’s perfect.

It’s well past midnight when your latest act of moderately tasteful villainy concludes.

Tonight’s caper had a theme—“Revenge, but Make It Fashion”—and you’ve just successfully replaced the mayor’s wig collection with sentient moss creatures. It’s your finest work yet. You even left a calling card. It was scented.

You’re about to vanish into the night, cackling quietly to yourself and dodging a very judgmental pigeon, when a voice rings out.

“There you are!”

You freeze. Not out of fear, of course—you’re wearing your lucky boots, and they’ve never failed you. No, you freeze because you know that voice now. You like that voice. It’s the sound of divine justice and emotional constipation.

You turn around slowly, dramatically, your coat billowing like you practiced in front of a fan for hours. And there he is.

Riddle Rosehearts.

Sword drawn. Eyes ablaze. Face scrunched into that exact same scowl he always wears when you do something heinous like wink at him or breathe near museum exhibits.

“You can’t keep running away after committing these crimes!” he says, striding toward you. “I will stop you. I don’t care how clever or deranged you are—this ends now!”

You stare at him for a moment.

Then you beam. “Oh, Riddle. I knew you’d ask me out eventually.”

He halts so fast he nearly trips over a rogue bit of moss.

“What?!”

“I mean, it’s a little sudden,” you say, brushing ash off your sleeve from where something behind you may or may not still be on fire. “But if you wanted dinner, you could’ve just said so without the threats. I get it—you like a little spice in your courtship.”

“I was not—this isn’t—You replaced the city council’s water bottles with electric eels!”

“Which we can talk about over appetizers, obviously,” you say. “I’m in a bit of a rush right now—horribly mysterious deadline, secret villain society, you know the drill—but let’s make it happen tomorrow. Same restaurant I robbed last week. I’ll even pay this time, for the experience.”

“You held the maître d’ hostage with a baguette!”

“And yet the ambiance was divine, wasn’t it?” You’re already walking backward, saluting him with two fingers and an over-the-top wink. “See you at seven, Riddle! Wear something red! It brings out the fury in your eyes!”

You disappear around the corner with a twirl of your cloak.

Behind you, Riddle stands in the wreckage of your crime scene, gripping his sword in white-knuckled hands, yelling to no one:

“THAT WASN’T AN INVITATION! THIS ISN’T—YOU CAN’T JUST SCHEDULE—STOP MISINTERPRETING MY JUSTICE!!”

But you’ve already mentally penciled in the date.

You’re bringing flowers.

Riddle has made many mistakes in his life.

Eating that one suspicious tea cake in the third grade. Agreeing to babysit Ace and Deuce in his spare time. Wearing white in a rainstorm because he “checked the forecast and it said clear skies.” But nothing—nothing—compares to the existential mistake of actually showing up to the dinner you invited him to after literally committing a crime in front of him.

He sits at the candlelit table of the very restaurant you robbed last week—still functioning, somehow—and wonders what exactly is wrong with him.

Maybe the goddess is testing him. Maybe this is a deeply specific curse. Maybe he’s sleep-deprived and hallucinating a date with a criminal.

And then you walk in.

You walk in, with all the confidence of a person who thinks “arrest warrant” is a love language. You're wearing something entirely too dramatic for the venue, looking like you just strolled out of a villain-themed opera. And in your hands—dear, blessed heavens—are flowers.

You walk right up to him and smile like this is the most natural thing in the world. “For you,” you say, handing over the bouquet.

He stares.

Then, slowly, like someone defusing a bomb, he takes the flowers.

“What…” he begins, clearly unsure what part of this situation he wants to question first. “What is this?”

“A date!” you say cheerfully, sitting across from him. “You asked so sweetly last night. Shouting. Sword waving. Very romantic.”

“I was threatening to arrest you.”

“Yes, yes, and now we’re here.” You unfold your napkin. “Funny how life works.”

He sits there, holding the flowers like they might explode, lips slightly parted in sheer bafflement. And yet—yet—he doesn’t leave.

Dinner is, despite his eternal internal screaming, pleasant. The food is good, you don’t commit any crimes at the table (an honest effort on your part), and Riddle slowly transitions from vibrating with rage to… a sort of confused civility. He even joins in when you mock the restaurant’s ridiculous chandelier that looks like someone turned a jellyfish into a war crime.

At the end of the night, you walk out together. You stop just outside the restaurant, turn to him, and lean in without a word to kiss him lightly on the cheek.

He freezes.

“See you next crime night,” you whisper, grinning, before vanishing into the shadows with the speed and flair of someone who definitely practices this.

Riddle remains there, completely still, blushing down to his collarbones and clutching the flowers like they hold answers.

“…Why,” he whispers to the empty street. “Why was that… actually nice?”

The flowers don’t respond.

They do smell great, though.

The next time Riddle corners you, it’s on a rooftop because of course it is. Villainy is fifty percent dramatic elevation, thirty percent elaborate monologuing, ten percent jazz hands, and the rest is tasteful crime, of course. You’re perched on the ledge like a gargoyle with better cheekbones, admiring the mess below.

Tonight’s crime was “turn the city’s water supply into champagne” and honestly? You think the bubbles give the infrastructure a certain je ne sais quoi.

Then, behind you, boots clack ominously.

“Villain!”

You turn and there he is. Riddle. Divine wrath incarnate. Red cloak billowing, sword strapped to his back, expression locked in that righteous fury that just screams “I rehearsed this in the mirror and accidentally made eye contact with myself too long.”

He’s prepared this time. You can see it in his eyes.

He’s convinced he's not going to fall for your charms again.

He takes a step forward, inhales, and begins reciting something clearly not written by him.

“By decree of the Goddess, I will bring your reign to an end. I will dismantle your corruption, tear your empire apart piece by piece until—”

You gasp. Loudly. Dramatically. Theatrically.

“First dinner,” you say, hand to chest, “and now you want to tear me apart? Hero, you’re bold.”

He physically chokes.

“What—NO—THAT ISN’T—”

“I mean, I like to take things slow, personally,” you continue, swanning over like you’re not actively the reason five neighborhoods are flooded with sparkling rosé. “I’m a little old-fashioned. Maybe court me a bit before the dismemberment, hmm?”

He makes a sound like a kettle reaching a full boil.

“I am not trying to court you! I’m trying to arrest you!”

You lean in just slightly, grin widening. “Sure. Arrest my heart, maybe.”

His eye twitches. He opens his mouth. Then closes it. Then opens it again. Then makes a weird little squeak and visibly blue-screens.

And just to finish him off, you pluck a rose—where did it come from??—out of literally nowhere, and step close enough to tuck it behind his ear like you're in a telenovela and this is your third scandal of the episode.

“There,” you murmur. “You get prettier every time we meet.”

You hop onto the edge of the building, cape fluttering. “See you next crime night, sweetheart!”

And you leap.

Not fall.

Leap. Like an Olympic gymnast with zero regard for city ordinances.

Riddle stands there for a solid thirty seconds, completely motionless, as his brain tries to recalibrate from “heroic justice” to “accidentally seduced again by a chaotic menace with an infuriatingly cute smile.”

The rose is still in his hair.

He stares into the night.

Somewhere far away, the Goddess laughs into her wine.

It’s been a long week. You deserve a break.

You’ve committed three heists, sabotaged a bridge (a small one, you’re not a monster), and orchestrated a flash mob in the bank lobby purely for dramatic effect. The mayor’s still recovering. Your minions are thrilled. You’ve earned this.

So tonight, you do what any self-respecting supervillain does on their off-night: wear your pajamas backwards and binge the local news while eating cake with a fork in each hand.

And then—there he is.

Hero of the People. Bringer of Justice. Riddle Freaking Rosehearts.

You squeal, legs kicking in the air like you’re fifteen and he’s the lead singer of a boy band.

The news anchor looks mildly afraid as they gesture at Riddle, who is standing in front of a smoking crater you may or may not have caused because someone at City Hall called you a rascal.

“Hero Rosehearts,” the anchor says, “any words for the villains of the city?”

Riddle takes a breath. Looks directly into the camera like he’s about to propose to a jar of moral purity. He radiates the energy of a substitute teacher on the verge of snapping.

“I will find them,” he says, calm but filled with unholy fury. “And I will bring them to justice. They can’t hide behind glitter bombs and confusing innuendos forever.”

You gasp, hand to chest, cake forgotten.

“He remembers my glitter bombs,” you whisper, soft and touched.

Twenty minutes later, at Hero HQ:

Trey opens the door expecting takeout.

Instead, he’s greeted by a florist holding the largest bouquet of roses, peacock feathers, and hand-folded origami doves anyone’s ever seen. The card dangles off it like it’s trying to escape.

“Uh… Riddle?” he calls, carefully dragging it inside.

Riddle appears in the hallway, looking like he hasn’t slept since your last rooftop encounter. “What now—”

He sees the bouquet.

He sees the card.

He reads the card.

"Can’t wait! You always know how to make a villain feel so special. ~Yours in mild but persistent crime"

There’s a doodle of him in the corner. Blushing. In your handwriting. With little sparkles. And dramatic shading. His cape is glorious.

Cater walks in, sees the scene, and drops his phone from laughing so hard.

“They SENT YOU FAN ART. You’ve got a criminal parasocial relationship.”

“This is not a relationship,” Riddle hisses, clutching the card like it personally offended his lineage. “This is TERRORISM. Emotional terrorism.”

“Aw,” Trey says, examining the bouquet. “They even matched your color palette. That’s considerate.”

“I’m filing a formal divine complaint,” Riddle mutters, turning on his heel. “The goddess lied to me. She said I was chosen for righteousness, not romantic sabotage.”

Cater wheezes. “Bet you five madols they send you a mixtape next.”

Meanwhile, back in your lair, you’re gluing rhinestones to a brick with “To: My favorite nemesis” scrawled on it in glitter glue.

You hum a little tune and smile to yourself.

Love is war.

And you’re winning.

There was a time—not long ago—when Supervillain Group Night™ filled you with a certain kind of existential emptiness.

Everyone else would be lounging around in their aesthetic-themed lairs, attending the secret network meeting (there’s a schedule, a calendar, a monthly tea sampler, and a surprisingly active Discord), trading stories about their latest dramatic rooftop clashes and high-stakes battles with their assigned heroic rivals.

And then there was you.

“Oh, no hero for me yet,” you’d say, sipping your drink with forced casualness. “Still waiting on fate. The divine matchmaker’s probably just backlogged, y’know?”

“Backlogged for three years?” muttered Villain A whose hero punched him into a canal weekly.

But now?

Now the universe has finally answered your prayers.

Riddle Rosehearts: Chosen by the Goddess. The embodiment of law, order, and unyielding justice. Blushes like a strawberry when you wink at him. You love him. (Professionally.)

You beam as you drop into your villain lounge chair, already mid-rant during today’s check-in.

“—and then he said I’d be brought to justice, again, like it wasn’t the most romantic thing ever. And when I said, ‘careful, darling, you’re gonna make a villain swoon,’ he made this noise like a kettle about to explode. Isn’t he the cutest?!”

The others stare.

Villain B sips her wine. “Did you just say darling?”

“Several times. Also ‘beloved symbol of righteousness.’ I was feeling poetic.”

Someone coughs.

And then, as if summoned by the sheer force of your yearning, he appears.

The wall to your hideout blasts open (you just had it repainted), and there he is—Riddle, in full dramatic hero mode, hair windswept, cape fluttering, eyes narrowed like he’s about to smite you for jaywalking.

“You’re under arrest,” he snaps, stepping inside like a one-man apocalypse.

You stand immediately. “My hero!”

Riddle visibly stutters. “Th-that is—you can’t just—” He yanks out the handcuffs like they insulted his ancestors. “You’re under arrest!”

You practically glow. “Oh, you brought cuffs? You always know just what I like.”

There is a horrified choking noise from him. A villain drops her wine in disbelief.

“I came here to detain you, not—!”

“Flatter me in front of my colleagues?” You shoot the others a smug grin. “Isn’t he great? He always shows up right when I’m talking about him. It’s, like, our thing.”

“You’re being arrested,” he says, and it sounds like he’s begging the gods to smite him then and there. He slaps the cuffs on, ears glowing red. “Stop making this sound like a date!”

You gasp as he starts dragging you toward the exit. “You admit it’s not just in my head?”

He trips.

The council of villains erupts into chaos. Someone’s filming.

“You’re so shy,” you coo, utterly delighted. “Save that for the interrogation room, sweetheart.”

He lets out a noise of pure pain and kicks the broken wall on his way out.

By the time you arrive at the holding cell, you're still in full chatter mode.

“—so anyway, I know you usually interrogate me in the serious room with the chair and the threatening spotlight, but I brought snacks this time. I thought we could do something a little more casual? Maybe get to know each other. Or maybe you could, I don’t know…” You lean in. “Search me for more secrets.”

Riddle looks like he’s five seconds away from yelling objection in a court that does not exist.

“I SWEAR, THIS ISN’T—THIS IS NOT—”

You smile as he slams the door of the room shut behind him.

You know what this is?

Bonding.

The interrogation room is silent.

Riddle sits across from you, arms crossed, face neutral, expression studiously blank—the expression of a man who has taken a fifteen-minute breathing break in a broom closet just to convince himself that you are not, in fact, flirting with him on purpose.

That this is a job. That he is a hero. That he is not involved in the slowest and most emotionally confusing courtship ever orchestrated by a criminal lunatic with glitter glue and a god complex.

You are currently lounging in your chair like it’s a chaise at a five-star spa. Legs crossed. Elbows on the armrest. Not a care in the world.

“Do you understand,” he begins, calm and practiced, “that breaking into the mayor’s garden, kidnapping his prize-winning koi, and replacing them with rubber ducks is an act of terrorism?”

You nod solemnly. “Some crimes are worth committing for justice.”

He stares.

You blink innocently.

There’s a pause where he very obviously chooses not to ask what you did with the koi.

Instead, he sits forward slightly. “This isn’t a game, you know. This is an official interrogation.”

“Oh, I know.” You look around, squinting slightly at the cheap fluorescents above you. “But I have to say, this is… the most intimate lighting you’ve ever used. Are you trying to seduce me?”

Riddle blinks.

Hard.

“These are standard government-issued bulbs.”

“Exactly,” you say softly. “You remembered I like minimalism.”

He opens his mouth. Then closes it. Then opens it again like his internal OS just crashed and is trying to reboot from safe mode.

There’s a solid ten seconds of silence where the entire city’s justice system hinges on whether he can form a sentence.

And then—

BOOM.

The side wall explodes. A cloud of smoke and glitter (your signature mix) floods the room as three of your minions rappel in through the hole like synchronized ballerinas with grappling hooks and vibes.

“Boss!” one of them shouts. “We got your emergency sparkle-signal!”

You beam. “Aw, you noticed! I made it red this time.”

“Very flattering!”

Riddle—coughing through the smoke—lunges out of his chair, but one of the minions is already rolling a smoke bomb under the table. Chaos erupts.

In the middle of it all, you stroll up to him, utterly unbothered, and gently kiss him on the cheek.

He freezes.

Like a startled cat.

“I had a lovely time,” you whisper. “You should come by again. Next time I’ll make tea.”

And with that, you're hoisted into the air by glitter-stained ropes, cackling into the night like a Disney villain.

Riddle stays there, motionless, as confetti slowly drifts down around him. One of the doves from your last bouquet flies through the hole and lands on his shoulder like punctuation.

He stands there.

Still.

Blank.

“…I hate my life,” he mutters.

The dove coos sympathetically.

It’s supposed to be your crime night.

Riddle knows your schedule better than he knows his own. Mondays are for mail fraud (the glitter kind, not the dangerous kind—unless you count eye injuries), Wednesdays are for elaborate museum heists that end in interpretive dance, and Fridays, like tonight, are for whatever ungodly act of chaos your whimsy drags into the world.

Once, it was robbing the city’s largest jewelry store and replacing everything with candy rings. Another time it was just—you, standing on a rooftop at midnight, holding up a sign that read “my hero is cute” while fireworks spelled out his name.

And now? Nothing.

No alarms. No sparkle-smoke clouds. No explosive streamers. Not even a vague threatening note written in calligraphy and sealed with your signature wax stamp of a raccoon in a crown.

The silence is... disturbing.

He lasts three hours. Which is already two hours and fifty-nine minutes longer than he’s proud of.

Finally—against every rule, regulation, and speck of dignity he possesses—Riddle storms over to your lair.

He expects traps. He expects overly enthusiastic minions. He expects you, standing at the top of a dramatic staircase with a glass of something suspicious and a cloak that flows unnaturally in the wind.

What he gets is chaos.

Not the usual kind. This is frantic. Your minions are sprinting through the halls, panicked and yelling over each other, their coordinated outfits undone, glitter smeared across their faces like war paint. One of them is crying into a smoke bomb.

Riddle doesn’t yell at them.

He should.

But something in him twists. Something cold.

And then he sees you.

You’re slumped against a sofa—barely upright, pale, one hand clutched to your stomach where blood is steadily soaking through your otherwise very stylish outfit. Your cape is torn. Your usual cocky smirk is weak and trembling at the corners. And when you see him, your eyes light up.

“Hey, hero,” you mumble, giving a little wave before flinching. “I'm a little late for our date, huh?”

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t think. He crosses the room in three strides, falling to his knees beside you and pulling open his bag with shaking hands.

“You’re bleeding,” he snaps, already pressing gauze to your side. “Why in the world didn’t your minions call for help?! Why aren’t you in a hospital?! Why are you always like this?!”

“You came,” you whisper, a little loopy. “Awww. I must’ve made an impression.”

He presses harder than necessary.

“Who did this?” His voice drops an octave—low and dangerous in a way that makes half the room go silent.

You tilt your head lazily. “New hero. Caught me off guard. It’s rude, right? Jumping into someone else's love story…”

His hands pause.

Then tremble.

“You reckless imbecile!” he shouts. “You’re—! You’re a top-tier villain! A menace! A disaster with a good tailor! How could you let some random newbie hurt you?!”

You blink slowly. “...Awwww. You think I’m a good villain?”

“I think you’re my villain!” he snaps, ears red, not even noticing what he’s said until your smile returns in full, dazed brilliance. “I mean—! To vanquish! To arrest! You are mine to defeat, not to be taken down by some amateur with no style and worse morals!”

“Jealousy looks good on you.”

He presses the last of the bandages down with a huff and shoves his supplies back into his bag with unnecessary force. Then he stands. Straightens his coat. Brushes glitter off his sleeve in a futile display of dignity.

“I’ll… return for your proper arrest when you’re not on death’s doorstep,” he mutters, turning away, “and when your entire organization isn’t crying into each other’s capes.”

One of your minions sniffles louder.

You reach out and grab his hand weakly.

“I’ll be good next time,” you say, tone teasing despite the wince. “But don’t wait too long, or someone else might steal me away again.”

He yanks his hand back like it burned him. “Tch. As if.”

And then he leaves, stomping out of your lair with his face red and his heart doing something very not hero-like.

Later that night, he has to explain to Trey and Cater why he’s muttering “mine to arrest” into his tea while clutching a stress ball.

You’re halfway through dramatically pretending to die of soup poisoning just to get Riddle to feed you by hand—when you notice he hasn’t even touched his own bowl.

He’s just watching you.

Not in the normal “I’m here to arrest you when you’re no longer half-stitched up” way, but in the “if I blink, you might vanish and I will spiral emotionally” way.

His spoon sits untouched, his posture rigid, and his pretty grey eyes flicker with something that looks like... worry. The kind of worry that makes your stomach do strange fluttery things unrelated to the stab wound.

“I’m not going to drop dead in front of you, hero,” you say lightly, swiping the last bit of soup from your bowl. “Unless you like the drama. You do keep showing up when I’m bleeding—are you into that?”

He ignores your comment. Tries to.

“I just need to make sure you’ll be fine,” he says stiffly. “So that I can arrest you properly. That’s the only reason I’m here. This is not... a social visit.”

“Of course not.” You grin, tilting your head. “And the soup?”

“For strength.”

“And the way you’re looking at me like I’ll evaporate?”

“For strategy.”

You reach out and take his hand.

He doesn’t pull away.

Instead, he leans in.

And so do you.

And then you kiss him.

It’s soft at first. Shockingly tender. And then—desperation. Like he’s been holding back this whole time. Like he’s trying to memorize the taste of rebellion and regret. Your hand cups his jaw, and his own fists relax against your lap, and you’re about to pull him in for round two—

And then: knock knock.

Riddle practically falls off your couch.

You, still bleeding slightly but never off-brand, stand and open the door like you’ve just invited the Girl Scouts over.

But no. It’s not Girl Scouts.

It’s the Goddess.

She’s glowing, slightly levitating, and wearing the expression of someone who has just crushed a celestial bet and can’t wait to gloat about it for the next few centuries. You can feel the divine smugness radiating off her in waves. Like sunshine. But condescending.

“Hi sweetie,” she says, casually leaning against your doorframe like she owns the multiverse. Which, in fairness, she kind of does. “Riddle. Looking radiant, darling.”

Riddle straightens like a soldier under inspection. “G-Goddess—I—I can explain—!”

“Oh no no, don’t you dare ruin this for me.” She waves her hand. “You’re adorable. That rooftop scene? The rose in the hair? Chef’s kiss.”

Riddle looks like he’s about to either combust or faint.

You lean against the doorframe next to her. “So... how many gods owe you favors now?”

She grins with teeth. “Twelve. And a demi-god promised to name their firstborn after me. Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited to win a Hero/Villain Rom-Com Wager?”

Riddle opens his mouth, probably to say something about sacred duties and moral responsibilities, but she steamrolls right over it.

“Oh, and by the way, keep doing exactly what you’re doing. Follow your heart, chase your destiny, snuggle your villain, whatever. The others bet you'd smite them in the name of justice. Fools.” She turns to you and wiggles her fingers. “You’re my favorite now. Don't tell the others. Or do. Stir the pot.”

Then, with the daintiest wave imaginable, she disappears in a puff of divine light.

Riddle just... stands there.

Staring.

Processing.

Reevaluating his life’s entire moral framework in real time.

You close the door gently and turn back to him.

“So,” you say cheerfully, plopping back on the couch like this is your usual weekday, “I’m thinking spring wedding. Maybe late summer, depending on your heroic arrest schedule. Also—do you mind if our honeymoon includes some light tax fraud?”

He opens and closes his mouth like a goldfish. “W-what—no—this isn’t—this is not how any of this is supposed to go—!”

“But the soup was good, right?” You lean closer. “And the kiss?”

“I—I—yes!” he snaps, blushing furiously. “But that’s not the point! I was supposed to bring you to justice, not fall victim to your—your criminal charisma!”

You boop his nose.

He freezes.

“I don’t see why you can’t do both,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious solution in the world. “Be my spouse and my nemesis. I believe in multitasking.”

“I’m going to lose my knighthood.”

“You’re going to gain a very fashionable set of matching his-and-theirs balaclavas,” you purr, tucking yourself under his arm. “So when do we start planning the cake? Is koi-flavored too on-the-nose?”

Riddle sinks down beside you with the exhausted sigh of a man who knows he's doomed—and is weirdly fine with it.

“I regret everything,” he mumbles.

You kiss his cheek.

“You regret nothing.”

And he really doesn’t.

This is just your life now.

Sometimes you commit crimes.

Sometimes Riddle comes to stop you.

It’s a rhythm, really. A delightful little dance. He shows up, flinging spells and citing laws with the righteous fury of someone who still hasn’t fully accepted that his archnemesis steals art mostly for aesthetic purposes.

You flirt. He gets flustered. You escape. He grumbles. You leave a note on his office windowsill with a pressed flower and a coupon for couple’s therapy “just in case.

And then you both go home.

Because home is shared now. With one (1) moral hero, one (1) incurable criminal, and an alarming number of cat-shaped throw pillows neither of you remembers buying.

Tonight, you’re in the kitchen, valiantly attempting to bake a cake. The counter looks like a flour-based war crime. The batter has suspiciously purple streaks. Riddle stands in the doorway watching you, eyebrows slowly crawling up his forehead as you hum tunelessly and pour the batter into a pan shaped like a skull.

"Is that... supposed to be edible?"

You turn around with the expression of someone who absolutely believes they’re on The Great Baking Showdown of Doom. “It's lavender and love flavored! For you.”

He blinks. "I’m... honored. Deeply concerned. But honored."

And he is concerned. He’s concerned a lot. He still doesn’t understand half of what happens in his own life now. Like why the city keeps thanking him for “finally putting a leash on that criminal menace,” even though he's very clearly the one being led around by the hand.

Or how his arrest quota has somehow increased since dating you. Or why the Goddess keeps sending him anniversary cards. (“Keep being cute, my power couple! XOXO—The Divine Matchmaker.���)

But then he looks at you.

Standing there in an apron that says “Kiss the Villain,” with flour in your hair and cake batter on your cheek and the biggest, most ridiculous grin on your face. Like you just won a gold medal in chaos.

And he realizes—he doesn’t even care anymore.

He’s in love. Horribly, irrevocably in love.

With you.

And that makes all the sense in the world.

“Fine,” he sighs, walking in to wipe a smudge of frosting off your nose. “But if this cake kills me, I’m haunting you.”

“Promise?” you ask, eyes twinkling.

He kisses your cheek. “Unfortunately.”

And honestly?

It’s perfect.

Masterlist

[erwinsvow]

thinking about night shift reader getting jealous when a pretty temp nurse or patient won’t stop flirting with jack

YESYESYES!!🤭 i need that imagine him trying to convince her/ console her and she’s actually so jealous and mad w him

the squeal heard around the world. i loved writing this. i am soo sorry i am terrible at writing about the girl we are supposed to be jealous of, even though this was my own damn idea. i hope you like ♡ this is about 3.6k. oops

jack abbot is great at being your boyfriend, and he's even better at being a doctor.

he's the kind of boyfriend you spent all of your youth dreaming about, as though he had read the scribbles in your journals growing up, like he'd been right next to your friends when you'd tell them about what you want in a relationship.

sweet, devoted, caring. he takes care of you in ways that you didn't realize you needed to be cared for—does it so effortlessly that you're left wondering how it comes so easily to him. you know he's been in more relationships than you—he was married, and that is something you don't take lightly. he had already found the person he was going to spend forever with, and because of some cruel twist of fate, he ended up alone again.

you can't imagine that. you've been on the night-shift maybe six months, which means you've been official with jack for coming on four months now, and you can't even imagine what a single day without him would be like.

(you've experienced it in the broadest sense of the word—he once got called in at three in the afternoon on a day you both had gotten off. the two of you had only woken up an hour or two ago, and had spent the following time indulging in an afternoon delight, and when his phone went off, you were about to drift off to sleep again against his chest, to the sound of his heart. you still hold a grudge against shen for that day, and you know what it's like to be without him when you're so spoiled by what it's like to be with him—you were miserable until he came back home at ten that night.)

jack abbot is a great boyfriend. he surprises you with your favorite flowers, makes you breakfast because he worries about you not eating enough, and even though he's an old man, he replies to your texts as soon as he gets them, as soon as he can. (but he doesn't really need to, since you're always together anyways.)

but sometimes, your boyfriend is really fucking oblivious.

there's a travel nurse taking over for one of your favorite night-shift nurses' maternity leave. you were sad about it already, being without her, though it's hard to stay upset when she sends you photos of her cute baby napping and videos of him realizing he has fingers.

and you are nothing if not sweet, if not welcoming. you had been the newbie not that long ago, and even though you've settled into a great routine (that only partially includes jack, because despite the fact that the scheduler loves you, you don't get every shift with your boyfriend. that would just be wrong. and distracting, you think), you still remember how hard it was in the beginning.

so you beam at her with your smile, ask her about her hobbies and give her recommendations for the best coffee nearby. you do all the things you'd do if it was anyone else, trying to make sure she feels welcome. (jack told you once that you have a complex about making sure people like you. you told him to shut up.)

the first few shifts with her were fine. you've been on with shen and ellis for a week—that's just the way the schedule was. you and jack both have a golden weekend coming up soon, and there was another couple of days he took off to go visit his sister upstate, so you knew it would be a mildly sad few weeks without him there every night with you. it would be worth it for the forty-eight hours you had been daydreaming about, all of them in jack's apartment, not a single one outside of his bed.

but she'd been on with you every night you'd been there, and nurses only work three times a week—that's what's running through your head when jack comes in for his first shift this week with you. he'd come from his apartment, calling you to tell you that he'd made it back home safely and that he was going to sleep before heading in. you had ended the call securing a promise to get breakfast at the diner after tonight's shift, your usual routine.

but you feel sick to your stomach at eight-thirty, staring at the new nurse and your boyfriend, standing in front of a patient's bed.

jack looks good—he always looks good. his hair isn't as messy yet, his scrubs are still clean. he shifts his weight a little because he's had a long drive back from his sister's, and he didn't get to sleep that much, another reason why you are so excited for this empty weekend. were so excited.

you didn't even think you were the jealous type. how could you have known—with no one ever being so close to you that you had any reason to be jealous? you try to rack your head through a couple of first-dates and your sweet but boring short-term college boyfriend. no, you conclude, you've never been the jealous type.

except now, you suppose, watching the pretty nurse lean in a little too close to jack, showing him something on the tablet in her hands. she stares up at your boyfriend, and he stares at the tablet, and then the patient, and you stare at them. and then you see it—he looks at her and stays something, and she laughs. loudly, flirtatiously. you know that laugh, you see it all around you in a hospital full of flirts. and before either of them can catch you staring, you turn around and find a patient to take care of.

you tell yourself for the next thirty minutes that being jealous and getting angry is awfully immature of you, while stitching up a man with terrible knife skills who had secured his visit tonight during a failed attempt at making hibachi for dinner. you don't even hear him when he asks you when he should return to get the stitches out, and the nurse helping you looks at you in confusion. you never zone out while talking to patients, never leave them hanging. she fills in for you, telling him two weeks while you meander back to central.

and you feel a white hot ball of anger burning in your chest again. she's talking to him again. god—don't they both have jobs to do? she's doing the thing again, leaning in towards your boyfriend, looking at him with an expression that is entirely too familiar to you. it's the one that's constantly on your face—the one that the other night shift crew are probably sick of seeing by now. it's something like adoration and reverence and paying attention to every word he says so you don't miss anything. but hers isn't like yours, there's something else there too.

jack is talking to the patient now, taking a step closer to the bed and away from the nurse, and your thudding heart calms down for half a second before the nurse follows right behind him. and she touches his arm. not a tap, not a poke to get his attention. she wraps her fingers around his bicep, holds on for a little too long, and your boyfriend turns to look at her, and that's when you realize you need a moment.

you shut your eyes. it's times like this that you realize how green you really are when it comes to the whole 'dating a really handsome, really smart guy' thing. but jack has never given you a reason to be worried, has never said or done anything that even made you think he would entertain something like this. you know he wouldn't, he's too good for that, too nice of a boyfriend for that.

but it still stings. and so you turn away immediately, heading back to the desk and leaning against it. you report the two cases you dealt with to ellis, who asks you questions that take you too long to answer. you try to avoid staring at either your boyfriend or the nurse for too long, a storm cloud brewing inside of you when you see her trailing right behind him again.

you haven't even talked to him tonight yet, you think bitterly. miserably. and that nurse has been with him for two hours.

and unfortunately, you're also pretty green at hiding the fact that you're upset too. not to your patients—though you do let shen and ellis run the incoming and settle for debriding and wrapping up a burn instead, sitting behind a shut curtain so jack couldn't find you, if he was looking.

(of course he was looking. you're just caught up in your own head.)

and after that, it's almost ten. jack has a cup of coffee waiting for you, if he can find you. he tells the nurse who's been following him around all night if she can track you down for him, and then the patient with the chest pain he's been monitoring wants to speak with him, so he walks away to do that, stretching his neck to see if you're at one of the beds nearby. you have a pair of pink sneakers you wear, though every single person in your life had told you to buy black ones, him included. you don't listen, and times like this he's thankful, searching for the bright shoes under a few beds before giving up. maybe you had just walked away, maybe he had just missed you.

you're back at central, sending in an order for antibiotic gel and finishing a note. you're not a mean person, it doesn't come very naturally to you, but you do have to try really hard to resist the urge to roll your eyes when you see the nurse walking towards you.

you've been nice to her every day so far. it would be obvious if you started being mean—whatever your version of mean is—now. but it doesn't seem like she would notice, with that same love-sick expression as she sits in the empty chair next to you.

you're grumpy and tired and frankly too busy to deal with this, but when she starts talking, you listen anyways. (screw jack and screw your goddamn complex. you need to learn how to be mean.)

"how is this the first time i'm meeting him?" she asks, and you bite your cheek so hard you think it might be bleeding. you keep typing your note, looking in her direction and forcing a smile—stupid. complex. "he's so handsome."

"what's that now?" you grit, the screen in front of you not making much sense anymore. you backspace and delete the last two sentences that are filled with gibberish and abbreviations that don't exist.

"dr. abbot," she says to you and you think even your fingers are trembling. you are so, so incredibly bad at this. and you don't even realize why—so much anger and sadness pooling inside of you. normally you'd be caffeinated enough for a clear mind on this side of ten o'clock, but you've been avoiding your boyfriend, and therefore avoiding the cup he makes for you every shift.

the nurse rambles on, your heart beating faster with each word she says. dr. abbot is cute and nice and charming and, like, so funny.

i know, you want to yell. i know he's funny! you just met him three hours ago.

but you stay silent, stay nice, no matter how much it's eating at you. you are being extremely immature but everytime you think of how close they were standing and the fact that some other girl touched your boyfriend's arm, you want to black out.

she keeps rambling and you stay silent, trying for the most part to ignore her, until you hear it at the end of one of her sentences.

"he wears a wedding ring, though, i noticed it earlier when we were with that other patient. but i mean, he's a doctor right? they never care about-"

the thoughts you're thinking would get you put into the psych ward, you think.

"-oh, he was looking for you. you need to report to him, right? we were over by bed ten, i think, the guy with chest pain. we were-"

we, we, we. it's all she says.

"he was looking for me?" you repeat, tired of listening and frankly, a bit tired of the weight of your own emotions.

yes, you might be stupid for getting jealous about something like this, but if that's the case, then you accept your own stupidity. you would never touch some nurse's arm like that, not unless you were trying to give someone a hug after a bad loss. and you would never lean in close like that to anyone, no one besides jack. well, jack and that older radiologist who speaks very softly, so you always need to get real close so she doesn't have to keep repeating herself.

you guess you thought jack would feel the same about not doing those things for you. maybe he doesn't care, maybe it's nothing to him. but it's not to you, not right now, not while listening to a temp nurse gush about him all night.

"oh, there he is now. do i look okay? that other incoming was coughing up blood and we-"

you look up, meeting your boyfriend's pretty hazel eyes while he leans on the other side of the counter from you.

"do you need anything, dr. abbot?" she pipes up from next to you, and this time you do roll your eyes. fuck—you're really bad at this. jack sees it happen, shaking his head at her and turning his attention to you.

a few hours ago, this would have made you perfectly happy. but it keeps replaying in your head—the arm grab. maybe it's because you have your own complex about jack's arms, but it's not okay. and you won't pretend like it is either.

jack sets down your yellow mug by your hand. it's filled with a light colored coffee.

"here's your cream and sugar with a side of coffee." you stare up at him blankly, forcing a small smile.

"thank you," and then you turn your attention back to the screen. jack looks at you, confused with furrowed eyebrows. you can feel the nurse's eyes going between your yellow mug and jack. "i discharged hibachi guy with fifteen stitches. and the forearm burn wants to pick up the gel from his local pharmacy, i guess he knows the tech there or something-"

"you okay, kid?"

you release a breath you've been holding all night. when you turn to your side, you see the nurse is still staring, but not at you, just at jack. you turn your attention back to him.

"yeah."

you watch it happen in front of you. he turns to the nurse, and she beams, just like how you always do.

"would you mind giving us a minute?" he asks her, and you can see her deflate a little. you get a smug feeling, which you immediately curse yourself for. that's mean of you, and you don't like being mean—though you are very pleased he said that. she nods and gets up slowly, making sure to ask him again if he needs anything before she goes. and she walks somewhere away, though you're sure she can still see him.

"hey," he starts, and you do have to look up now. you can't ignore jack if you tried. "what's wrong?"

"nothing," you lie through your teeth, ignoring how weepy you feel inside.

you don't know how to handle being jealous, and you want to say something mean and biting but you can't really think of it. so you settle for the next best thing, staying silent.

"c'mon, kid. don't lie to me. i haven't seen you all night."

"i was on chairs," you say, eyes flicking between jack's arm resting against the counter and the cup of coffee he brought you. and then you look at the recently emptied seat next to you. "and you were clearly busy."

jack hasn't been dating you for that long, but he still knows you better than you know yourself sometimes. knows that you're too nice, knows about the new nurse that replaced your pregnant friend—distinctly remembers you telling him about it on the phone last week. he knows that he's never seen you like this, that you haven't given him that smile that makes his knees weak and his heart thud all night. that he was waiting for it after a few days without you.

you chew your cheek again, taking a sip of the coffee. it's perfect, just like every other night.

(you had once confessed to jack at three am during the first month you two were officially dating that your coffee always tastes better when he makes it. it's what he thinks about when he makes it for you—here, at your place, at his place, at the diner.)

"thank you for the coffee," you say quietly, briefly flickering your sad eyes to him. jack leans in, holding your hand that just set down your mug.

"hey," he starts quietly, and you try to wrestle your hand away, though he doesn't budge. "hey. what's going on? did i-did i do something?"

you stay silent, though he notices your eyes getting watery. it's so stupid, crying over this like you've just lost a patient or something. but you can't help it. jack abbot makes you feel every emotion like it's your first time feeling it all over again. your eyes look at the chair next to you again.

"i saw her touching you," you admit quietly. saying the words out loud lights a fury inside of you, getting angry all over again at the very idea that he didn't realize what was happening.

"oh, kid, i-"

"d-don't. you asked, i'm just telling you." it's hard for him to listen when he notices your chin trembling a little, thinking about how this might be the first time he's messed up in your short relationship.

he comes over to the other side of the desk, taking the seat next to you and holding onto your hand again.

"please tell me this is not about that-that nurse," jack starts, and you want to walk away from him so badly. "sweetheart. i have absolutely no interest in her, even if she does. i told her to find you for me, so i could get your coffee-"

"but she touched your arm," you say, not realizing just how sad that had made you. but jack realizes, knows that you must have seen it from somewhere where he couldn't see you. knows you didn't see him brushing her off, standing by the patient, figuring out how to get rid of his new shadow.

"hey, i'm sorry, okay? i would have made sure she understood that i'm very happily taken if i had known-"

"but you should have known," you say, though the words are covered with a tiny sob. "i-i'm not crying because i'm sad, i'm angry, i just don't know how to stop crying when i-"

"hey, it's okay. c'mon, let's go on a walk."

"no, i need to finish my notes-"

"sweetheart, come on." jack takes both your hands in his, turning you towards him. he stares right into your eyes and you feel slightly better—slightly. "i need to apologize to you and then i'm going to kiss you. and i know how you feel about me doing that sort of thing in front of everyone, so-"

"i don't know what you're talking about," you snip back. "i don't have any feelings about doing any sort of thing in front of any sort of people-"

and jack wants to laugh, not sure if you entirely understand how cute you are like this. he'll tell you all about it tomorrow morning, when he's got you in his bed, after he apologizes every single way he knows how, after he proves to you how little temp nurses mean to him when he's finally got you.

he leans in close, knowing he's got eyes on the two of you.

"is that so?" you have a habit of shutting your eyes when you know a kiss is coming, and your body does it automatically, despite what your brain is thinking. "so you're not gonna mind if i-"

and he bridges the gap, kissing you at central until he has to pull away to let you breathe. your eyes blink open, staring at hazel until you hear it from behind you—the charge nurse, clearing her throat, suppressing a laugh.

"doctors? if you're about done, we have an incoming mvc-"

"coming, bridget. thanks." jack speaks for both of you, and a little dazed, you stand up with him, still staring.

"i'm still upset."

"i know."

"she still touched you-"

"and i think she's gotten the message by now, but if she hasn't, i will make sure she understands."

"i haven't worked with you since last week." the last part you say sadly, realizing how long it's been since you've seen your boyfriend.

"i'll make up for it in the morning. promise." you take one last sip of coffee, knowing it'll be cold by the time you come back to it, following jack to the trauma bay. you walk right by the temp nurse, who you catch watching as you tie jack's gown and he ties yours, and though you really shouldn't, you beam your friendliest smile at her as she waits with you and the other nurse outside.

"you look great, by the way. and he is cute, isn't he?"

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 51: Back To The Start

Summary: Now that you're back on base there's some adjustments that have to be made in order to make things as painless as possible.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 9,471 words

Warnings: Alternate Universe, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, angst, emotions, flashbacks, PTSD, angst, military inaccuracies, weapons, angst, language, some rehashing of previous chapters events

A/N: So this went in a different direction than I planned but we'll get there soon enough. This story is going to be 392040 chapters long atp

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“I told you this was a bad idea.”

“We didn’t have any choice.”

“There were ways to do this that could have avoided bringing her here.”

John stares hard at Simon, into the gap in his mask where his eyes stick out. He had donned the mask before they left the cottage, reverting back to old habits. He knows why Simon does it, why Simon insists on keeping himself hidden from those outside his pack.

He would have preferred to have this conversation in his office, away from where you might overhear, but the alpha had been on him as soon as they were away from the rec room.

“Like what?” He asks, crossing his arms.

“We could have gotten an apartment.”

“She couldn’t be left there by herself. That would be too dangerous.” John counters.

“We could have taken her to one of our families. Let her stay with them.” Simon says.

“I don’t know how long this will take. It’s not fair for us to burden them with taking care of our omega.”

Simon stares at John for a long moment. “You’re afraid of separation.”

John swallows thickly. Of course Simon would be able to read him so easily. “The last time I left her I nearly lost her. I’m not willing to risk that happening again.”

“So you’ll keep her here where she’s unhappy?” Simon gives him a look. “What are we going to do when we have to train or run drills? We don’t have anyone to lean on this time. We can’t leave her in here alone.”

“One of us will stay here with her, or we’ll bring her with us. We’ve done it before.” John hates to admit that Simon is right, but there’s no other option. “It’s only for a few weeks. This is the best option and we’ll do our best to make this as painless as possible.”

Simon stands up straighter, getting close to him. “It’s going to be painful for her no matter what. She’s not like us, John. She can’t just forget.”

Simon brushes past him, heading down the hallway before turning left towards the rooms. John hates that Simon is so right, but he’s brought up good points. They don’t have Dr. Keller to lean on this time. He knows if he called she’d come back without hesitation, but he won’t. She’s moved on to her new life and she deserves to live it. He can’t leave you here alone again, not after what happened the last time he did that. He’s worried, but he knows there really is no other option for them. They have to do this, have to make it through the next few weeks and hope his paperwork gets processed sooner rather than later.

The couch is just as uncomfortable as you remember. It never was comfortable, but it was what you had available. Now, after seeing what you could have, it’s almost unbearable. You miss the soft couches, the soft light, the crackle of the fire in the fireplace. You miss the soft colors and the warmth, the freedom that the cottage presented.

Now you’re trapped back in a prison, a prison of nightmares. It’s not just unwelcoming, it’s depressing and full of horrible memories. Broken promises, insecurity about yourself and your pack, anxiety about every aspect of your life, fear that something might happen to you or your pack, terror from the threat on your life. So much heartbreak has happened here that being back in it feels as if your heart is breaking all over again.

“I know it’s hard.” Kyle says softly. Your head is pillowed in his lap, his fingers gently massaging your scalp. There’s a blanket tossed over you, one Johnny had dug out of the boxes currently stacked in the hallway.

They’d abandoned unpacking and moving boxes as soon as your panic attack happened. If you weren’t so upset still, you’d almost find it endearing. How much they’ve changed from the cold, battle-hardened soldiers you met over a year ago.

Johnny is cleaning the rec room, keeping his hands busy after affirming you were going to be okay. Were you really? Debatable, but you knew he needed to do something. The barracks haven’t been cleaned in months and there’s quite the build up of dust across every surface. There’s a stale smell as well, not musty but like air that’s been stagnant too long. No one’s been inside to disturb it, to bring it back to life until now.

John and Simon went away to argue. You know that’s what happened as soon as Simon got you settled on the couch with Kyle. You wish John were in here now, comforting you, but you know they’re having a discussion leader to leader, alpha to alpha. What do we do? What can we do?

Nothing.

You can do nothing.

You’re stuck here in your nightmare until John’s retirement paperwork gets processed. That could take weeks. You’ll be stuck here in hell for weeks, forced back into old routines in a place you’ve always hated. Now you have even more reason to hate it.

Quiet footsteps approach the couch. Even after months they’ve never lost that ability. Always light on their feet, always agile and ready to strike at a moment’s notice. You’d never see it coming. You’re lucky McKinney had been far less skilled.

The thought of him sends a shiver down your spine, your leg aching where that scar is. You’ve tried not to stare at it, blanking your mind every time your fingers grazed over it in the shower. You wear a mark now like them. They all have those scars revealing close calls. Now you’ve had your own.

John sits down on the coffee table facing you. He leans his elbows on his knees, reaching out a hand to cup your face. His thumb is rough as it strokes your cheek, running over dried tear tracks. You managed to stop crying. That’s saying something.

“How are you?” He asks, his voice soft.

You almost scoff. “You want me to answer that?” You murmur.

“I know.” He breathes. “I should have thought about that before you came in.”

Yeah, you should have, you think. You wouldn’t dare say that out loud.

“We’ll get the door fixed and keep it closed.” He says. “You won’t have to go in there unless you want to.

I won’t want to. You’d be happy to never set foot in that room again.

“You won’t have to stay here alone, either. You’ll come with us if none of us can stay here with you.” He says, pulling his hand back. “We’ll try to make this as painless as possible.”

It’s never going to be painless. Every moment spent here will be misery.

He stares at you for a long moment. You stare back, Kyle’s hand still in your hair, gently rubbing your scalp. There was a time you could have slept like this, but now you can’t relax. Your body is stressed, adrenaline high as fight and flight battle in your brain. You can’t do either, instead stuck in the limbo of freezing. You should feel safe, comforted by his words, his promises...but this is the place of broken promises.

“Now,” He says, putting his hands back on his knees. “We need to go check in, then we’ll get some dinner.” He gives you a weak smile. “Take a minute and breathe. Then we’ll go.”

He pushes himself up to stand, leaving the rec room. Johnny follows, but not before casting a glance your way.

Kyle pulls his hand away, resting it on your arm. “Come on,” He squeezes your arm gently. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You’re numb as you push yourself off the couch, your legs shaking just a bit from the drop in adrenaline and the nerves still coursing through you. You’re not sure which is worse, being trapped in the barracks or having to leave and face down the rest of the base.

Kyle takes your hand, leading you into the bathroom across the hall. He wets some towels with cold water before gently pressing them against your face. “I know,” He says, moving from one cheek to the other. “I’ll be glad once my paperwork’s in and approved. Won’t miss this place.”

His words don’t do much to quell the twisting in your stomach. “What about Johnny and Simon?” you ask quietly.

“They’ll stay here.” He says, pressing the paper towel against your forehead. “Simon will take over as leader of the team. He might work with Laswell to find new members, or it’ll stay just the two of them.”

“They’ll still get to see us, right?” You ask.

“Of course.” Kyle smiles, gently cradling the back of your head to press the towel over your eyes. “They’ll get to go on leave just like everyone else.”

He dabs at your face, the cool water helping calm your shaking body just a little. You can’t wait for the next few weeks to be over with, when you can leave this place in the dust and never have to return. You love Simon and Johnny but you wouldn’t come back here if your life depended on it. Even if it means going months without seeing them.

Kyle moves the towel to the back of your neck, his thumbs stroking your jaw as he holds it there. There’s a soft smile on his face as he stares down at you. “You’ll be alright. We’ll make sure of that.”

You wish you could believe him.

As much as you the to admit it, the cold water has helped a bit, grounding you out of your state of panic and nervousness slightly. You lean forward, wrapping your arms around Kyle’s waist. He tosses the paper towel towards the trash can where it lands with a wet plop. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close to his chest.

A moment of silence passes before you speak. “You missed that, didn’t you?”

He’s silent for a second. “...No…”

A small smile pulls at your lips as you hold him.

You wish you could say being outside the barracks was better than being in them, but that would be a lie. The nerves are back as the five of you walk towards the main building on base, the one in the center of everything. The last time you were there, you met General Shepherd for the first time, when the cameras were put up in your room. That idiotic moment when you left the barracks with a stranger.

Even now walking with your pack, you feel that nervous edge that had been there the first time. You’re in the middle of them, John leading the way, Kyle and Johnny on either side of you, and Simon picking up the rear. You remember all those times walking back and forth exactly like this. They only did it here, not when you went to town while you were at the cottage. Maybe because they knew you were more in danger here than out in the real world. These are well trained soldiers too, not easily intimidated like the average civilian.

It’s cool inside the building. Apparently no one on base has heard of heating. Not that it was really cold enough outside for it, but you’re beginning to crash from your heightened emotions and your body feels cold and shaky.

John guides you to a chair near the front, easing you down into it. His hand stays on your shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Stay here. We’ll be right back.” His fingers slide to your chin, lifting your face so you’re staring up at him. “You know what to do if someone approaches you.”

You nod. Whether or not you could actually do it is debatable. John stares down at you for a long moment before releasing you, turning his back to guide the rest of the pack away. You watch them go until they disappear behind a door, your nerves starting to pick up. There’s hardly anyone in the building aside from the stray soldier walking by. They give you hardly more than the occasional glance in passing. You doubt they’ve forgotten who you are in the months you’ve been away. Those orders still stand. They’re to leave you alone no matter what.

Time seems to crawl by, your legs starting to shake nervously as you wait for their return. John said it wouldn’t take long, but the minutes are starting to feel like hours. Time seems to pass differently here, slower than it did at the cottage. There’s more to be aware of here. You can’t relax in safety and security like you did there. Even when the threat of Shepherd was still looming over your heads there was still a sense of security at the cottage. You were far from anyone and everyone, free to do what you wanted.

Now you’re going to have to stick to a tight schedule, surrounded by the constant need for hypervigilance lest you face the threat of a cocksure alpha brave enough to approach you, even with your pack around.

That would always be a threat to you as an omega, but here it seems extra prevalent. Here there are rules, here there are expectations. They know better, but that hasn’t stopped them.

You let out a breath of air as your pack walks back through the door, heading towards you.

“Aright?” John asks, his hand on your back as you stand.

You nod. Are you really? Debatable, but nothing happened while they were gone so you have to say yes.

“Let’s get some dinner then we can work on unpacking.” He says, glancing at the rest of your pack before taking your hand.

You walk with him, the others following as you make your way towards the mess. It’s late enough it’s going to be full. You didn’t miss the mess. You didn’t miss having to eat in front of others at set times. The guys liked to keep a schedule, but it was your schedule at your own times. Now it’s entirely dictated by someone else.

You can’t wait to finally be free again.

John keeps his hand on your back as you enter the mess, eyes turning to you. They’re all staring, all glancing your way as you make your way to the line. They’re all wondering why you were gone for months, why you came back. They want to know but they never will. They’ll wonder again in a few months when you and John and then eventually Kyle drive away and never return, when it’s just Simon and Johnny showing up. You wonder if any of them will be the ones chosen to join the task force, which of them Simon would choose, if any.

You do wonder if he’ll choose anyone. It would be different, since they wouldn’t be part of your pack. You know Simon would never allow anyone else to join. It’s the five of you and that’s it. You have your dynamics, your balance settled. Anyone else runs the risk of disrupting it, turning it on its head.

Most of all, you know they wouldn’t be allowed near you.

John fills your tray for you, not forgetting his duties even back in this setting. At the cottage he made your plate, here he fills your tray with what he knows you might eat of the offerings tonight. It all looks so bland, so...beige. Formless slop with a side of mushy peas.

The five of you find a table near the back of the room, thankfully away from most of the prying eyes. You sit between Kyle and John, Simon and Johnny facing you. It’s like riding a bicycle, back to the automatic patterns even months spent away couldn’t break.

You stare down at the unappetizing meal on your tray, your mind already back to home cooked food, even if they were only okay at cooking. It was still infinitely better than this sad excuse for a dinner that you just know it’s going to be bland as hell.

They have no problems diving in. They’ve been eating this food for years, no doubt only thinking of nourishment and not what they’ve left behind.

You’re fighting tears as you attempt to cut what you think is chicken. It’s slightly tough, overcooked most likely. It doesn’t taste any better than how it looks, seasoned with hopes and dreams of what might have been good chicken. You wish you could go in there and cook your own dinner for your pack, give them the food they deserve to eat.

You pick at your food, eating and chewing slowly as you try not to think about it. You lived on this food for months, you even enjoyed eating it sometimes. You can do that again, slip back into that headspace where you had to do things, where you had no choice. You have no choice now?

“Everything okay?” John asks, glancing down at your still full tray.

“Yeah, just...not hungry.” You say. You’re starving, but you’re too busy grieving food with flavor and defined edges.

You should eat. There’s no snacks to go back to. They’re all probably expired and stale after months of sitting. Besides. Most of them are probably in your room anyway. The last place you want to go is in there, even out of desperation for some kind of good food.

“At least eat your peas.” John says, nodding to the mush of green in one of the sections of the tray. They don’t look in the least bit appetizing.

Tears gather in your eyes again as you acquiesce despite your reservations, spooning a bit into your mouth. They’re just as mushy and bland as they look, and you don’t waste much time chewing.

They’re all watching you as you eat, their own trays mostly clear. You feel a bit like a child forced to eat your vegetables before you leave the table. Shame burns hot in you and you quickly finish off your peas before downing the rest of your water.

“Good girl.” John says, patting your back before taking your tray. Your stomach is churning, and you feel a bit like you’re about to be sick, but you hold it down. This is the last place you want to cause a scene...another scene. You’ve already done that once.

You won’t be doing it again.

You cough a little as more dust flies up into the air. There’s a thick layer of it over everything and it’s currently being kicked up into the air by John’s dusting. You’re seated on his bed on a blanket, the sheets stripped to be washed. All of the washers are going right now, one for each of them filled with blankets, sheets, and clothes. Tomorrow they have to go back to wearing their uniforms again. You’ll miss the look of Simon’s ass in jeans.

There’s a bear in your arms, squeezed tight against your chest as you watch him clean his bookshelf. You’re trying to silence the quiet gurgling of your stomach. Whether it’s hunger or your body’s protest to the mushy peas you’re not quite sure.

“You doing alright?” John asks, deeply focused on cleaning the shelf he’s working on. The books are stacked next to him, each one getting a thorough wipe down.

“Yeah.” You say, rubbing some of the bear’s fur between your fingers.

“You want something to read?” He asks, glancing up at you.

You shake your head. “No, that’s alright.”

He sits back on his heel, pausing what he’s doing to stare at you. “You’re turning down a book?”

You shrug, dropping your gaze to the bear in your arms. “Just don’t feel much like reading right now.”

John hums before pushing himself up to stand. He sinks down on the bed next to you with a sigh, his arm wrapping around you to pull you against his chest. “I’m sorry you have to do this. I wish I could make it easier.”

“I hate it here.” You murmur, still holding your bear close to your chest.

“I know. I know you always have. You were here because you had to be and now that we’ve all gotten a taste of what life could be like...it’s hard to come back.” His hand rubs your arm. “Even if I hadn’t already decided to retire, I think I would have been pushed in that direction after coming back. If nothing else I’d suck it up and take a desk job and move us off base.”

His words give you pause for a moment. “Why didn’t you do that? Why fully retire?”

“It wouldn’t be the same. I’ve always been a man of action, out in the field, fighting to save the world. Better to be out completely than sitting behind a desk knowing I could have been out there myself.” He squeezes you gently. “At least if I retire I can learn to relax.”

It falls silent between the two of you for a moment, John’s scent soft and relaxed. It’s helping ease the turmoil in your mind just a bit. He’s trying hard, you know that. You know he means it when he says he’s sorry for bringing you back here. He really does feel guilty for what happened to day, for what this place means to you.

He sits up straighter, his arm dropping from around you. “I have an idea.”

He pushes himself up to stand, holding out a hand for you. You take it, frowning a bit as he pulls you up to stand next to him. He kneels down, putting the books back on the shelf before standing again. He starts to dig through the boxes, pulling out blankets, stuffed animals, and pillows before stacking them on the desk and underneath on the floor.

You take a couple steps back towards the bathroom door as he grabs the mattress, sliding it down to the floor. He shoves it up against the desk before standing. “Be right back.” He disappears out the door.

You stand there, watching the doorway as he makes his way down the hallway, calling for all of them to bring their mattresses and blankets. It’s not hard to figure out what he’s doing. You’re just not sure why.

John reappears in the doorway, a small smile on his face. Simon’s not far behind him, dragging his mattress into the room. He shoves it in next to John’s, dropping a pile of blankets on it. You didn’t even know he had so many blankets. He’s always seemed like a one rough, ratty blanket kind of man.

Kyle and Johnny appear at the same time, nearly getting stuck in the door at their excitement to add to the growing nest. It’s a nest. John’s making a nest for you.

John starts to arrange your blankets across the four mattresses squeezed onto the floor. They’ve all brought their own blankets, likely ones picked up while at the cottage or ones they washed and dried. You stand there as they arrange the pillows and blankets, trying to make a perfect nest for you. You haven’t nested in months and here they are trying to build you one instead.

Tears start to slide down your cheeks, a quiet sob leaving your lips. All four of them look up at the sound, pausing in what they’re doing.

“What is it?” Kyle asks.

“Is it wrong?” Simon asks at the same time.

You shake your head, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. “It’s so sweet.” You cry, holding your bear tight against your chest.

“Aw bon, c’mere.” Johnny holds his arms out and you move forward into his hold.

The other three surround you, folding yourselves into a group hug as you cry. The action nearly makes you cry harder as you’re enveloped in their warmth and comfort. Their scents surround you, seeping into your brain and deep to where your omega has been pacing back and forth, awakened thanks to your fear and the perceived threat looming in the back of your mind.

It’s nice, being held by them, surrounded safely in their arms. You don’t think you’ve ever been held like this by them, all of them at once, securely in the middle of their protective circle. It makes you feel warm, fighting off the inevitable chill of the barracks that seeps into your very soul.

You don’t want them to let go, but you let them. You can’t stay that way forever, no matter how badly you want to. You don’t doubt they’d stand there until their legs gave out if you asked them to.

“Better?” Johnny asks, gently wiping your tears.

“Yeah.” You breathe, sniffling still. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Kyle kisses the top of your head. “You know we’d do anything for you.”

“I know.” You give him a small smile. “Even murder.”

“Just tell us who.” Simon says, looming behind you.

“Thankfully no one right now.” You say, plopping yourself down into the nest. “But I’ll let you know.”

“Good.” Simon says, staring down at you for a moment before heading towards the door.

“Where are you going?” You ask.

“Gotta get ready for bed.” He shrugs before leaving the room.

“Right.” You say, looking down at your clothes. You should probably get ready too.

You crawl over to the boxes of clothes, popping one open before digging through it. It’s a box of John’s stuff but that’s alright. That’s what you were looking for anyway. You pull out a t-shirt for you, before moving on to another box, looking for John’s pajamas.

“What are you doing?” John asks, watching you dig through his neatly folded clothes.

“Looking for your Pj’s.” You say.

“Probably won’t need them tonight.” He says. “It’s going to get warm in here.”

You sit back on your heels. He’s right. The last time you’d all slept in the same room it had gotten unbearably hot. You shrug before pulling your shirt over your head, ditching your bra and pants before pulling John’s shirt over your head. You turn to stare up at him, his eyes hooded as he stares down at you.

“What?” You ask, wiping your face in case you’ve been wearing remnants of mushy peas that no one told you about.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, pulling his shirt off. “Just thinking about how beautiful you are.”

Your face warms at his words, your stomach fluttering. “Don’t,” You say unconvincingly. “You’re gonna distract me.”

“Good.” He smirks, undoing the button on his jeans. You watch his fingers as he pulls the zipper down before looping those fingers into the waistband and tugging.

Your eyes follow them down before trailing back up his body to his face. He’s watching you as he steps out of his pants, kicking them over towards the bathroom door. You lick your lips, staring at his face for a moment before crawling past him, grabbing your big bear from the spot on the floor at the end of his bed. You drag it over to the middle of the nest, situating it next to where you’re going to lay. Right in the middle between them all.

You situate the bear before getting up, heading to John’s bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face.

“Bloody hell.” You hear Simon say, no doubt about the bear. It has a smile tugging at your lips.

You try to hide that smile as you step out of the bathroom, climbing back into the nest. Simon has settled himself closest to the door, wearing nothing but a pair of pajama pants. Your mood has been steadily improving since this new development, your eyes trailing across Simon’s back as he sets his phone on John’s shelf.

Johnny and Kyle enter, both of them forgoing shirts as well. Johnny is in nothing but his boxers, Kyle a pair of shorts. They’re trying to kill you, you know it.

Distraction: successful.

You settle yourself in the middle next to your bear, slipping under one of the blankets. Kyle tosses a couple more onto the pile, still warm from the dryer. Johnny plops down on your right, between you and Simon. He wraps his arms around you, tugging you against his chest. You just barely manage to get your arms around your bear, pulling it with you.

“No fair.” Kyle pouts, settling himself on your other side.

“Shoulda been faster.” Johnny says, spooning himself up against you.

You wrap your arms around the bear, holding it close against you. Johnny’s arms stretch across your middle to wrap around the bear as well, nearly suffocating you between them.

Kyle huffs, laying on his back. “I’m starting to realize why you hate the bear so much.”

“Insulting, isn’t it?” Simon mumbles from behind Johnny.

“Give into the bear.” You say, reaching over it to blindly find Kyle’s arm. You tug him over, or at least try to. He scoots closer, letting you pull him close against the bear.

He drapes his arm across the bear and across you to rest it against Johnny’s side. The room goes dark as John turns out the lights, making sure the door is closed and locked before moving to lay on the other side of Kyle.

“Can you breathe in there?” He asks before settling down.

“Yes.” You answer, your voice muffled from the fluff of the bear.

“Get some rest.” He says to everyone, his phone thunking as he sets it on the desk. “Early morning tomorrow.”

Kyle and Johnny grumble, no doubt dreading what tomorrow is going to bring after being spoiled for months. There will be no sleeping in, no lazing around, no more slow mornings. Now it’s only rise and grind, something you’ll have to get used to as well. You don’t want to be left alone here, no matter how badly you want to sleep in. If getting up early means getting out of the barracks sooner, you’ll take it.

You lay there, listening to their breathing even out. You’re jealous of their ability to sleep anywhere at any time. A learned skill in the field, you know. They never know when they’re going to get the chance to rest, so you have to be able to drop off at any time. You’re not so lucky.

It’s quiet in the barracks, too quiet. You can hear every breath, every small creak of the building as it settles. The door is locked and you have four very well trained soldiers surrounding you, but still you can’t shake that paranoid thought. What if someone gets in? What if someone comes back for revenge? What better time to strike than at night when you’re at your most vulnerable? It was dangerous coming back here.

You won’t be getting much sleep tonight.

It’s still dark out when his alarm goes off. He’s wide awake as soon as the sound starts, his hand reaching behind him to grab his phone and quickly silence it. It’s enough to rouse the others, quiet groans of displeasure reaching his ears.

Simon lets out a breath, wrapping his arms around the soft body against his chest for a moment. A soft body. Too soft.

He turns on his phone screen, glancing down.

He’s snuggling the bear.

He lets out a scoff, shoving it down off the end of his mattress.

4:30 his phone screen tells him. He’s been getting up early since the arrival at the cottage, unable to retrain his natural clock. Only, instead of getting up most days he just laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling in the dark, pondering his life choices, thinking about what was going to happen next in his life, worrying about who might come after them on Shepherd’s behalf. It was senseless to worry, but he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t stop the racing thoughts, the fears that filled him, the images in his head. Shepherd would get rid of them to cover his ass. He’d never be safe so long as the 141 was out there, just as they’d never be safe so long as Shepherd was out there. Two missiles heading right for each other where they’d inevitably meet in the middle.

Now it’s over. Now they have nothing to worry about. Shepherd is gone, the threat has been removed from over their heads. John trusted they were safe enough to return here to base. Simon wishes he could be that positive.

He pushes himself up to sit, rubbing his eyes. The others have settled again. They won’t get up for another thirty minutes, maybe an hour. He’s always the first up, always the one starting the earliest. It feels good, getting back into this routine, this predictability. He likes it. He needs it.

He casts a glance across the four sleeping bodies next to him. John had gotten up to plug in your nightlight, giving the room a soft glow. Johnny is starfished across an entire mattress, Kyle curled up next to him. Simon’s startled to see you sitting up rubbing your eyes. John is on his side next to you, arm outstretched where you had been laying.

Simon crawls over, your head lifting to look at him. “Go back to sleep.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You let out a quiet sound, half murmur, half whine as he eases you back onto your back next to John. He tosses a blanket over you before standing, stepping back over Johnny’s legs towards the door. He steps on the bear on his way, not even looking down as he unlocks the door before turning the nob.

It’s bright out in the hallway, his eyes burning as he squints. He can understand your hatred of overhead lights in moments like these. He’s more than capable of moving in the dark, but the eternal fluorescents in the hallway render that skill useless.

He quickly changes into his gym clothes, slipping on his runners before hesitating, his hand hovering over the drawer to his nightstand. It’s been weeks since he’s put on a mask. He got so used to not wearing one it almost feels strange to don the characteristic skull-print balaclava once more. He could go without one. He could choose to bear his face to the many soldiers on base for the first time, but anxiety churns in his stomach. They’ll stare, they’ll point, they’ll talk.

No, he doesn’t want that.

He opens the drawer, pulling out one of the masks from the stack of them that have been sitting for months. It’s free of dust from having been shut in the drawer but he dusts it off anyway, staring down at it for a moment. He could choose not to, but that could complicate things. He pulls it over his head, situating it in place before heading out the door. There’s still an early spring chill to the air as he makes his way across the road towards the gym, his breath visible. It’s quiet on base, not many up this early since they don’t have to be. Usually there’s only movement this early when there’s a drill being run.

Soon he’ll be the one running those drills. Well, he’ll be running Johnny through those drills. Soon it’ll be just him and Johnny against the world.

He can hardly believe it. He never thought John would retire like that, though things have changed since your arrival, he supposes. You’ve changed all of them and priorities have shifted. John did what he needed to do. He eliminated the threat against his pack and now what’s left for him? He’s seen how you reacted to being back here, they all have. It’s torture for you and Simon hates it.

He enters the gym. It’s quiet, no one up yet. Just the way he likes it. He steps into the weight room, setting his phone on a bench before he begins stretching. He tried to keep up on his fitness at the cottage. Pushups, situps, jogging when he could. He knew coming back would be hard regardless after months away being spoiled. It had been nice, despite his inability to accept that kind of life.

Sometimes he wishes he could retire that easily. When he saw your face, how happy you were when John revealed his decision...it struck something inside of him. He always knew he’d be in this life as long as he could. He’d either die in the field or be forced to retire. Most days the former seemed the most likely option. The idea of being forced behind a desk was enough to drive him crazy.

That’s why John is leaving, though. He’d never be able to survive behind a desk. Better to be out completely than forced to watch others out saving the world knowing that could have still been you. It’s going to be hard. People like them don’t make that shift to civilian life easily. He’s glad Kyle is going too. John’s going to need support that you can’t give him. You don’t know what it’s like. You won’t understand when the nightmares hit, when the itching begins beneath your skin, when your hands start seeking out the comfort of a gun between them again.

What is he going to replace it with? What is he going to do to keep his mind and his hands busy? Fishing? Farming? Maybe he’ll get a dog. A big one he can take on runs. Long runs to keep his mind clear, give him some sort of familiarity of the life he’s spend more years in than out of.

Maybe he’ll fully settle down and you’ll have pups.

The mental image of you greeting him at the door with a fat baby on your hip has him twitching in his shorts.

Fucking hell, Simon, he grunts as he racks his weights.

That would be down the road though. The first battle is getting settled, figuring out how to live in the civilian world. That’s going to take time. He almost wishes John would get a place in Hereford where Simon and Johnny could stay, but he understands. He knows John wants to get as far from this life as he can, get you as far from this life as possible. He’ll get you your little house by the sea, let you live out your domestic fantasies.

Simon’s happy for you two. He’s happy for Kyle.

That doesn’t stop the bitter taste of jealousy from rising in the back of his throat.

It’s still dark out when the next set of alarms go off. Two of them ringing loud in the air. Kyle and Johnny move almost in sync as they reach for their phones on the floor above the nest, silencing the alarms. You’ve been awake since Simon’s went off. You’ve been awake most of the night, the hours crawling by as you drifted in and out of a light sleep. You wanted to get up with Simon, go sit with him in the gym or something, but he’d forced you back into the nest, back into a sleepless hold. John stirs beside you again, his arm shifting from beneath your neck. You wonder if he’s going to get up now too. You wonder what he’s going to do with his day. Go on like normal or is he going to do only what he has to for the next few weeks?

You can’t be sure.

Johnny and Kyle both sit up rubbing their eyes. No doubt it’s rough going from sleeping in and being lazy to having to be up early and start the day right away. You’d probably be feeling the same if you could have slept. You go to sit up too but John’s arm wraps around you tighter, keeping you down with him.

“Morning, love.” Kyle rasps, leaning over to kiss your sweaty forehead. “Get more sleep.”

You wish you could.

Johnny rolls over as Kyle stands, rolling until he’s face to face with you. “Enjoy sleepin’ in while ye can.” He says quietly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’ll see ye later.”

Both of them leave, your eyes squinting against the stream of light from the hallway. Silence falls once they’re gone, John breathing evenly behind you. You want to get up, go get ready with them and head to the gym if only to sit and watch them, but John’s grip around you is firm.

“Did you sleep?” He asks, his voice rough with sleep.

“Not really.” You admit, knowing he’d probably know if you were lying.

He hums, his face pressing against the back of your head. “We’ll stay here until they get back.”

“Not going to work out?” You ask.

“I’ll do it later.” He says. “We’re running drills after breakfast. See just how out of shape we all are.”

“I’m going with you.”

“Yes.” He answers, tightening his hold around you. “Wouldn’t be fair to leave you here alone.”

“You don’t have to sacrifice yourself for me.” You say despite your relief at his decision to bring you along with him. “I’d be fine.”

“I’m not sacrificing anything.” He says firmly. “I’m not leaving you alone. Not after what happened last time.”

“You’re scared.” You say quietly, laying there in his tight hold.

“Of course I am.” He breathes, shifting slightly behind you, almost as if you realization is uncomfortable for him. It probably is. It must take a lot for him to admit that he’s afraid. For a while, you weren’t sure he could feel fear. “I nearly lost you.”

“John?” You breathe, tears gathering in your eyes. “Would it have happened anyway?”

He pauses for a moment, just a brief second but you hear it loud and clear. “Inevitably. They would have used you no matter what. It was a fail-safe. I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”

“It’s not going to happen again, is it?” You ask, speaking aloud your fears even if they are irrational.

“No.” He says, his lips brushing your ear. “I won’t let it.”

“I’m scared.” You breathe, a tear sliding down your cheek.

“Don’t be.” He says, tightening his hold around you until it borders on painful. “I’m right here.”

You’re not sure how long you lay there, pinned tightly against his chest. You wish you could sleep but you’ve been awake too long. Your pulse races in your ears, muffling any sound that might indicate something is wrong, your paranoia heightened in your exhausted state. You want to believe John, but you know men like him have enemies. Perhaps you’ll never be safe, no matter how much he tries to reassure you. They all have their enemies. Sooner or later one of them has to come for you.

An hour goes by fast, your brain in turmoil as the thoughts race. John doesn’t let up, his hold around you tight. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s nothing he could say. All he does is hold you, breathing slow and even, his chest pressed against your back.

The barracks door opens and you flinch, the squeak of tennis shoes coming down the hallway. You hold your breath, preparing for the worst. You’re in front of John, you’re the one in the line of fire. You brace yourself, squeezing your eyes closed as the door handle turns.

“It’s pishing it doon out there.” Johnny says, sticking his head in the door.

He’s soaked, mohawk flat and dripping water into his eyes. That explains the squeaking shoes. No one trying to sneak in would take that risk.

“English MacTavish.” Simon’s voice floats down the hallway.

Johnny rolls his eyes. “Ye know what I mean.” He turns to look back at you two still in bed. “Dress warm.”

He closes the door, heading off to go shower most likely. John doesn’t move for a moment, still holding you tightly. No doubt he felt your flinch, sensed your fear before you realized it was Johnny. The paranoia is running rampant this morning, your mind stuck in a loop of fear.

“Come on.” John says softly, finally releasing you. He sits himself up behind you, leaning over your body. “Let’s get dressed. Go and get some food.”

You don’t want to get up. The prospect of moving your body feels daunting. Yet, you don’t want to lay here either. You push yourself up to sit too, John leaning over you to press a kiss to your forehead. It’s so soft and gentle, the opposite of the thoughts racing through your head.

He pushes himself up to stand, moving to his closet to pull out a uniform. Back to playing the soldier. He really is playing this time. In a few weeks he’ll be officially retired and the two of you will leave base never to return again. You’ll move on to some semblance of a normal life, playing at domesticity. Not long after Kyle will join you and it will be you and your pack with Simon and Johnny playing the satellite. Maybe some day they’ll take the plunge and join you.

You crawl over to the boxes, digging through to find your own clothes. You wonder if he’ll bother unpacking anything from these boxes. Or if he’ll just leave them so they’re easier to grab once the two of you do leave.

John goes into the bathroom while you decide what to wear. Sweatpants or jeans. T-shirt or long sleeves. Johnny said to dress warm so you decide on a t-shirt and a sweatshirt with jeans. Hard clothes meant for a military base. No more lounging around in the barracks all day. You’ll be out there with them, watching them run drills for the first time in months.

You quickly change, stepping into the bathroom after John is done. You’re quick, not wasting any time. The more you dally, the more time your brain has to focus on the fear swirling in the back of your mind.

John is waiting for you when you exit the bathroom. He’s close to the door, crowding you as you step out into the room. Your eyes trace his form from his feet to his face. He grips your chin, holding you still as he leans down, pressing his lips to yours. He tastes minty, like toothpaste, his lips soft against yours.

“What are you doing?” You murmur when he pulls away.

“Trying to distract you.” He breathes.

“Do it again.” You say.

He kisses you again, this one harder as his hand slips from your chin to your throat. You hate to admit that it’s working, the swirling emotions in the back of your brain quieting as you kiss your alpha.

He pulls away too soon, your lips parted and eyes still closed as he releases you. “Better?” He asks.

You nod. You do feel a bit better. Your thoughts aren’t quite so loud now.

“Come on.” His hand slips into yours, squeezing it gently as your eyes finally open.

It’s time.

He leads you out the door, pausing to put his boots on once he’s over the nest. It stays where it is, messy and rumpled. None of them bother making the beds and you wonder if it’s driving them crazy. No doubt that need to make sure their bed is made carried with them to the cottage. You hardly ever bother as you usually wind up back in it at some point in the day. You wonder how crazy you drive them with that habit, or lack there of.

You walk with John at the head of the column as you step out into the rain. It is raining hard, and you’re glad you went with something with a hood. You should have dug out the rain jacket John got you at the cottage. That probably would have been smarter.

You’re cold and wet when you make it to the mess. It’s early enough it’s sparsely populated. You wonder if John did that on purpose, or if it’s just coincidence. You hold onto his hand until you reach the front of the line, letting him fill your tray for you with plastic looking eggs and far too watery porridge. Once again you’re reminded of how much you were spoiled at the cottage and how far you’ve fallen into the world of bland, tasteless food.

Or, as you would call it, British food.

John graciously chooses a table near the back, keeping you out of sight for the most part, away from prying eyes. You sit between him and Kyle again, staring down at your depressing looking tray of food. The only thing that looks good is the fruit, so you focus there first. They go down the easiest, filling your desperate stomach. You haven’t eaten a good meal since you all stopped to get food on your drive back to Hereford. You underestimated how much you’d struggle adapting to mess hall food again.

Granted, the last time you were coming from the CIA and their cafeteria food, and before that the institute. You can’t remember how long it’s been since you had a home cooked meal before the cottage. Maybe that’s why you were struggling so much.

How you wish you could go into the kitchen and make your mother’s enchiladas.

You struggle your way through breakfast, using the fruit to get you through the porridge. You leave most of the eggs, unable to stomach more than a few bites. Of course the rest of your pack clears their trays. This food must be heaven compared to stuff they eat while they’re away on missions.

It’s mostly stopped raining by the time you leave the mess hall, now just a drizzle. You’re clinging to Kyle’s hand, letting him lead you after John as he heads across the base towards one of the hangars. Time for training, you assume.

You recognize this one. You’ve been here before months ago. It was one of the first times you got to see their training. Hell, you yourself had participated in it once. You wonder if John will do that again, or if he’ll take pity on you and let you just watch.

“We’re going back to basics today, lads.” John says as the boys line up. “Testing where you’re at after months away. You’ll be timed on how long it takes you to get through the course as usual. Stay sharp and watch those corners. Who’s going first?”

“I will.” Johnny says, not even hesitating.

“Good luck Sergeant.” John says before turning to you. “Come on.”

He leads you up into the viewing area where the screens are located. You’ve been up here before a couple of times.

“Don’t want you catching a stray bullet.” He says.

You give him a sideways glance. The last time you were here they hadn’t used live rounds.

“Rubber bullets still hurt.” He says, giving you a grin.

You shake your head, watching as Johnny prepares himself to run the course.

Their times aren’t quite as good this time around. Even Kyle is dragging a bit, not quite as sharp as you remember him being. Granted it has been months. They’re all rusty and out of shape. You’re going to miss them being all soft and gentle. Even John will lose some of it before retirement, you think. The yo-yoing of his body is going to be hard on him. Strong and fit to soft and gentle to partially strong and fit again to permanently soft. You doubt he’ll give up everything completely. Morning runs, weight lifting, keeping himself sharp. He’ll never fully relax. He can’t.

“Not bad, muppets.” John says, standing in front of them. You hoist yourself up onto a crate. “But not good either. That’s to be expected after months of going soft. We’re going to focus on re-polishing those skills again. Building stamina and strength, sharpening those weapons skills again.” John stands up straighter. “Let’s hit the range next.”

He turns to you, holding out a hand. “Come on, sweetheart.”

You hop down off the crate, taking his hand. You’ve never been to the shooting range here. John always tried to keep you away from live fire as much as possible, god forbid there be some freak accident.

At least now you know what it feels like to be shot.

You have to accompany them now though, in fear of being left in the barracks all day. This is still far better than being cooped up in a place full of nightmares.

The range is in another hanger, and unfortunately not empty. It’s loud inside, two other soldiers inside firing at targets. You put your hands over your ears as you follow John towards the far side of the range. He grabs a headset, slipping it over your head. It offers just enough protection from the loud banging of the guns being fired. The sound in the enclosed space is enough to drive your adrenaline up. You can only imagine what it’s like with hundreds of guns going off all at once while half of those are shooting back at you.

You’ll never understand how they manage it.

You stand back out of the way behind them as they line up. Even John lines himself up this time, all of them firing down the line at targets. You keep yourself pressed up against the wall, watching them. It’s louder with the four of them shooting, your heart hammering in your throat. You can’t help but wonder what kind of firefight there was when they rescued you, if there was much of one at all. Their skills were sharper then, their abilities honed. Going up against trained soldiers would have been a walk in the park back then.

Had you known they were coming you might have waited, might have let them have their hostage rescue instead of having to chase your wild omega through the woods in her attempt to escape herself. You can still remember bits and pieces of it, the feel of blood on your hands, the adrenaline pulsing through your veins, the wild freedom to not care about anything but survival.

It makes your hands shake.

You squeeze them into fists, nails biting into your skin as they fire round after round, adjusting stances, reloading and then firing again. You can only see Simon’s target ahead, all of his shots hitting the outline of the body on the paper. You don’t think something like shooting would be a skill lost easily. Like riding a bike, you suppose.

You wonder how good it must feel to them to have a weapon in their hands again. That thought concerns you, but then again, there’s a lot about them that should concern you. You’ve gone numb to most of it, those thoughts you had early on not even in the back of your mind anymore. They are who they are, they’ve done what they’ve done and there’s no changing that. It simply comes with the territory.

“Hey,”

Your eyes dart up as a knuckle pushes your chin up. Simon is standing before you. He smells metallic like gunpowder. It meshes well with his natural scent creating an intoxicating blend.

“C’mere.” He tilts his head towards his now vacated spot. You follow him, his hands moving you into position. He slides the warm gun into your hands, clicking the safety off. “Take a shot.”

You stare down the line at the fresh target, gulping a bit. The gun feels heavy in your hands. The others have stopped, and you can tell they’ve gathered around, watching, waiting for what’s going to happen. You half expect John to stop this before it starts, but he lingers back, letting this play out.

Simon’s arms wrap around you, moving your hands into position around the gun. He lifts them up to proper height, holding you there for a moment before releasing you and taking a step back. Your finger twitches as it hovers over the trigger as you stare at the target. You take a deep breath in, holding it for a second before squeezing the trigger.

You fire three shots.

All three hit the paper of the target, missing the body but still hitting the paper. You lower the gun, clicking the safety back on before turning to face them. They’re all staring at you with faces of shock and mild amusement.

You glance at all of them before shrugging. “I used to live in Texas.”

Johnny and Kyle laugh, Simon shaking his head. “You need to work on your form.” He puts his hands on your shoulders, spinning you back around to face the target.

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[thegreenlynx]

My Best Friend's a Pervert - H.JS

Description: Your best friend Jisung is your rock, he's tough and he supports you through everything. He's the most important person in your life and the one you are most comfortable with. He's also a huge pervert, but as always you overlook everything.

Pairing: Han Jisung x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

Content Warnings: Grinding/humping, perversion, dub-con(sorta), Fem Reader with Female anatomy

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: First full Smut posted on this account, based on this poll I did a few days ago. As always likes comments & re-blogs are very appreciated.

The two of you have been best friends for years. He's your rock, your strong pillar that holds you up when things get hard. You spend so much of your time together that everyone thinks you're dating. He's always there to take care of you, he spoils you rotten and when he's around you never need to worry about anything.

He's normally so collected, so stable. He is in control, he has everything under control. He keeps the staring to a minimum. He doesn't push you, he stays within the boundaries he ought to as a friend. He allows you to cuddle with him and goof off the way you always do, never letting the darker parts of him take over when you do. He never takes advantage of your comfort with him. But today he just can't be that man.

The day started off rough. The whole week he's been overworked, his family won't stop hounding him about getting a girlfriend and visiting for an upcoming holiday he doesn't care about. And probably worst of all, you've begun coming over to his place and stealing his clothes when you hang out. You say it's more comfortable, he loses a little part of his self control to the wind every time.

It also doesn't help that just last night his stupid roommate Minho decided to tell you that you look hot in Jisung's clothes. You blushed so sweetly at the compliment but Jisung knows his hyung wasn't flirting with you. Not genuinely anyway, he was flirting with you on Jisung's behalf. Riling him up. Teasing him.

He's a cruel man.

Which brings Jisung to the current moment. He closes the door behind you as you enter the house, he kicks off his shoes as he watches you send a casual wave to Minho who leans lazily against the counter. The dark haired man smirks and ushers you over with a single finger and Jisung only narrows his eyes with clenching fists when you prance over to him with light steps and let him feed you a cookie. Minho treats you like you're his cat. 

The sight is adorable really, the older man laughs with sparkling eyes and ruffles your hair and you giggle at him and step on his foot. On purpose he figures. Minho retaliates with a tickle attack that has your beautiful laughter echoing through the room. Melodic, cheerful, utterly carefree. It should make him happy to see the two of you getting along, normally it would too. He's not even a jealous guy. But today it just pisses him off.

He rolls his eyes and comes over to grab your wrist and drag you off. You let him but turn around slightly as you're pulled off. Minho laughs again, the playful glint in his eye never leaving, and feeds you one more cookie before patting you softly on the rear in an odd but comfortable silent goodbye.

When you enter the room Jisung runs his other hand through his hair and sighs. You let go and give him space, moving to his closet and digging around for one of his white over sized t-shirts. When you find it you smile giddily and throw it over his desk chair, peeling off your attire as you turn away from your best friend.

It shouldn't even phase him anymore. You're so comfortable with him he might as well be your brother. The thought disgusts him. He tries not to watch you undress to your pretty red lace panties, but finds himself admiring the way you pull his t-shirt over your head and hug it to yourself as you walk towards the bed.

He walks up behind you mostly in a daze, his head is empty of everything but you. The shirt barely covers your ass as you crawl onto the bed in front of him. He stands behind you watching your ass sway in your panties while you crawl. Intrusive thoughts seem to take over in that moment and he lands a rather harsh slap against the right cheek, unconsciously smiling to himself as he hears the loud clap followed by a small sweet yelp.

He wouldn't even be mad if you turned around and slapped his perverted ass right in the face. However instead of putting him in his place like you probably should have, you simply giggle softly and roll over on your back with your knees bent smiling up at him innocently.

Despite him knowing full well this is normal for you, that you mean nothing by it other than being comfortable around him and that it's probably entirely a platonic thing, It makes for a very lewd sight as you lay directly in front of him enticingly.

He knows how wrong it is to be thinking of his friend this way, he knows very well you are definitely NOT thinking any dirty thoughts during your hang outs with him, and it makes him feel like a criminal. He is definitely breaking at least 20 friend codes with the way he's gazing at your body right now.

Your legs are spread and the shirt has risen up, exposing all too much of your pretty curves and the delicate lace fabric that compliments your body so well. Your back is slightly arched off the mattress, displaying so clearly the prominent indent of your waist and the soft voluptuous curves of your hips and thighs.

He wants to touch you so bad he considers he may actually need therapy. Your arms are lying defensively down on the mattress, and he knows you probably wouldn't fight him if he did decide to touch you. The way that turns him on makes him feel disgusting.

He does give in slightly, only enough to where he knows you'll be too oblivious to take it any way but platonically, after-all you've always been a cuddly pair. You don't have to know what he's actually thinking in his head, nor the way it goes straight to his dick, you don't need to know how foggy you make his head feel.

He climbs slowly on top of you, your legs on either side of his as his face hovers above yours. His hands instinctively slide up your legs and to your waist, he squeezes the skin there and relishes in the soft feeling in his hands and the way your back arches slightly further off the bed while you unconsciously spread your legs a bit further with a small gasp. You're sensitive, it makes him smile as his thoughts stray even farther into the depths of hell and insanity, he really hates himself.

He'd probably feel a lot less disgusting if you weren't so innocent with things like this, the difference between your innocence and his makes him feel like he's taking advantage of you, perhaps also your friendship as a whole. Of course he doesn't only see you sexually, you're still one of his best friends. He still loves you like he never thought he could another person.

But you don't know this, you don't feel the same, it feels wrong. He feels like a sinner in church when he's alone with you. While you think of this as a cute little cuddle sesh with your bestie, he's desperately trying not to imagine digging his nails into your hips and slamming you further into the mattress or perhaps kissing you breathless while he lifts your shirt up and gropes you like a madman. He feels himself harden to an extent of borderline agony in his sweats at the thought.

He IS disgusting, knows this, and wishes he had more control over his thoughts and feelings than he currently does.

You're still looking up at him with a silly smile on your face, clearly entirely oblivious to everything as always. He relaxes (or tries to anyway), resting both hands on either side of your hips while he lays his head down on your chest. He takes comfort in the large plush swells he feels through the fabric. He feels a headache coming on at the lack of bra when he feels a nipple against the side of his face. The world just fucking hates him today. He can't even help the longing (read: desperate and pathetic) sigh that falls from his lips.

Of course you take it as he's just tired or stressed and not that he is trying really hard not to thrust his boner against your thigh in desperation like some kind of dog. He's so ashamed he genuinely wants to cry and has to bite back what he knows would be a rather pathetic and entirely humiliating whimper. However despite this (or maybe in spite of this, really) your gentle fingers lace through his hair, petting him so softly it would make anyone feel like they're precious.

He does take comfort in it. He loves having his hair played with, it makes him feel safe. He just wishes he didn't also think about how it'd feel to have you tugging at his hair in this exact position but a far different context. He hates the way he throbs in his pants, hates how pathetic he is and how much it hurts. He hates even more that he also kinda likes how it hurts, how you've got him so desperately wrapped around your finger, how you somehow manage to edge him without even being aware of it. Masochistic tendencies are not below him, apparently.

You giggle again, bringing your other hand up to rub his back. "Rough day?" Your voice drips of affection and honey and he almost melts, almost.

Instead he groans and huffs an irritated "hmph." His voice comes out raspy and deeper than usual, likely from the strain in his pants. He slides his hands back up to your waist and grips you harshly while turning his head to bury his face in between your breasts, shaking his head between them. His hair tumbles around on his head as he does it and you giggle again.

From your perspective it probably looked like an adorable gesture but from his it was anything but. He wants to rip your shirt off. He's so painfully hard and frustrated by the fact that he can't do all the things he wants to do. He wishes he could actually feel the skin of your breasts.

Their size is all too tempting and based off the parts of her body he has felt, he knows they would be incredibly soft and squishy. So impossibly smooth he is not sure he would be able to let go of them, perhaps it's good that you have him in the friend zone and he can't actually do that. Which is why he takes what he can get and nuzzles against them through the fabric like a kitten might, eyes glossing over even further with unrelenting lust.

You hum and seemingly in retaliation for the harsh grip still on your waist, you remove your hand from his head and tickle his side much like Minho had to you not even half an hour prior.

He supposes it's a fair punishment really. His grip is so hard he knows it's going to bruise, he will never admit that he really hopes it does, that even in a platonic sense he can mark you. Not only that but there's also no way it doesn't hurt by now. He has a tendency to grab you like this, usually unconsciously, but he's normally not this rough with it.

And well, he's incredibly ticklish. Like unbearably so. In fact he's so ticklish his immediate response to your tickling is to remove his hands from your waist and grab both of yours. He breathes heavily as he slams them above your head on the mattress, his face is now directly in front of yours and his glare is strong as he gazes into your eyes. In truth he loves the sight, and even as he glares at you he takes in the lovely view and commits it to memory. Jack-off fuel for at least a month.

You play around like this very often, Jisung has never once been genuinely angry with you nor does he typically react the way he just did. His mind is clouded with arousal and the ache in his pants in combination with the desperation he feels has genuinely ticked him off even further than his general frustration from earlier somehow.

You still don't react much other than a small gasp and the briefest moment of shock in your eyes before it shifts to simply gazing sympathetically back at his heated glare. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were that stressed out."

He feels even more annoyed with you apologizing when he's so very obviously the problem here. You make no move to get him to release you either and he hates and loves how you always let him do what he wants with you. Never being weirded out with it and always accepting him as he is, all his flaws included.

He goes to say it isn't your fault, grip not loosening in the slightest but the glare softens as he furrows his brows. "Y/n no... I-"

However, he's interrupted by the door swinging open all too casually. You both look over to see Minho standing in the doorway in complete horror. "Oh.. oh my god. Oh my god no. Shit. I'm sorry!" His face is bright red trailing all the way from his neck to the tips of his ears as he covers his eyes and swiftly turns around, slamming the door behind him. 

Jisung feels his own blush creep up his face. Even if you aren't actually doing anything this position and your prominent lack of dress is bound to give off a heavily sexual impression, he knows this well. And that in combination with the fact that he has been sporting the most raging hard boner of his life this entire time is so humiliating he thinks he actually will cry this time. His own lingering frustrations and the fact that he still has to fight the urge to grind his hips against you don't help either, and he feels even more pathetic with how easily his eyes well up with tears.

His lip trembles slightly as he goes to pull away from you, face beet red and eyes glossy with unshed tears. "Mm so sorry.. h-he definitely thinks w-we're.." He sniffles and hangs his head as he goes to move completely off the bed. You are faster and immediately stop him however, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him back into yourself. Your thighs are flush against him and the softness brings him a small sense of relief in combination with even more arousal and he can't hold back the whimper this time. Both emotional and horny, he is so overwhelmed he can't think straight.

You guide his head back into your chest and he all too eagerly wiggles his face back between your breasts with a whine and what almost sounds like a sob. He realizes he is actually full on crying now, tears soaking through the fabric of the thin t-shirt you're wearing. He is embarrassed of course, but simply can't help but let it all out when your magic hands find their way back into his hair.

You massage his scalp with a calculated care that forms goosebumps all along his neck and arms. His chest swells, his stomach tickles with an absurd amount of butterflies, and his dick twitches again in his sweats all at once. He feels a little less pathetic at the more relieved and now muffled whimper he lets out this time.

"It's okay Sungie.. I'm not upset, I can explain it to him later if you want me to." He whimpers and sobs sadly in response, gripping tightly back onto your waist as a way to ground himself enough to speak.

Even so, his mouth and brain refuse to cooperate with him and he only mumbles incoherently. "B-but I.. he.. mm.... I-I don't.." You tug lightly at his hair, not hard enough to hurt but enough to get his attention. He wishes he was prepared enough to stop the loud whine that rumbles all the way through his body.

"Shh.. Relax bub, we can talk about it later, it's not a big deal." You run a hand up and down his spine while the other continues massaging his scalp. Jisung shifts uncomfortably and slides his hands down your sides, subtly memorizing the curvature of your body. He grabs your thighs, sliding you up the bed so he can properly lay on top of you. Your legs remain wrapped around his waist as he nuzzles further into your chest. The shirt is so soaked with tears that in certain places on your chest it has become see through, he nudges the plush of one breast with his nose with a sniffle and watches in awe as it jiggles at even the smallest movement. He whines and thrusts his aching cock against the mattress below you, overwhelmed by how much he wants to suck on your skin. Like a drug that might fix all his troubles and cure him of his frustrations.

You still don't seem to notice his behavior is anything but sweet and friendly, laughing softly at how cute he is. Completely unaware that even with all of this he is STILL so thoroughly mind fucked with arousal, mind swarming with nasty thoughts and daydreams. This ignorance encourages him to venture a bit further, testing the boundaries of what you will enable him to do to you. Too overwhelmed, turned on, humiliated, and turned on by being humiliated to think rationally enough to stop himself.

He groans. It's loud and very obviously sexual, even if your naive self will never pick up on it. It's deep from the bottom of his throat and it comes out more of a growl than anything. He's never heard himself make such a noise before in his life. One hand still on your thigh he slides the other hand up slowly, seductively slow. If it wasn't incredibly obvious before it should have been now but alas, you don't pick up on a thing even as his hand slides up to your hip. It slows to a brief stop, sliding a thumb under the strap of your panties as the other fingers wrap around your hip.

He's no longer actively crying but still sensitive and in a very whiny mood, if you pull away he will break down again and he knows this. His eyes are once again glossed over with arousal even with his face drenched in tears and he wets his bottom lip before subtly sinking his teeth into it to maintain whatever little self control he has left that's keeping him from tearing the panties off you right this second. Instead he pulls the panty string away from your skin a small distance, relishing in the small view of the hip bone it was doing a terrible job of hiding. He lets go with a mischievous smirk, enjoying very thoroughly the way your body jerks slightly and you gasp at the snap.

You only pull his hair a little in retaliation this time, not trying to upset him or cause him to spiral any further, but just enough to demonstrate your acknowledging what you think is him playfully trying to cheer himself up. He whimpers again, loving the feeling of your hands on him even if it isn't sexual or romantic to you, it definitely is to him. His masochistic ways love the way it stings for the briefest of seconds when you pull his hair. Your actions only serve to spur him on even further. His hands are tantalizingly slow as he glides them up your waist, sliding the shirt to bunch up just below your breasts.

You shiver as he runs a nail along the curve of your waist. He happily observes it with an endeared smile while taking in the bruises forming at your waist and hips. He loves how his hands are imprinted into your skin, thinks that's how it should always be. He lets his mind imagine what you'd look like with bruises from both his hands and mouth on your neck and chest as well. His sigh is shaky as his dick twitches again against the fabric of his pants.

He leans back, hands still on your waist, and observes you from above. You're beautiful as always, and your expression holds no discomfort with his actions. You smile at him sweetly while your hands drop to either side of you. You look so vulnerable like this, practically trapped, so easy to pin down. He bites his lip harder now, taking in such an attractive sight. No other woman could make him feel this way. He's sure of that much.

He decides not to pin you down again for now, favoring the idea of getting his hands even just a little closer to the beautiful, perfectly rounded swells he has become rather obsessed with. No one had to know how much he thought about your chest, nor the way he stared when you weren't looking. The way he imagined what they would feel like gripped in his hands or on his lips, the way he imagined what they would look like had he somehow been graced with the privilege of not having god damn clothing in the way.

But whether anyone knew or not, all of it was true. He was obsessed, in truth he never felt that attracted to other women's breasts not to mention the straight undeterred obsession he feels for yours. Never before had he even been interested in other women, he can't help but wonder why that is.

He's careful and slow, hesitant as he slides his hands up slightly to rest with the bunch of the shirt directly under your breasts. He watches your reaction carefully and slowly slides his fingers over the skin on the side of your breasts, not directly touching them but close enough to almost feel them.

The action lifts the shirt just enough to show the lowest portion of your boobs, nipples still entirely covered. His breathing shakes as he thinks about it, looking into your eyes as you stare patiently back at him. You still make no effort to stop him, only stretching your arms over your head with a pleased hum escaping your beautifully parted lips. He watches entranced as the shirt lifts the tiniest bit higher in your stretch. Your back arches fully and your body curves in the most enticing way he has ever seen, he groans as your chest pushes up with the arch. Your breasts perfectly shaped and so much easier to see with the new angle.

You smile guilelessly, gently as your hands remain above your head softly caressing his silk sheets. Your body is curved for him so perfectly he has to fight the urge to kiss every inch of your skin to worship the absolute goddess you most definitely have to be. He can't resist however the subtle thrust of his hips towards you. He manages enough restraint to not let his dick touch you but his hardened length now dripping with precum is so painfully obvious in his grey sweatpants. If you notice this, you don't show it and stay smiling sweetly at him.

His dick is so close to where he feels it belongs that it makes him feel crazy. His fingers unconsciously wrap around the bunch of your shirt and he tugs. "Please.." His voice is soft, a pleading whine as his mind has finally crossed the border into submissive pussy-drunk arousal. At this point he is so hooked and out of it you could literally step on him and he'd still moan. "Please y/n.. please" The desperation in his last word makes it sound like if you say no he'll not only start crying again but he might just keel over and die.

Your expression is shocked at first, but then quickly morphs into a deep concern. He was normally so strong and now he was falling apart in front of you (for you, really, but you still don't see it that way). "Baby it's okay, you're okay." Your voice is the softest it's ever been, you bring your hands up to wipe the tears from his face. "I'm right here bubs, whatever you need. I just want you to feel better." He whines and grinds his hips in the air again while rubbing his face against one of your hands. He inhales deeply to calm himself down slightly, breathing in your comforting scent.

He then gently and hesitantly begins lifting your shirt up. Your breath hitches at the cold air assaulting your nipples but you allow him to expose your body to his yearning eyes. As soon as your hardened nipples come into view he can't stop the thrust of his hips against your clothed pussy. He whines and whimpers pitifully as he gently rocks his hips back and forth against you. His eyes roll back slightly and he moans as soon as he lifts the shirt from over your head, throwing it across the room. You gasp and look up at him in shock.

With his hips still subtly rocking against you he moves his hands to grip both of your breasts. He moans loudly and groans at the way your soft breasts feel in his hands. Even better than he had imagined, he may very well become addicted. Your breathing has gone ragged, gasps escaping your lips each time his fingers graze your nipples. He growls, loving having you react to his touches. He pinches one nipple between his fingers and toys with it, observing the way you squirm on his sheets. He twists and you yelp, not pained but surprised. The sound is so arousing he groans and dips his head towards the other breast. He continues to play with you while he kisses the swell of your boob. You sigh shakily and unconsciously meet his thrusts with a subtle one of your own.

"Ah.. s-so perfect." He moans, sucking a dark red bruise into your breast. Your whimper is like music to his ears, he wants more. He moves down to your nipple and begins sucking on it happily, he's too out of it to even realize what it is exactly he's doing to his best friend but it feels so good.

His unoccupied hand goes to your thigh pulling you flush against him and relishing in the way you moan at the action. His hand slides back down to your hip, a strong grip holding you to grind against you harder. His moans turn into a string of curses, hips stuttering as he nears his high. His whimpers are full of pain and desperation as he falls apart on you.

"I've got you bub.. you can let go it's okay." You lay a gentle kiss to his head despite the rocking of your bodies as he grinds himself against you, then you gently massage his hair again. He sighs and relaxes in response to your touch, a broken moan escaping him as he comes undone in his sweatpants. His hips continue for a good thirty seconds through incoherent pleas and mumbles of your name against your nipple.

Once he has returned to earth he looks up at you like a kicked puppy, eyes again sparkly and glossed over with more tears as his lip trembles, expression completely fucked out but also lost and confused. He had never looked so vulnerable.

You stop him before he can even begin to apologize. Pulling him closer and cradling him in your arms as he sobs again. "Shh Jisung.. s'okay. I'm here and everything's okay you don't need to think right now. Let's just get you cleaned up and then we can cuddle okay?" He nods hesitantly in your shoulder and nuzzles into your hair. "Good boy, can you roll over for me?" You softly tap his hip to get him to lay on his back.

He does as he's told and looks up at you sadly with tears slowly falling from his eyes, but he tries his best to stay silent as you begin removing his pants. He's embarrassed but also too fucked out to do it himself. "I'll be right back, stay still for me." You walk out and into the bathroom before returning with a warm cloth.

You are careful and gentle as you removes his clothes, avoiding looking anywhere you don't have to in order to avoid embarrassing him any further. You then gently wipe him off, trying not to let yourself falter at his pained cries and whimpers of overstimulation.

Feeling you take care of him makes him feel safe and loved despite all of the mess that today has brought. However, he would also be lying if he said he didn't actually enjoy the way your touches hurt and overwhelmed him. He buries his desire for more and tries his best to simply be grateful for the amount you just gave him, when he totally deserved to be kicked right in the crotch for being a pathetic horny man who wants his best friend to ruin him.

You remove his shirt too, he isn't sure why really, he knows it isn't dirty. You then walk off to his closet and grab two of his baggy comfort tees and a pair of boxers from his drawer. He stays sniffling with a pout on his lips on the bed and doesn't even try to hide the way he watches your ass when you walk away, nor does he try to be subtle about checking out your lace panties and the way your boobs bounce as you walk back towards him.

He sighs content as you slide the comfy tee over his head and he raises his hips to help you with his underwear. He takes the other shirt from you and puts it gently on the bed before looking up at you and burying his face against your stomach as more tears fall from his eyes.

He's full on shaking now and he isn't exactly sure why. Nothing makes sense to him right now, his head feels funny, he's tired, mad at himself, embarrassed, ashamed, afraid, he has a head ache, he's dizzy. He's never felt so overwhelmed in his entire life. His arms wrap tightly around your body and he shakes with more sobs, body wracked with pent up frustration even his climax couldn't free him from. He can't even breathe.

"Baby.. please lay down Sungie.. please lay down for me." He chokes on a sob and gasps for air, whining as he forces himself to pull away and lay down like you tell him to. You grab the t-shirt from the bed and set it on the nightstand by his bed for later, picking up on the fact that he wanted it to stay off for now, whatever the reason may be.

He immediately curls into a ball sniffling, so fragile he may shatter if you aren't careful and you grab his favorite blanket from the side of the bed and drape it over him. You climb under it with him and he immediately sobs again and pulls you into him, desperately trying to be as close to you as possible. He knows how pathetic he must look but he can't help it. He's overwhelmed and so scared of losing you that he's now having a panic attack.

"Jisung.. You're scaring me, what's going on?" He starts hyperventilating at that, not wanting to have to explain his feelings for you, or why he did the things he just did, or how hard it is to be around you when you're.. well.. you. He doesn't want to have to say he's crazy about you, that he wants you to be his, that every little moment you share means so much more to him then it ever will to you, that every little seductive act you unconsciously make is agonizing to him. He doesn't even want to have to tell you about how work is stressing him out, about how tired he is. He doesn't wanna tell you that you're the only thing that makes it better, that you make everything better, and he simply cannot think straight with you around. That he doesn't even want to.

"I'm sorry baby, you don't have to tell me. I'm so sorry, breathe for me please. It's okay I'm right here, I'll take care of you." You rub his back and allow him to rest his head on top of your chest again. It's a comforting pillow and your hands, he swears they have healing powers, the way they make everything feel okay.

He gasps for air and tries to regulate his breathing. Holding your other hand up to his lips, his voice is hoarse and broken when he speaks. "Please.. Please d-don't leave.. Don't leave me.." His lips kiss your knuckles as he talks. He isn't opposed to begging for forgiveness and dropping on his knees to plead you to stay if it comes down to it.

"I'm not going anywhere, would never leave you bub." You kiss the top of his head and snuggle against him, tightly holding him close as you try to convey the truth in your words through your body. "Never."

"Really?" He looks up at you with sparkly sweet eyes, sensitive and wavering.

"Yes Hannie, would never leave you. You're irreplaceable to me, I love you."

He gasps, even though there's no evidence you mean it any way but platonically, he is taken off guard by the fact that you have never said those words to him in a format that wasn't a joke. For once he chooses not to overthink it, no matter how you mean it, he's happy.

He smiles brightly at you, the child like grin you've grown to love returning. "I love you too y/n"

You smile at him softly before pulling him back down into your chest, there you both fall asleep for the night. You, naked except for your panties under the blanket with marks littering various parts of your skin and him, almost fully clothed wrapped up tightly in your arms as if maybe you could shield him from every hardship of the world with your arms alone.

Stray Kids Masterlist

Taglist: @my-neurodivergent-world

[theresatzu]

Blue Lock characters and the pretty interviewer

Pairings. Blue Lock character x reader

Starring.//Isagi Yoichi//Bachira Meguru //Itoshi Rin//Michael Kaiser//

Tags. fluff//future fic//interview

Isagi Yoichi

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗Nervous mess all the way

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗Stammers when asked questions

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗Keeps stealing glances at you, but it's literally so obvious, it's painful

"So, Isagi-san, what did you think of today's match's outcome?" You asked, turning to him.

Isagi , who had been silently glancing at you, flinched, his eyebrows shooting upwards, cheeks turning an adorable pink.

"Uh... me?" He pointed at himself, looking very much like a dear caught in clear daylight.

"Yes, you." You chuckled.

At your slight laughter, Isagi went even more red.

"Oh... uh, it was great. Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you.

When you inclined your head to continue, Isagi 's mind went blank.

He blurted, "I think you're really pretty."

You shot him a confused look.

"UH, I mean, the match went pretty. Pretty well." He poorly corrected himself.

You eyed him amusedly. "Oh? Care to share some of your insight for your adoring fans?"

"My... insight?" Isagi repeated, a little breathless.

Because it was warm. Because he was warm. From the match.

(The match had already concluded three hours prior).

"Uhm... there were some really good... uh... plays." Isagi answered, stealing a glance at you, only to see that you were already looking at him.

His eyes widened, darting away. "And... uh..." What the hell was he even talking about? "Rin had some nice saves."

"Rin?" You tilted your head, "He wasn't in today's match, was he?"

"Oh! Oh." Isagi's lips parted, his eyes flicking from left to right to come up with an answer.

"Uh... I meant... he would have made a few good saves if he were in the game. You know... with uhm..." He faltered.

You nodded at him, beckoning him to continue, eyes attentively set on him. Isagi swallowed arduously.

His throat ran dry. Isagi coughed.

The silence stretched on.

He had to answer, now.

But with what? Rin with... with what?!

You were still looking at him, eyes expectant and so pretty-

"Pretty eyes." Isagi blurted out.

You frowned, confusion on your face. "Pretty eyes?"

Isagi went bright red. He could hear Bachira next to him shaking, doing a poor job of concealing his gleeful cackles at Isagi's predicament.

"Uh... did I say pretty eyes?" Isagi chuckled. It was strained and awkward.

"What I meant to say was... uh... predator's vision? Like when... when your vision of the field becomes really limited, you know?" He finished rather lamely.

"...Yeah." You slowly nodded your head, eyeing him with a mix of befuddlement and concern.

Then you turned to Bachira next to him, and Isagi could breathe a little bit easier. Though, his heartbeat didn't settle down, his cheeks felt like they were on fire.

Keep it together, Isagi. He said to himself. He was a goddamn world class footballer. He didn't do nervosity.

He had faced off Itoshi Rin and survived.

He had led Japan to the World Cup and carved his name in the football world.

He had become the top striker of his generation.

There was no way he was going to start being nervous now.

But he still felt his heart doing a little jump every time you looked at him.

Bachira Meguru

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Just sits close to you, his eyes barely leaving you

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗Thinks every question is directed at him

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗Is just one ball of sunshine, especially when your attention is on him

"So... Isagi-san, what is your opinion about how Japan has thus far fared in the World Cup?"

"Oh, well I think--"

"We're doing amazing! Did you see my super special dribble?" Bachira excitedly interjected.

"Dude." Isagi nudged him, an unimpressed expression on his face. "That was my question."

"Oh! Oh." Bachira deflated, sitting back again.

You chuckled. "Don't worry Bachira-san, you'll get the next one."

Bachira's eyes lit up at that, but they dwindled when you directed your attention on Isagi again.

Isagi began talking again. Bachira leaned back in his seat.

He bounced his leg impatiently, Isagi's thorough analysis on Japan's performance fading into the background.

Bachira's eyes flicked to yours, his bottom lip jutting out a little when you actually seemed captivated in Isagi's story.

Bachira eyed the two of you suspiciously, noting that Isagi was also sitting the closest to you.

Pursing his lips, Bachira stood up.

Isagi shot him a sidelong glance, raising an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

"This seat is uncomfortable. Can I sit there?"

Bachira pointed at Isagi.

You let out a snort. "You want to sit on Isagi's lap?"

Isagi guffawed, going bright red. "PR, PR!" He hissed at Bachira. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Move!" Bachira whispered back.

"Wait, what? Wha--" Isagi yelped as Bachira shoved him aside.

With a straight face, Bachira sat down, not even looking at Isagi, who was on the ground, mouth hanging wide open.

"Dude."

Bachira tactfully ignored Isagi, flashing you a bright grin, as if nothing had occurred in the past few seconds.

"You wanted to ask me a question?"

Itoshi Rin

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ He's really quiet during the interview, like, he'll answer questions, but just the bare minimum.

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Avoids eye contact like the plague, but he'll try to steal a look at you the moment your gaze is elsewhere

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ When he's caught looking, he'll freeze up, scowl fixed on his face. But if you look closely, you can see that the tips of his ears have turned a handsome red

"So, Rin-san, how did you think the match went?"

Rin's face was stoic, looking at the cement wall behind you.

"...It went well."

"You've scored a magnificent goal during the game, how did you pull that off?"

"...Just predicting the game and being in the right position."

Rin sighed, glancing to the side. Looking like he wanted to be anywhere else.

A tense silence fell.

You coughed, forcing a strained smile on your face.

"Rin." Isagi made a face at him. Rin raised an eyebrow.

You chuckled awkwardly, shuffling your cards. Were there any questions left?

With the way Rin had curtly and concisely answered the questions, you had rushed through the interview, with no more inquiries at hand.

It was clear Rin wasn't in the mood to field any questions: clear avoidance of direct eye contact, standoffish demeanour, and closed-off answers.

They were all tell-tale signs that Rin was itching to just leave.

You sighed, heart sinking in your chest.

You had been hoping to hold this interview with Rin since months now, being an avid admirer of his intricate playstyle and his tactics on the field.

However, it seemed that the sentiment wasn't returned.

"Well, I guess we'll wrap it up for today," You said, hiding the disappointment in your voice.

You looked up from your cards to say goodbye to both Isagi and Rin.

Your eyes met teal, irridescent ones.

Rin's eyes were dazed, a soft edge to them. A stark contrast to the cold look in them during the interview.

You tilted your head curiously.

Noticing you looking, Rin's eyebrows rose. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, a flustered look flashing in them, lips parting slightly.

He looked away, jaw tensed, and the moment was over.

Your eyebrows went high, intrigue welling up.

...Or maybe the sentiment was returned.

It was in the minute details, you assumed.

When Isagi nudged Rin playfully, shooting a knowing grin his way, which maybe meant Rin tolerated you, that was only an assumption.

When Rin's ears turned a lovely red when he looked at you, that was also only an assumption.

But when you shook Rin's hand, and looked him in the eye, that was only confirmation.

Michael Kaiser

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Flirts. Charms. Is not professional at all. "Accidentally" lets diminutives slip.

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Either answers questions about himself in a cocky manner, or is the one asking you the questions.

"So, Kaiser, in the last match, you managed to pull off a move called the "Magnus Impact", how did you do that?"

"Well..." Kaiser said, a confident quirk to his lips, "It's an unparalleled move of mine, and it paid off." He answered simply.

Then, he shifted, leaning his head on his arm, his eyes shooting to yours. "But what about you? How did you pull off that good look of yours?"

You choked.

"Wha--?" Your eyes went wide, spluttering.

Excuse me?"

Kaiser leaned in, his finger brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch leaving goosebumps on your skin.

"I know that my Magnus Impact is based off on my pure talent. I'm guessing your lovely look is natural, too, no?"

"Oh-- uhm..." You didn't know what to say. "I... guess?"

Kaiser hummed, leaning back in his seat again. "Thought so."

When the proximity between you two lessened, you let out a breath, quickly fixing your eyes on your question paper.

However, unbeknownst to you, Kaiser was still looking at you, eyes roaming over your features, a pensive expression on his face.

"Though, why did you choose to pursue this interview career of yours? You could've easily made the highway, Schätzchen."

"Huh?" Your head shot up from your cards.

"Mhm... lovely smile, natural blush, mesmerising eyes. And above all, a charming personality." Kaiser winked at you.

"Oh... uhm, I--" Didn't know what to answer. "Thanks?"

Kaiser let out a handsome chuckle, pushing the bangs out of his face. "Liebe, no need to thank me for your attractiveness, I'm only calling attention to the objective facts."

Your face went red.

"Though, if I might share my subjective opinion," Kaiser said, voice teetering on low.

"I'd say you're the prettiest girl I've ever met." His voice was barely above a whisper, a teasing edge to it.

The air was punched out of your lungs.

What in the Wattpad was happening?

"Uhm..." You cleared your throat. "While I do appreciate your compliments about my... looks, let's keep it professional, shall we?"

Kaiser smiled slightly, before nodding. "Whatever the lady wants. Fire away any questions you want to ask." The corners of his lips quirked upwards.

You inclined your head, shuffling through your cards.

Kaiser tilted his head,chancing a glance at your cards, an amused undertone to his voice. "Though, only professional ones."

A flush overtook your features.

The rest of the interview went swimmingly.

Kaiser expressed in detailed display his opinion and was consistent in his answers, so it came as no surprise that you could wrap up your interview early.

"Well, that went fast." You said in a surprised tone.

You stuck out your hand. "Thank you so much for your time, Kaiser."

A smile played on Kaiser's lips. "The pleasure was all mine."

You turned around to leave, but fingers gently clasped around your wrist, lightly tugging you back.

You came face to face with Kaiser.

"Oh... hi?"

"Hi." He said softly. "You have some time left?"

You checked your watch. You had a break scheduled now, so yeah.

You nodded.

Kaiser sat back down, gesturing for you to do the same.

Obliging, you retook your seat, a confused look in your eyes.

Kaiser leaned back in his chair.

You eyed him, puzzled.

"Well?" Kaiser tilted one eyebrow. "Don't tell me you don't have any questions for me, miss Journalist."

"...questions?" You repeated.

A handsome grin flitted on Kaiser's lips, he raised his eyebrows, his eyes falling on your cards.

"I... alright, but I'll have to go in an hour." You conceded, not wanting to pass up on this opportunity.

Kaiser tilted his head. "Whatever the lady wants. Fire away any question you have."

Your eyes widened, giving him an inquiring look.

"...unproffesional ones are allowed, too." Kaiser drawled.

Your face went up in flames.

© DON'T COPY MY WORK, PUT IT IN AI OR CHATGPT OR USE IT FOR OTHER NEFARIOUS MEANS

Masterlist

[lycanlure]

No Love To Give : More (1)

"M-My love... Slow down" Her hands explored me as her hips rocked mine.

"S-Shut up, f-fuck you feel so good..." Her voice shook, my hands tied behind my back.

Unable to do anything, she rode me crazy.

Our breath matched every thrust she made, my knees got weak as this has been happening for 3 hours straight.

"O-Oh my goodne-" I looked at my manhood, seeing the sight made my head rock back.

As pleasure was reaching in the back of my mind, making me groan.

I was a mess.

My tongue is hanging...

My eyes rolled back...

My legs shaking...

She never once stopped, she kept her pace...

Too slow and too good

"Love that, slut?"

"Y-Ye-"

"What? T-Tell me!"

"Y-Yes... Augghh" My moans began to roam around the entire house...

My moans and our flesh smacking at each other enveloped the closed house.

She fastened her pace, my moans became louder and louder. Her sweat dripped down on me... Her hair bounced as she rode my pathetic manhood.

"So long and thick, yet... It only stands when I'm around."

"Such a loyal slut!"

She then grabbed my neck, she slammed her glistening cunt harder.

Her warm hands only wrapped around me, as her slow pace began to get violent.

I cant help but let out a shivering breath.

"Fuck i'm cumming" She gritted her teeth.

Her pace only gotten rougher and violent.

"Aaughh!" My moans are restriced by her hands.

Enveloping my neck with her cold hands.

As we bot succumb to our climax, Karina rested on my chest.

Her breathing was heavy, 'She really outdid herself this time...' I whispered to myself.

I held onto her, putting my hand on the back of her head and the other on her back.

Turning around and putting her back on the bed.

As she lay there I looked at her

My eyes lingered on her for too long, and then I realised

I should be ironing her suits and pants

I slowly got up and got myself to rinse up before going out and do my chores

As I finished prepping myself, I stepped out of our room.

'Let's start!' I told myself and got to work immediately

I started to iron out her suits

As the iron pressed her suits, the steam of her suit smelled like flowers

Finishing her clothes, I soon moved onto her pants

Ironing her ridiculously expensive pants, I lightened the heat and then moved on, hanging them on her drawers.

'Hmm, maybe I should buy some vegetables for her. It's been weeks since we've had veggies,' I whispered to yourself

I slowly walked towards our room and looked at her

'She still asleep...' I spoke quitely

Stepping in closely to her, kissing her cheek

"Hey, I'm going out." I whispered to her

Karina groaned as she slightly opened her eyes, meeting mine

"A-Alright" She then flipped herself over and went back to sleeping

I giggled as I left the room quietly

1 HOUR LATER

"I'm home" I subconsciously said

I immediately saw Karina sitting at the sofa

"Oh, you're awake? Since when?" I asked as I removed my shoes

"Just a minute ago..." As she continued to go through every channel to see if there's anything good to watch.

"Alright." I soon went to the kitchen and placed the bag of groceries I bought

For the last 25 minutes, I have been cooking something...

It isn't much, but she'll like it

"My love, breakfast is ready" I called out to her

Karina then immediately went to the dining table and sat at middle chair

"Here you go" I placed her breakfast

"Yachaejeon? Never knew you know how to make them, " Karina curved her eyebrows

"Well, you haven't seen enough of my cooking. Yet" I smirked at her

"Hope it's good" Karina coldly replied

"O-Oh it's good, dont worry" I fixed my hair nervously

'It's here again... What happened? What the hell is with her, again?!' I thought

"Well, so any news about the company?" I awkwardly started a conversation

"Dont ask me about work. it's 7 in the morning..." She sounded irritated

"O-Oh, sorry," I apologized as I went to the sink and cleaned my hands

"Talking about it might ruin my appetite..." Karina added

"Well, I'm sure you're doing a good job" I placed my hand on her shoulders, massaging them

Karina easily finished eating and grabbed her plate

"My love, just give it to me" I smiled at her

Then I went towards her, taking the plate off of her hand

"You think I can't do mundane tasks now, Y/N?" She angerily told me

"O-Oh, it's just-" I wanted to reason but she soon cut me off

"Forget it, I'm getting ready..." She turned around and went upstairs

"A-Alright... I finished ironing your suits, my love!" I shouted as her figure disappeared from my line of sight

I sighed as I went to clean the dishes

"She's in a bad mood... Wonder what her father told her this time. " I sighed and finished the dishes

As I went to close the garage, a girl from the other side of the street waved at me

"Hey, neighbour!" Her smile was wide

She looked left and right on the road

Then she crossed

Approaching me, she said, "Hi, I'm new here, and I just want to introduce myself"

"Well, good morning" I replied with a smile

"O-Oh, good morning, My name is Kim Chaewon..." She stretched her hand out to me

"Nice to meet you, My name is Yu Y/N"

"You're korean too?! Wow, I never thought I'd meet Koreans here. " She applauded

"Was that your wife?" She added

"Y-Yes, just left for work" I smiled

"Wow, that's good for you then. Your wife must love you for her to, you know, go to work for you." She said smiling innocently

"Y-Yeah, she does..." You grabbed your arm looking down

"O-Oh, do you want to have breakfast? I made too much Yachaejeon" I scratched my nape

"Thanks! Dont mind if I do, " Her smile was infectious

Looks like I just made a friend

Chaewon POV

'Their house looks so expensive,' I thought to myself

"Please make yourself feel at home," He said as he went to the kitchen

"A-Alright" I followed him

Following him brought me to the kitchen, which was near the dining room, then I sat in one of the chairs in the dining room

"Here you go" He brought me a full serving if Yachaejeon

Which is great, because I'm fucking starving!

"You must be really hungry, huh?" He started to speak after I devoured my given Yachaejeon

"Um, sorryy" I covered my mouth and laughed

"Yeah, the flight was so long that I never even had the strength to buy food..." I told him as he listened thoroughly

"And all of the restaurants and fast food that I went were full of lines so... I just went straight here"

"So, you bought your house? It's a good one." He grabbed a water for me and gave it to me

"Y-Yeah, bought it off online, and later I found out that my cousin was the previous owner" I laughed

"Lucky you then, but why did you travel alone?" He asked me, looking confused

"W-Well for work reasons, and I dont have anyone." I scratched my head and laughed

"You sure are a jolly person, Chaewon." He laughed as he went to fill my water

"O-Oh, i-its fine, you done so much for me, I can at least fill my own water." I waved my hands on him as I bowed

"It's fine, I invited you so and I must take care of my guests." He then handed me the refilled glass

"Thank you so much"

Our hands touched, it felt like some kind of spark that shocked us both.

We both locked eyes...

I dont know what I'm feeling but...

I cant help but-

"A-Anyways, do you need anything else?" He immediately took his hands away

Both of us were surprised, yet I cant help but notice.

Is he flustered?

Sure he's handsome already and plus he's hella cute-

What am I thinking?!

'He's married for goodness sake, Chaewon'

I told myself

"Chaewon? Is everything alright? You haven't spoken anything." He nervously laughed

"O-Oh, I... I was just... About to... leave" I told him

"Oh? Alright, I'll pack you up some Yachaejeon" He smiled warmly to me

As his back is turned, I can't help but feel a sense of familiarity towards him...

Like he has this pull that, gradually attracts me

Pulling me closer and closer...

The way he speaks to me

How nice and innocent he is...

"Here you go." He handed me 3 tupperwares filled with Yachaejeon

"T-Thanks, Y/N" I looked at him as I grabbed all 3 of the tupperware

"No problem, you can ask here for more, dont worry" He clasped both of his hands as he smiled at me

As both of us went to the door

I felt like, I didn't want to leave...

His presence made me feel like I was home...

"Hey, it was nice meeting you... Y/N" I looked at him as I was close at the door

"You too, Chaewon. It's nice to finally have a friend here in this neighbourhood." He laughed and smiled at me

"Yeah..." I replied

I was just so dumbfounded how perfect he is...

The way he spoke, the way he served me like I was a family...

"See you," He told me as he held the door for me

"Yeah, see you" I smiled at him

He then closed the door slowly and waved at me as he went to finally closed the door.

"He's so cute..." I told myself

As i strolled back to my house, I couldn't help but feel lonely again

"Hope I can hang out with him or just talk to him again..."

[keirareidss]

slow dancing in the dark - a.h

♡ summary: aaron and reader share a sweet moment after jack goes to bed

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

wc: 0.7k

Aaron was trying to be home earlier more often. He wanted to spend time with his family. He didn't do it right with Haley and he was lucky enough to get a second chance. He didn't want to ruin it. So on office days where there was no case, he made a point to leave the office at his scheduled time if not earlier. He'd be home in time to help you make dinner and put his son to bed. He was happy. Truly happy for the first time in a long time.

"Alright. Jack is in bed. It's just us now." Aaron said, walking back into the kitchen where you were washing dishes. He put a hand on your lower back, sidling up next to you to dry the dishes. The two of you work in harmony, you scrubbing and rinsing the dishes before handing them off to Aaron to dry and put away. Once the last dish was away in the cupboard, you turned to the small radio sitting in the kitchen window, turning it on and dialing the volume up a bit, not enough to wake up Jack.

"Dance with me?" You asked, holding a hand out to Aaron who was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, smiling at you. He chuckled, shaking his head before pushing off the counter and taking your hand. He spun you before pulling you into his arms. You laugh as he sways the two of you, the dim light of the kitchen casing a golden glow over both of you. His arm finds its way around your waist, the other holding your hand in his as your arm goes around his shoulders. You rest your head on his chest, your bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces that were always meant to fit together. You sway softly together to the gentle jazz that's playing on the stereo. Aaron leans down, his breath caressing your ear.

"I love these moments with you."

"Me too."

"I... I've been trying to do better. Be home more." You pull back a little bit to look up at him.

"I've noticed. You're doing good. I think Jack has noticed too, he's been talking about how much he likes having family dinners again." You grinned and Aaron smiled right back at you.

"I'm glad. I was- I was worried he was starting to forget about me." You stop swaying, looking up at him with concerned eyes.

"Forget about you? Never, Aaron, he loves you."

"I know, I just worry. With Haley... I didn't get it right. I see that now. And I wish I could go back and fix it somehow but I can't. All I can do now is make sure that I don't ruin it again."

"You won't ruin anything."

"You say that now, but..."

"Hey," You stopped swaying, looking up at him. "You haven't ruined anything. I love you Aaron. So much." He leans down, pressing his forehead against yours.

"I love you too." His head dips down further, slanting his lips over yours. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, kissing you deeply as his other arm pulls your body closer to his. "I love you. I love you." He whispers like a mantra against your lips. "I'm trying."

"I know." You feel something warm and wet drop onto your cheek and when you open your eyes you see another teardrop sliding down Aaron's face. "Oh, honey, why are you crying?" You asked, cupping his face in your hands. He shakes his head.

"They're happy tears. I'm just happy." He says, smiling down at you. You wrap your arms around his neck and he buries his face in your shoulder as the two of you start swaying again. Aaron's hand slides up your body, up your arm to grab your hand. He takes a small step back, spinning you under his arm with a giddy grin. He knew, that this time, he was doing it right. He was trying and it was working. He could feel it in his heart, he could see it right now, and he saw it yesterday, and the day before, he sees it every day when he looks at you. Love. He had it and he wasn't letting it go.

[samiramohann]

would've been you (should've been me)

just a little something I wrote based off of this post and my own tags. based off of the flashback from 8x16.

They stop at the hospital on the way back to the firehouse. Parked outside behind the 118's ambulance, Bobby tells them he'll be a minute before he ducks inside.

They all knew he was going to talk to the mother from the house fire.

So they wait.

10 minutes later, their captain had emerged from the hospital doors. No one commented on the tear tracks that had cut through the soot on his face and hastily wiped from his cheeks. The call had been hard. And no one pointed and laughed at the 118 anymore if your emotions got away from you.

They ride back to the station in silence, and the cab of the engine is filled with a tension that has the hairs on the back of Tommy's neck standing on end.

When they finally pull in, Bobby is first out. Hen and Howie share a look as their captain tosses his gear into his locker, his helmet bouncing off the metal and falling to the concrete, forgotten as it's owner walks away.

Everyone else climbs out after a few seconds and sets their gear back into place, eyeing the crumpled turnouts on the ground. Tommy sighs.

"I'll get them." He calls out to the others, hopping down from the cab. "You guys go get washed up."

Everyone nods before they head off, and Tommy sets his own stuff to the side before going to pick up Bobby's things. He hangs the turnout coat on the hook, with the Captain's helmet laid to rest on top of it. He checks to make sure nothing was damaged on the tanks and mask before he stores those, too. He makes a mental note to check the oxygen levels, and then he shrugs out of his own turnouts and stores them away until they're needed again.

Once he's done, he contemplates heading towards the showers. Scrubbing the soot from his skin sounds like a really great idea right about now, but he feels restless. So he heads for the roof access instead, hopes the cool night air will clear his head.

When he gets to the access door, it's propped open, meaning someone is already out there, and he wonders if Robinson is sneaking a smoke or three as he pushes the door open and steps out.

He's met with the sight of their captain instead, hands planted on the ledge, eyes set on the street below. His body stiffens when he hears the door and suddenly his eyes are on Tommy and Tommy freezes.

"I, uh, sorry Cap. I didn't think anyone would be up here."

Bobby's eyes are full of grief and a rage that makes Tommy's stomach twist.

"What do you want, Kinard?"

The words are clipped as Bobby turns away from him, looking back down to the passing cars below them.

"I doesn't matter now. I don't want to bother you. I'll just go back and-"

Tommy cuts himself off when Bobby pushes away from the ledge and turns toward him fully.

"It's fine. I need to go do paperwork anyway."

Bobby crosses the roof, and Tommy steps aside, pulling the door open for the other man as he reaches it. Bobby stares at it for a second before he heads inside.

"Oh, uh, don't worry about your gear." Tommy calls after him. "I'll make sure your oxygen tanks are full when I head back in."

Bobby stops, his foot falling heavily onto the next stair.

"I didn't ask you to do that, Kinard. Just like I didn't ask you to stop me from reaching that crib."

Tommy's eyebrows knit in confusion.

"I know you wanted to rescue that baby, Cap. I did as well but you would have gone through the floor with him. You could have died, too."

Tommy sees Bobby's jaw tick, like he's angry that that exact scenario didn't play out.

"You're right, Tommy. But I gladly would have given my life so that a mother wouldn't have to be grieving the loss of her little boy tonight."

And with that, Bobby continues downstairs until Tommy hears the inner door to the stairwell open and close again.

Bobby's words play through his head as he stumbles away from the door, dropping down into one of the folding chairs they keep on the roof. He sinks into the uncomfortable plastic, arms coming up to wrap around himself like a hug.

There is a chill that has settled over his bones, and it isn't from the light breeze blowing across his exposed arms.

Tommy was able to save his captain, and that should feel good, and it had for a brief moment. But now it just feels like he's messed up.

Like Bobby wanted Tommy to let him fall.

Tommy wants to chalk it up to the emotions of the call. They lost a kid. Everyone involved is going to have to live with that for the rest of their lives. The 118 haven't experienced a lose like this since Bobby took over as captain.

Tommy sighs, runs a hand down his face. it comes away covered in soot, and he cringes, wiping it on his pants.

A few hours later, after he came down from the roof, had a shower, and checked both his and Bobby's oxygen tanks, he heads upstairs to grab a drink. As he reaches the top of the stairs, Bobby steps out of his office. Tommy stops where he is, watches Bobby as he crosses over to the coffee maker, and grabs one mug for coffee and then another. He fills them both up and sets one down across from him on the counter. Nodding towards it, Tommy takes the invitation and crosses the room, hoping onto the stool and pulling the cup towards him. They don't say anything to each other as they drink, and he's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Every so often, Tommy will shoot Bobby a glance, and their eyes will meet before Tommy flicks his away quickly. Before long, both mugs are empty, and Tommy watches as Bobby fills his again before he starts back towards his office.

Tommy doesn't make a move to get up. He just stares down into his own empty mug until Bobby calls his name. Tommy turns to look at his captain, who has stopped just outside his office door.

"You did good tonight, Kinard." Bobby pauses, glances at the clock. "It's late. Make sure you get some sleep, Tommy."

Tommy blinks and hesitates before nodding.

"Yeah. You too, cap."

Bobby nods once, and then he's gone. Blocked from Tommy's view as the door clicks shut behind him.

Things feel back to the way they were before the call. The coldness that had come from his captain seems to have gone, replaced by the same man he's gotten to know these past few months.

And the cold stays away on their next call. And the many calls that come after that. They continue to work flawlessly together as a team under Bobby Nash's leadership. He praises them for their work and offers corrections and advice when needed. He cooks dinner, often asking for assistance from one of the others. When Tommy is called on, it's friendly between them. They go over the day, Bobby asks about the car Tommy's been trying to fix up. It's nice.

A few months later, after Tommy transfers to Harbor, Bobby catches him by his truck at the end of his last shift with them.

"We're gonna miss having you around, Kinard."

"I'm gonna miss you guys, too. But if you ever need a helicopter for anything, give me a call. I'll be there."

It makes Bobby smile and before Tommy knows it, he's grabbing Tommy's shoulder and pulling him in for a hug. They hold onto each other for a couple of seconds before Bobby is stepping away, his hand still resting on the younger man's shoulder.

"You're gonna do great things, Tommy Kinard. It's been an honor working with you."

Tommy nods, throat tight. Bobby gives his shoulder one last squeeze before he's pulling his hand away and heading back toward the doors. Tommy watches him go until he is completely out of sight.

And still Tommy stands there, staring at his old house. He stares for a few minutes before he's pulling his phone out, going to the group chat him, Howie and Hen set up.

"Watch out for Cap for me, yeah?"

Howie sends back about 10 thumbs up emojis.

"Always." Is Hen reply. And it comforts Tommy to know his team will always have each other's backs.

He just hopes he'll still be able to have theirs all the way from Harbor.

He's going to try like hell to make sure he does.

[whatisshewritingg]

Full analysis and opinion on The Ruler

Warning THE RULER SPOILERS. DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN'T WATCHED THE EPISODE. And this is a REALLY LONG POST.

Oh man this is going to be a long rant. When I came back home and saw that the French subtitled version was available, I ran straight to sit and watch it. I was hopeful that it would be a Nathaniel-centered episode, since I had the theory that The Ruler might not refer to someone that rules over others, but to an actual ruler, which is an actual art supply. It sounds dumb, yes, but IT ACTUALLY BECAME REALITY. Because Nath's mother has a ruler in her hair.

The first scene we see is Nath sitting with his parents. He was showing the manga that he did with Marc to them, and his mother doesn't approve it. She says he should pursue a more "serious" art form.

This is something that happens to many artist throughout their journey. The way they illustrated this in this episode is so heart-shattering to me, maybe because it hits hard when you're in a similar situation. But anyway, poor Nath.

Also, the father talks about the possibility of the knights falling in love with the villain, a girl. This is important, because it's a topic that is repeated all over the episode. This comic is totally a metaphor on his own relationship with Marc, and thank god they didn't do this with their original comic, because it would've been too literal.

Then, we see that Marc's parents absolutely encourage him to write the story, totally contrary than Nathaniel's situation.

Then, we also see them at the school's art class. They are talking about the script, but he talks about that maybe the reveal scene isn't what people want to see. This means many things. This is portraying that maybe people they don't want to see THEM together. And not as friends, but as in actual dating. He also manifests being worried about the people on his circle reading it. And the fact that Marc's parents are accepting of their comic implies they may accept their relationship, too.

Then, they also show their classmates, and they all absolutely love the story. This shows that maybe, if they come out, everybody is going to support them. AND MARC TEXTUALLY SAYS: "Sun-Heart and Rain-Piercer is OUR STORY, MINE AND YOURS. It's all in our face.

Overall, this part of the episode in which they are debating wether to leave the script as it is or not is them debating wether to say they are a couple or not. Nathaniel hands out the script to Marc, but then comes running for it after. This shows us how much he really wants this, but he is restrained by the public opinion.

The next scene is Nathaniel finally getting to drawing it. But he says that the ending can't end like that, and that they can't lose their powers. Their powers can mean the "being themselves". The actually being a couple.

Then he shows Marc, and he says that he followed his heart when changing the script. This is because I feel like he felt that it just didn't sit right for them to not become something. So he takes action. And then Marc says that it's the best thing they have done together.

Their mother interrupts and scolds her son about drawing manga, and when Marc says that they're working on a school proyect, she says she's glad to see them getting serious, in the sense of actually pursuing something serious, implying even more on what I said before about that the art careers are never seen as serious enough.

After that, Marc and Nathaniel debate on wether to print it or not. Yet again, a metaphor on making their relationship public. But then, Nath says that all that has ended and that everybody is going to see it and that the manga is going to get printed. And then, here comes one of my favorite dialogues in the whole entirety of the series:

"Yes. What we've done is genuine, and when my mom reads it, she'll see how beautiful our story is. Beautiful, and important to us"

IM SOBBING.

Then they go to school and it gets printed and distributed, and when our favourite redhead gets home, he sees that his mother read the script. He questions his parents, since they wanted something genuine. But her mother says that it isn't genuine, and that he shouldn't waste his talent in comics. She even gets to the point of threatening with forbidding Nathaniel to see Marc.

Then, we se that Nathaniel is absolutely shattered as his mother destroys the script. The way this scene is animated breaks my heart, Nath's faces are so expressive and they pierced through my heart, at least, and made me emphatize with him a lot.

The next scene we see is him running and going back to the school. He transforms into Caprikid to create a gigantic paper shredder and destroys every comic that was printed, and remembers that Marinette has a copy. He goes to her house to destroy it. Marinette makes some sense into him and he lets her keep the manga's copy.

Some time after that, he tells Marc about everything that went on. And Nate says that it's better like that because they at least will be able to be friends. Another phrase I liked a lot from this episode: "My friend draws from the heart! He doesn't give up on his passion! My friend doesn't hide who he really is." This is an allusion to Nathaniel's queer identity. But then, we see he tells Marc to find another illustrator.

In the next scene, Marinette storms into some sort of storage room and sees Marc crying over what went on with Nathaniel. "For that [the drawing again] to happen, he'd need to change parents, too..." MY POOR MARC.

We later see that his mother came to pick Nathaniel up since he wasn't feeling well. Marinette storms in and offers to draw the comic. The mother gets into the conversation and gets mad when Marinette says that his son's talent could change people's minds and after knowing that he drew it in the end.

Nath's mother gets akumatized, and Marc jumps to protect Nathaniel, and gets affected by the akumas power and leaves Nate alone. And he gets even madder at his mom because he payed it with Marc. Nathaniel flees the scene and before transforming, he says: "Yes. I'm ready. I'm done hiding!"

There's also symbolism in this scene. Saying I'm done hiding and transforming INSIDE A CLOSET!!!!! It's crystal clear that this is alluding to him "coming out". In between commas because this might be also acting as Caprikid. I also find kinda funny that he uses art supplies as weapons when he could create actual weapons, lol.

Anyways, the fight goes on and they win using the akuma's powers against her. And after Marinette and Adrien's scene, Chrysalis says: "Nathaniel Kurtzberg, what is your true face?", so she might be looking out for him now.

Nathaniel and Marc are then seen at the redhead's house, and Nate's parents are reading the comic whilst they are HOLDING HANDSSSSSSS. IM FERAL. Nathaniel's mom finally accepts him going into manga and they hug. YAY HAPPY ENDING FOR NATEEEE

But the most intense part of the episode is the last. The two boys are in Nathaniel's room (?), and Marc says "We got attacked when we were just talking about love" AND HE GETS CLOSER TO NATHANIELLLLLLL. I'ts so obvious that the comic is about them. They also use the "great hate" of the manga to depict the homophobic people that don't accept their relationship. They also use the main character to depict themselves and they talk about not having powers. AND OH BOY.

"Power or no power, I'll always be there to protect you" 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

And Marc tells him that he isn't a superhero. AND NATHANIEL TRANSFORMS INTO CAPRIKID IN FRONT OF HIMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!! AND THEN MARC TRANSFORMS INTO ROOSTER BOLD!!!!!! THEY REVEAL IDENTITIESSSS!!!!!!!!!!

I never thought they'd be the next couple to know each other's identity, but I love that they both know now! And if they didn't notice that they hid Marc's transformation from us... THEY HAVE THINGS PLANNED FOR HIM, WE WILL GET ANOTHER MARCANIEL EPISODE 🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

Anyways, sorry to put you through so much reading. But I genuinely love this episode :))))

[togeppy]

doubt-free ;

xaden riorson x reader

reader quells xaden's worries that he's not going to be a good father, and when he holds his child for the first time, he comes around to believe it himself. ✧ : based on this req! set post-series because these characters need a break and a happily ever after. brief mentions of body self-consciousness near the beginning.

"Have I sprouted a tail?" you ask your husband nonchalantly, as you finish fixing your bed and move to sit atop the now-neatly presented spread. 

Xaden, momentarily stunned, raises an eyebrow from where he sits at his desk. "What?" 

You face him as you make yourself comfortable, letting the book that you had decided to read rest on your lap as you gaze back at the man. "You've been staring at me for minutes now, and not in an 'I need to get you in that bed instead of making it up' way, but in a 'I am looking at you concerned because you've grown a new appendage' way." 

The man lets a small laugh escape his lips at your antics. "No, you have not grown a tail." 

You give him another pointed look. "Fine, then care to explain why you're giving me that look? I know this bump makes me look kind of lumpy now, but I would argue that it's your fault I look like this, so you don't have the right to look at me like I've turned into a wyvern." 

Your hand goes to rest atop your belly that has recently made itself visible regardless of whatever clothes you attempt to hide it behind. You’ve become self-conscious about it - you haven't gotten used to the changes your body is undergoing, and more often than not you find yourself looking in the mirror in the morning wondering where your old body has gone.

Xaden's smile immediately falls, getting up from his seat to lie in front of you on the bed. Without hesitation, he moves your hand and begins peppering kisses along your stomach. A soft smile instantly lights up your face at the action. When he finally finds the amount of kisses he’s given satisfactory, he looks back up at you. 

“Don’t think for a moment that you look unattractive because of this,” he mumbles, placing one final kiss on the bump, “You look more attractive than ever. You’re carrying our child and I think that you look absolutely gorgeous doing it.” 

Your heart lightens at his words, and you bring your hand to rake through his hair as he grins up at you, adoration evident in his eyes. 

“I appreciate the flattery, but that doesn’t explain why I’ve got eye marks in my back from how hard you’ve been staring.” 

Xaden’s smile falls once again as he moves to sit up properly next to you. His eyes go distant, and all you can do is study him as he finds the words to vocalize what he’s thinking. 

“Every time I see the bump grow, it becomes more of a reality that we’re going to be parents.” Xaden starts, unable to meet your eyes at first. You can tell that he hasn’t arrived at the core of his thought yet, so you stay silent, knowing that he’s carefully choosing his words, a habit he’s developed since being named as the Duke. 

“I don’t really… have any idea what a normal parent is like,” he whispers, eyes finally drifting up to your own, his eyebrows furrowed as he continues thinking, “My mother left me in the middle of the night as a child and ran off to the isles to start a new family immediately afterwards. My father was actively running a secret rebellion while also acting as the Duke of Tyrrendor. He cared about me, but I can’t say that his parenting methods were ideal. I… worry that I’m not going to be a good dad because of it.” 

You sit stunned for a moment, before setting your book down on the bedside table, long forgotten. You move quickly to slot yourself between Xaden’s legs, sitting with your own legs tucked beneath you so that you’re now face-to-face, and you take his hand in both of your own. 

“You’re going to be an amazing father,” you state, confidence clear in your voice, “I’ve never met a more caring man in my life. You sacrifice so much for me and everyone in this province daily, more than I could ever begin to put into words. I have no doubts that you’d do the same for our child.” 

Your husband shakes his head, placing his free hand on top of your bump. “But that’s why I worry. I have so many responsibilities that I fear I won’t have enough time to properly give our child the time that they need.” 

For a second, you stare back at him. It’s a valid concern - he does have a lot on his plate given his title, but you know that despite his stony exterior, Xaden Riorson is a lover at his core. He always finds time for the people close to his heart. 

“You’re excellent at dividing your time. You make plenty of time for me, I almost never feel like you’re neglecting me.” 

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Almost never? That’s more often than I’d like.” 

The corner of your mouth lifts up in a playful grin. “Sometimes I’m convinced Garrick thinks he’s the one married to you. While I’m aware that the two of you are allowed to spend time together, I think you need to cut down on your allocated Garrick time and redelegate some of that time to me.” 

Xaden rolls his eyes as he lets out a laugh in fond exasperation. “Can, and will gladly do, but when he comes to our door in protest, you’re the one that’s going to have to deal with him.” 

Your smile only deepens, “I can do that.” Your knees now grow sore at your position, so you move to lie down, and the dark-haired man guides you to lie atop him, your head nestled in his shoulder as your body rests between his legs. 

“In all seriousness though, you might not think it yourself, but you’re incredible at being present despite everything you’ve got going on. You do your paperwork here instead of your office just so that you can be in the same room as me. You invite everyone to have meals together daily so that you’re always updated on how our friends are doing.” You lean forward and place a gentle kiss on his neck. “This baby is never going to doubt that you’ll do the most to make time for them.” 

Xaden smiles softly as he looks down on you, rubbing a hand against your back. You can see in the way that his facial expression has changed that he’s started to accept your words, and has somewhat accepted that he’ll be a not-too-shabby dad. He presses an equally gentle kiss to your forehead. “Thank you.” 

You angle your head to get a better look at him, and you eye him with adoration. “Besides, we’ve got a village at our disposal anyways. Surely if we don’t know what we’re doing, someone will.” You think of your friends, who were so eager to help out the moment that you announced you were expecting, and you know that any of them would be willing to come to your aid in a heartbeat. 

Xaden nods in agreement, before his eyebrows furrow again. “We’re not letting Ridoc babysit without someone else present until this kid is at least ten.”

You open your mouth to protest, but before the words can come out you think of a future where Ridoc has turned your child into an equally rowdy mini-him, and anticipate the headache you both will have trying to rein them in. “Agreed.” 

Your husband lets out a little exhale that doubles as a laugh and holds you tight. 

“Normal parents are overrated anyways,” you whisper, your hand resting on Xaden’s chest, “We staged a revolution, won a war and now reign over a whole damned province. This kid is going to be bragging that they’ve got the coolest dad ever.” 

Three months later, you walk - or rather, waddle with how large you’ve gotten - into your room, where you’re surprised to see Xaden standing near the corner of baby things, a small onesie and children’s book in each of his hands.

“Trying to find your next read?” you quip, and the man spins around to face you, rolling his eyes.

“Wondering how in the world to take care of a baby,” he responds, setting the book down. You move towards him, and he quickly wraps his free arm around your waist for support, knowing you’re not able to stand for very long without growing uncomfortable. 

“That’s a battle we’ll learn to deal with when we get there,” you respond, gaze finally dropping to the item of clothing he had picked out, “I like that one, Imogen bought a cute matching set.” 

Xaden smiles softly, though his eyes have the far-off look you’ve grown so familiar with. 

“What’s on your mind this time?” you ask patiently, knowing that your husband will speak when he’s ready. 

“I’ve been a warrior my whole life, not a nurturer. I’ve spent years fighting to prove my worth as a marked one, to advocate for the cause of the revolution, to demonstrate my competence as a Duke.” He sighs. “This onesie is so… so miniscule. Switching from being a fighter to protecting someone this tiny feels impossible.” 

You take a long look at him - you thought that you had quelled his worries about being an unfit dad months ago, but it’s clear the doubtful thoughts have returned. 

Tilting your head slightly to the side, thinking back to the past, you decide to challenge the man. “You’re not just a warrior, you’ve always been a protector too. You took on 107 scars to keep the marked ones safe. You killed a prince because he was bullying your best friend. You became venin and then gave up the power to save the entire Continent. You shelter me from the onslaught of… everything you face each day. You can’t say that you’re not a nurturer, because you’ve taken on so many fights to protect others that you don’t even realize it’s become second nature to you.” 

He stares back at you, stunned by the list of things you had so easily thought up. “I- I guess.” His eyes are still distant as they travel down to the book he had set aside. “Do you think they’ll like me?” 

Your hand goes up to gently stroke at the man’s cheek. “Of course, they’ll absolutely adore you.”

Xaden stands quiet, still staring down, his mind elsewhere. “I have no experience with babies, and I’ve been told my interpersonal skills make me unapproachable. For most of my life people hated me before they even met me. What if our kid thinks I’m too boring for them? That they can’t come to me with their worries?” His voice sounds defeated, like he’s just accepted that his own child will resent him straight out of the womb.

You look at him, dumbfounded. “Xaden, it’s a baby. I seriously doubt they’ll be concerned about your interpersonal skills, just that their dad is there to rock them to sleep. You’ve quite literally got more backstory than anyone on this continent, I don’t think it’s possible for this child to find you boring.” 

His eyes are no longer hovering on the book, and they now look at yours, as if seeking validation within them. You hold his gaze, strong and sure, letting him know that you believe every word you say to be the truth. 

He exhales, his body sagging against you, and you know you’ve - at least temporarily - placated his fears. He rests his head atop yours, placing a kiss into your hair. His voice now sounds weary as he speaks. “I’ve never been this worried about anything in my life. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever had anything this important worth worrying about.” 

You can’t help but smile knowing the feeling all too well. “Yeah, I’ve been getting more and more terrified the closer we get to this baby being born.” 

He lifts his head and studies you. “You’re doing a better job than me at not showing it though.” 

You shake your head. “To the untrained eye, you look unfazed and perfectly prepared. I’ve just been married to you long enough to know that you’re not.” 

Xaden sighs again, tightening his grip around your waist. “You’re going to be the best mother. I’m going to have to try pretty hard to be able to compare.” 

You laugh, peeling yourself away from him to go sit down, your body physically protesting at having stood for so long. “I don’t think you’re going to be a good mother.” 

Your husband scoffs at your joke, following behind you as you continue. 

“But you’re going to be an amazing dad, just you wait and see.” 

Emotions were never Xaden’s strong suit, but holding your baby for the first time has awoken emotions that he didn’t know he was capable of feeling all at once. Pure joy, elation, anxiety, wonder, pride. He feels all of them and more as he stares down at the newborn in his arms. 

Noticing your fatigue hours after the baby was born, your husband urged you to sleep, assuring you that he would keep a careful eye on the baby. He now stands swaying as you and the baby both rest, the latter held tightly yet gently in his arms. 

He paces slowly around the room, rocking your child as he moves. His eyes never leave them for a moment as his shadows hover protectively around both him and the swaddle of blankets to prevent anything from causing the baby any harm. When he’s sure the newborn won’t stir, he carefully takes a seat in a plush chair in the corner of the room, holding them against his chest. 

His finger goes to lightly trace the baby’s features, adoration and awe evident in his eyes. All of his defenses are down - Xaden has never felt this exposed or vulnerable in his life, all because of his offspring, so fragile in his arms. He stares down at his child, unmoving apart from the rise and fall of their chest as they take in small breaths. 

“I’m never going to let anything or anyone hurt you,” he whispers quietly so that no one arouses from their sleep, “Might spoil you a little too. But don’t let your Mommy know that.” 

He casts a quick glance up to you and smiles softly at your sleeping figure, body fused with the bed out of pure exhaustion, yet relaxed, trusting wholeheartedly that he’s taking good care of your child. He knows at that moment that he will do your bidding for the rest of his life - it’s because of you that he has this precious baby in his arms, and for a treasure so great, he can never repay you. 

His eyes drop back down to the newborn, his heart never resting for a moment as the elation overcomes him, every single nerve in his body alert. 

“Everything I do from now on will be for you now, huh,” he coos, “You’ve only been here for a few hours and I’m already willing to raze all of Tyrrendor if it’ll keep you happy. Hopefully it doesn’t come to that though.”

Xaden feels it deep in his chest, the doubts no longer chasing him. He will be a good father because the tiny bundle in his arms deserves the world. They will never doubt that they’re loved, they will have his undivided attention any time they need it, and they will be safe from anything that comes their way. He’s a protector and a nurturer, and with you by his side, and all of your friends that have become family ready to lend a helping hand, this baby will have anything and everything that they will possibly need. 

“I love you with everything that I am,” he whispers to your child, placing a soft kiss on their forehead, careful not to jostle them too much, “And that will never, ever, change.” 

Your husband holds the baby tight, though now the anxiety is gone. He holds his whole world in his arms, and he feels calm, knowing that a new chapter of his life is starting. He’s no longer just the Duke of Tyrrendor, the ex-venin shadow-wielder, or the head of the revolution. He’s your child’s Dad, and to him, that’s the most important title of them all.

[eclipsedechoesofmywords]

Hi! I love how you write Joaquin! Can I request Joaquin Torres with a magic!reader that has Maleficent style wings, and they both go flying together one day and realize they're in love? (I need fluff and banter lol)

"Winging It"

[Joaquin Torres x fem!reader]

Masterlist

Summary: Racing through the sky with Joaquin is one thing. Realising you’re both falling in more ways than one? That’s another.

Warnings: none, just fluff

Word Count: 522 words

A/N: tried my hand at joaquin's pov!

"You'll never catch me alive, Torres!!!" You yelled out behind you, spinning in the air.

Joaquin was close behind, his metal wings surprisingly keeping up with the ones you were born with. White, with a faint tint of gold, Joaquin had assumed you were an angel when he first saw you. He still doesn't think he was entirely wrong.

He finally, finally, caught up with you, now side by side. "Always talking such a big game, aren't you sunshine?"

You frowned, and he grinned.

It had been just past seven months since you two had met. He remembered it as if it were yesterday. On the ground, he was groaning in pain while Sam yelled in his ear through the comms, a shadow, your shadow, falling over him, same frown and all. He might've said something stupid then, but he was too out of it to remember.

Now, here you were, racing through the clouds like it was the most natural thing in the world. The wind rushed past, cool and exhilarating, and for a moment, Joaquin forgot about everything else—missions, responsibilities— and just flew.

You dipped lower, skimming the treetops, and he followed without hesitation. "You're gonna get us both killed!" he called out, but there was no real worry in his voice—just pure, unfiltered joy.

"You love it!" you shot back, tilting your wings to spiral upward again.

And damn it, he did.

He loved the way your eyes sparkled when you were challenging him, the way you laughed when the wind caught you just right, the way you trusted him enough to lead him through the sky like this.

Then, without warning, you slowed, hovering in place as the clouds parted around you. Joaquin circled back, tilting his head. "Giving up already?"

You smirked. "Nope. Just wanted to see the look on your face when I do this."

Before he could react, you reached out, grabbing his hand and yanking him into a freefall.

Joaquin's stomach dropped, the ground rushing up way too fast—but then your wings snapped wide, catching the air, and you pulled him into a smooth arc just before the ground could claim you both. His heart was pounding, his breath coming fast, but all he could focus on was your hand in his, warm and steady.

"You're insane," he breathed, but he was grinning like an idiot.

You squeezed his fingers. "And yet you keep following me."

Something shifted in that moment—something quiet and undeniable. The sky stretched endlessly around you, the world below feeling miles away, and Joaquin realised, with staggering clarity, that he would follow you anywhere.

"Yeah," he said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "Guess I do."

Your wings beat once, keeping you both aloft, and for the first time, there was no banter, no teasing—just the two of you, suspended in the air, hearts racing for reasons that had nothing to do with flying.

Then you smirked again. "Race you back?"

Joaquin groaned, but he was already adjusting his stance. "You're impossible."

"And you love it," you repeated, winking before taking off.

He could never argue with that logic.

[acourtofthought]

I forgot who I saw this from the other day but it really resonated with me for anyone who continually undermines the possibility of Elain (and Lucien) having the next book

Someday, the ACOTAR series is going to be sold as a boxed set. Maybe it's a gift for an 18 year old from a parent who "heard there was a lot of buzz about this series".

That person is going to start with ACOTAR and work all the way through ACOMAF, ACOWAR, ACOFAS, ACOSF, and whatever the next book(s) is / are.

That means they'll finish SF and move directly into the next book. They're not going to pause to read the CC series, they probably won't know of any bonus chapters, they won't even know to go back and scour the internet for Interviews where Sarah said "she was excited to write Az's journey" or "because she knew early on where Elain's story was going it allowed her to plant seeds throughout ACOWAR and even SF".

The only thing that will exist for this particular reader are the books. And the end of SF says the following:

"Maybe not." Eris shifted on his feet, and grimaced again. "But you and yours have more important things to worry about than ancient history. My father is furious that his ally is dead, but he's not deterred. Koschei remains in play, and Beron might very well be stupid enough to establish an alliance with him, too. I hope that whatever Morrigan is doing in Vallahan will counteract the damage my father will unleash."

That line comes before Cassian thinking:

And one day, when the time was right.....They'd take the next steps. They'd walk down whatever road lay ahead of them together.

Of course Sarah hinted at Nesta and the Valkyrie having more of a story to tell in SF but based on the above which comes at the very end of the book, it seems a clear delineation of what the focus of the plot currently is.

If you were reading SF and moving right into the next book, would you think that the restoration of the Dusk Court was a more pressing issue than what Eris is talking about? Would you really know anything much about the Dusk Court at all having moved right from SF into ACOTAR 5/6?

If you're reading these books back to back, you'll have also just finished the novella where Feyre says to Mor:

"I want them to be happy. All of them."

And that is in reference to Nesta, Elain, and Lucien. She follows that up with "And you - are you happy?" speaking directly to Mor.

Yes, the Valkryie were introduced in SF but would a reader automatically assume that suddenly their stories are more worth telling than Elain's? Than Lucien's? Than Mor's?

It's as if just because people have grown attached to those characters (which are great, of course), suddenly nobody else's story is important.....at least not until Gwyn and Az get a HEA together first. But I don't think a reader going straight from one book to the next would honestly see it that way. Not when the Elucien bond has been an unresolved issue since book 2. Not when Vassa and those other girls are still Koschei's captives. Not when Spring has been falling apart for multiple books, not when Mor was clearly not 100% happy in the novella. Just because we have our personal favorites, it doesn't mean Sarah cares more for them than she does all her characters.

With that said, Sarah could ABSOLUTELY write Gwynriel next but I have to say, if you're reading the series straight through, they would not be the "obvious" answer to me. They would actually be more of a "What??? But what about everyone else? What about Elain and Lucien? Vassa? Mor? What about Spring falling apart? And Koschei and Beron?" "Lucien still doesn't know about Helion??" "What do you mean people can time travel now?" Because those plots were not only introduced multiple books back but we were reminded of them in SF.

And that's why I say I still feel Elucien could possibly be next because they do make the most sense to me if we're looking at the ACOTAR series as a series and not just a single standalone book.

[firstelevens]

I would take any off of that kisses prompt, but especially eyelid kisses, if you'd like? Or any of them, really truly

34. eyelid kisses

Sam has been dozing on and off for the past half hour at least, cozy under the weight of a plush blanket and halfheartedly debating whether he should get up and make some attempt at a real dinner. It doesn't feel like a real dinner day, if he's being honest. If feels like a laze around for a few more hours and then make midnight pancakes and eat an obscene amount of them kind of day.

He tries to remember if he has maple syrup lying around somewhere, and is distracted from his mental inventory of the pantry by the gentlest brush of lips, first over one eyelid, then the other. The kisses continue in seemingly no order at all after that: one to his nose, a few dotted over his left eyebrow, one on his earlobe. Sam stays where he is and lets them happen, tilting his head back a little when the kisses move down to his neck.

"We have to stop doing this," Bucky mumbles, his lips still pressed to the hollow of Sam's throat.

Sam doesn't bother opening his eyes. "You're not allowed to break up with me when neither of us has pants on. That's just bad manners."

"Sam," says Bucky, all plaintive and sad, and if it were anyone else, he'd class it as a whine. Maybe he will, if Bucky insists on being stupid.

"No," says Sam, eyes still closed. "Breakup denied."

"You can't just say no, you know."

"I'm pretty sure I just did," says Sam. "Try again when you have a better reason than 'keeping me safe.' That one was bullshit and you know it."

There's a nip at Sam's neck, the gentlest scrape of teeth before Bucky lets out an exasperated groan. "Why are you like this?"

He pretends to think about it for a moment. "How does that one Taylor Swift song go? The one you pretend not to like? Don't blame me, love made me crazy?"

Bucky sighs. "I hate you."

Sam finally opens his eyes, smiling when he sees Bucky's gaze locked on him. He lifts a hand to cup Bucky's face, smoothing over the worried furrow between his brows. "No, you don't."

For a long moment, Bucky leans into the touch of Sam's hand, letting his own eyes flutter closed like he's trying to commit it to memory. Then he leans over to kiss Sam again. "No," he says, dropping another kiss on the corner of his mouth. "I don't."

("I'll tell you what I do hate, though," Bucky says later, when they're both midway through stacks of pancakes, "that stupid couch. If we're going to keep doing this, we need to get a better couch."

"Or you could just keep your hands to yourself for as long as it takes us to get up to the bedroom?"

Bucky considers this for all of a second, then shakes his head. "No. We'll have to change the couch.")

[erwinsvow]

same nonnie who said she loved teh angst of them seeing each other i just read ur hashtags and omg?!!!? i love it i usually love love angst but i love them being together too much to want this pairing apart but i think it would be so good… imagine her even saying she doesn’t want kids if it’ll worry him😭😭😭 like she just wants him so badly to understand how much she loves him

i really need to study and i gave myself chest pains by thinking more about that and like as someone who cannot handle angst without a happy ending i will try to give us the best of both worlds. night shift reader would 10000% plead with jack to not break up, feels so stupid begging him because she never thought she would have to, when everything in their relationship is like a fairy tale because they have so much mutual understanding. they just have always understood each other so well, from their first shift together, the first time they really got to know each other.

six months in is that comfortable spot where everyone makes jokes about your wedding and you go home together every night. you know in another six months you'll be moving in together and talking more about the future than you already have. so when jack has this whole crisis about your age (something set it off, i don't know what exactly yet. the comment from the waiter is one thing. it would take more, maybe he saw a patient come in with a young wife and they're bickering and fighting and he sees something he doesn't want to in their relationship.)

night shift reader would just be so sad. pleading that she doesn't care about kids if she can't raise them with jack. that maybe they can foster and adopt if it's really about that—though you've been dizzy with the idea of carrying jack's babies and being pregnant and having him dote on you more than he already does. you put aside the baby names you've been saving your whole life, the nursery you want to decorate, you'd get rid of it all if it meant keeping the life you want with jack from disappearing.

and he knows you!!!! he knows you want all of that! he refuses to take it from you. tells you that you need someone closer to your age who can give you all of that. he thinks this relationship was meant to happen because it's the happiest he's been in as long as he can remember, and then he thinks he's doing you a favor by breaking it off so you can have the sort of life you've always wanted. winter into spring into summer. you go back to the day shift, anxious at 7am and 7pm with the idea of seeing jack again. you try to talk to him but he says he's not gonna change his mind. you ask him if he ever loved you and he says of course i did, sweetheart. it's because i love you that i had to do this.

the worst part is while you're horribly depressed like this, jack would be justifying it and thinking that you'll get over him soon and get a new boyfriend and be fine. hears from robby and dana how sad you are and how different you seem and how you plunge yourself into work to avoid going home. there are no dates, no boyfriends. just you and your job and using all the skills jack taught you.

idk how they'd get back together. maybe one day you go to the roof after a bad loss and robby tells jack he saw you head up and that he's worried about you. you think no one can find you up there but then jack shows up and you'll be damned if you don't feel the enormity of his absence all over again. or maybe one day there is a date, a surgeon upstairs who has always flirted with you but you never paid any attention since you were smitten with jack since the minute you met him. hears about it from dana, who tells him he made a mistake until his ears bleed. you have a shitty date and jack has a shitty day and you both end up taking a walk through your favorite section of the park where you bump into each other. idk. maybe something like that.

[klamaric]

Today's clip has so many layers, I love it.

I've been wondering if Eva is really over Jakov, and to me it seems like she is getting there. I don't know, from what she says here, it looks like she just doesn't want to feel like the one who hasn't moved on, that's why she wants to start dating again. I like that, I hope they don't make her pine for him because that Eva storyline never goes anywhere in the OG, it just makes Eva 'less confident', and it's the opposite of what she wanted in her speech when she's breaking up with Jonas. I always felt like that Eva storyline does her so dirty, she deserves better! I also like it that she confides it to Nora while wanting to let the girls think she's actually into the guy she's going on a date with. From what we saw of her in s1, she's far from being a self-assured person, so that makes sense, that she still worried of how others perceive her, but not Nora. <3

There are lots of lines here that could be read as foreshadowing, let's see if it happens!

For example, Nora saying it's not like Eva is gonna marry the guy she's going on a date with, maybe it's foreshadowing to when Roko (hopefully) says 'let's get married when she tells him she wants to wait-until-marriage. And obv because the guy Nora is going on a date with IS the guy she's going to marry, but okay.

The red lipstick part, will she put on her red lipstick for their date? Will she want to look like she's very sure of herself, then? Because usually Nooras take it off in order to not look like they have put it on to look prettier for the date, or as Roko said, 'more dolled up', lmao.

It's nice that Eva asks her about her being 'so sure of herself', because it's something we know about Eva as a character, she admires Noora because she thinks Noora is this role model in her eyes, and it's good that she asks because really, this Eva totally needs some reassurance that this friend she looks up to so much is not as 'perfect' as she seems.

When she talks about alcohol and how she relies on it to not get anxious and speak her mind without caring of what people will think of her, and Nora tells her she's just as interesting sober!!!!!!!!! She also really needed to hear that, even though she makes a joke after that, probably to not let it show it's a serious issue to her.

Then there's that Nora moment where she tells Eva about the date. I do think she did that mostly to avoid more questions, like: why don't you date, Nora? When she first says 'never', she sees joking won't do, so she uses the date as a shield against that type of question. She also believes it will be just one time, and that she won't have to talk about it, and that Eva will never find out who her date was, our sweet summer child who on top of everything, isn't a fan of changes. OOF!

'If it becomes important, you'll know.' OH SHE WILL KNOW, DEAR. You're lying and have no idea of what's gonna happen between you and your date but, she so will know.

And last but not least we have her randomly asking Eva about that building. Will it be the building Roko will take her on their date or will it turn out to be nothing? Guess we'll find out on Friday!

[love-toxin]

Oh to be that new slightly naive barmaid at one of the gangs fave strip joints, who suddenly finds themselves the centre of attention from that group of noisy regulars. Constantly teased, and youre constantly blushing but god they tip really well.

You get bullied by your creep of a manager into dancing one night due to one of your coworkers no showing. You're so painfully awkward about it, not much grace or rhythm but your little group of regulars are so fucking supportive. They even buy your time, almost snatching you out the hands of some gross old guy whod been trying to get your attention, and make you sit and drink with them rather than give them the expected lapdances. Relieved but awakward in your skimpy outfit, opening your mouth obediently when Hayao brings a shot up to your mouth. Too grateful to say anything even when their hands start to roam a little and get to grabby with you when the drinks start to pile up. No one else dares approach, not even your manager even though you can feel him glaring at you.

You're never asked to dance again, either bexause you were so bad at it or because Makoi interfered but the hangouts happen often on your shifts. You learn their names, not much else, but they seem to weasle information out of you so easily. You have a favorite of the group, but youre very careful to not let it show.

Your coworkers get jealous at this attention and tips youre getting. your shifts are cut, and suddenly suddenly.......?

Maybe Makoi buys the bar, or you get fired but don't worry Kenji knows somewhere you can get a job no problem.

MRRRAOOOWW......bet. the first time you meet them, Makoi and his boys are soooooo drunk cause they've been barhopping all night, just getting absolutely pissed and stumbling into the club with flushed faces, not even realizing it's the strip joint until they look around and see nothing but tits. they're obnoxious in the eyes of the other patrons; wolf whistling, hooting and hollering, and acting like idiots, but almost all the girls love them. they tip well and don't touch what they haven't paid for, so even though they're clearly yakuza they never get kicked out or denied service. your manager points them out when you see them for the first time on your shift, and makes sure you know to give them their first drinks for free and keep a smile on. they're high rollers and you're just a new--and very replaceable--bartender.

but your sleazy manager wouldn't even think of firing you after the Azumakos set their eyes on you for the first time. they love you. the pretty one with the pretty eyes who brings them drinks? yeah, you're one of their favourites, and you're not even a dancer. imagine how lucky they feel when it comes time for you to be shoved on stage, your manager threatening to cut your shifts for a month if you don't put on a show in place of the girl who called out. no matter how awkward you feel shaking your ass for a group of strangers, the four of them are at the front of the stage with eyes that are already stripping you down completely. nobody else has a chance--you go right from the pole to their laps in a private room before any greasy old fucks can get their hands on you. Hayao wants you to drink, Shura's the most handsy, and Kenji's a kisser--but their boss is the most intimidating, and he's the one who plays with your hair and lets you splay yourself over his lap when you get too drunk to sit up. if it were up to Makoi, he'd just buy you outright and make you an Azumako if he could....a yakuza princess whose only role is to look pretty and be doted on. it pisses him and his boys off whenever they see your manager or any other patrons getting a shitty attitude with you, and nine times out of ten they glare them right out of sight.

sooooooo.....maybe you don't have to keep bartending here at all. there's a nice little hole in the wall down the road that needs a cute hostess, and there's only one job you'll have to do; attend to the four of them by making sure their cups stay full, and their laps are nice and warm <3