#and the more light hearted stuff like this
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ᴄᴀʟᴇʙ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪᴄᴋɴᴀᴍᴇs ʜᴇ ʜᴀs ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪs sᴇxʏ ʟɪʟ’ sɪsᴛᴇʀ.˚⊹♡
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: big bro!Caleb x lil sis!reader
ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛ: hi, uh, can i order a ❛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴍᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ, ʙᴀʙʏ. ❜ for caleb with a side of incest and light manipulation / dubcon ? please n thank u !!!
ᴛᴀɢs: NSFW & dark content, incest, siscon, dubcon-(ish), manipulation, fingering, overstim, pet names
ɴᴏᴛᴇs: Thanks for participating in Cupid’s Chokehold, tons of LaDS requests for this event so stay tuned!
➽──ᴄᴜᴘɪᴅ’s ᴄʜᴏᴋᴇʜᴏʟᴅ — ᴠᴀʟᴇɴᴛɪɴᴇ’s ᴅᴀʏ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛ────❥
Your brother has plenty of nicknames for you. It’s true that ‘pipsqueak’ gets under your skin in a thoroughly satisfying way, but Caleb likes to change it up depending on the reaction he’s looking for.
“Hey twerp, did’ya miss me?” You leap from the train terminal straight into his awaiting arms. He had an excuse almost every weekend to get you up to visit Skyhaven when he was in school. You spin around in Caleb’s tight embrace, giggling as your body swings like it weighs nothing to him. He could hold you like this until the last train to Linkon departs and the station is dark and empty.
“Who’s got your face all scrunched up like that, kid?” Caleb notices your curled up form on the couch as soon as he walks in the door. Crossing the living room in two steps and pulling you into his lap. You tell him about the stupid high school boy that broke your heart between hiccups. “He’s an asshole. Doesn’t deserve any part of you, least of all your tears.” Caleb tries to smooth out his tone, but the palms on either side of your cheeks are twitching with an anger so red hot you must feel it through his skin. Your brother doesn’t take things like this lightly, finding the little prick on his walk to school the next day and punching his nose flat into his skull.
“Come on, short stuff, I know you can do better than that.” Your brother doesn’t even have to raise his arm all the way to keep you from the cellphone he swiped from your hands. You were smiling at it a bit too contently for Caleb’s liking. Your fingers claw at his arms and chest, before wrapping your hands around his neck and jumping into his hold. You know Caleb like no one else, sure he’d lower his defenses to catch you and wrap your legs around his waist. You pout, eye-level and foreheads pressed together, but instead of relenting Caleb slips your phone into his back pocket and throws you on the couch in a barrage of distracting tickles and cheek kisses. Like most of the games you two play, he comes out the winner.
“Don’t start whining now, brat, you’re the one that asked for my help.” Caleb bites sadistically into a kiss, growling into your now-parted lips. He’s right, of course, you came to him with a wobbly request behind your teeth. Your brother has always said he’ll do anything for you, so of course he agrees when you ask him to teach you how to make yourself cum. He’s trapped you under him, brutal kisses on your face and jaw, leaving wet marks down the valley of your breasts and up to your tear-stained cheeks again. Caleb’s fingers pump into your pussy relentlessly, filling his dorm room with the sticky wet sounds of your arousal. You’ve cum against his mouth and curled fingers more times than you can count now, but he refuses to let up. Caleb needs you to need him to an almost psychotic level. He’ll make sure no one can make you feel this good, not even yourself.
As for the nicknames you have for Caleb, he’s got no preference. His cock is sitting deeply inside of your aching cunt, a sick smile turns up on the corners of his face. He refuses you the pleasure of just fucking you properly already, and your fractured begging sounds like heaven. “Asshole,” you grit, clinging to fistfuls of his hair for dear life. “I mean- Caleb, please move. Please!”
Your brother coos, adjusting you in his lap to reach deeper but holding your hips down to deny you still. “ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴍᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ, ʙᴀʙʏ.” It makes no difference to him, he’s not going to fuck you until he’s sure your poor little brain is fork tender and thoughtless.
➽─────────────────────────❥
❥ ᴄʜɪᴡʜᴏʀᴇɪ.2025©️ ᴀʟʟ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢs ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ. Dᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ.
#lads smut#lads x reader#caleb x mc#caleb x reader#caleb smut#lads caleb smut#lads caleb#love and deepspace caleb#love and deepspace#Chiwhorei’s Chokehold#tw.incest#tw.dubcon
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sae was super against the idea of having a pet cat. one, he thought they were mean, and two, he couldn’t stand the smell of their shit. so when he sees you holding a small black stray cat, both—you and the cat—drenched from the rain, he couldn’t help himself from shaking his head while he grabs towels for you and for the cat. he suggested bringing it to the animal shelter, which you disagreed right away as you tucked the poor cat into your arms as if he was going to snatch it from you and throw it to the nearest animal shelter.
he exhaled as he watch you give your full attention to the cat.
“so what are you gonna do about it now?” he asked.
“i don’t know—keep it?” you said, gently patting the towel on the cat’s body.
“but—”
“but i want to make sure you’re okay with it first,” you said.
“you know the answer,” he said with finality in his voice.
“can’t i change your mind? at all?”
sae looked away because he knows—he knows himself that he’d eventually give in to those pleading eyes. sae had always been this tough guy, but for some reason, the tough, hard to please, unchanging mind, becomes all too soft for you. it was almost like you had him in a spell that he couldn’t get through, not that he’d want to get through.
for him, what comes first is you. regardless of what he wants, it was always you first, and he was okay with it. seeing how your eyes would light up, the way you curl the corners of your lips when you’re happy was enough reason for him to put you first before anything else.
but having a pet cat was a different topic. he was very open about not wanting it. so, it was a challenge for you to persuade him. it only took a lot of pleases and promises and few bribes here and there before he finally exhaled with defeat. that was your cue that he was finally giving in.
“fine,” he said softly.
you beamed and almost jumped onto him for a hug.
“thank you!” you said again and again.
“but we must have conditions,” he said as you sat back to your seat, ready to listen to his conditions. there was a handful but you were more than willing to cooperate if that meant you could finally have a cat.
after bringing the cat to the veterinary clinic to make sure she was all good, you both went to a pet store to buy some stuff for the small cat. you were all giddy and excited as you survey each aisle, thinking and grabbing all the stuff you thought she might need while sae push the cart behind you.
“do you think this is excessive?” you asked sae.
he quickly shrugged his shoulders. “if you think it’s good for her, then go for it,” he replied, making your heart melt for a moment. you felt a warm fuzzy feeling in your chest that it almost made you tear up in front of the whole store.
after buying all the stuff, you went back home, played with the kitten while sae goes out for his usual football practice. if you don’t have work, you’d stay at home doing random stuff to fill up the boredom. he usually comes back before dinner time, if there’s intensive training, he comes back before midnight, and today is that day. when he comes back, it’s either you were already asleep or binge watching a series with your skincare on.
tonight, you decided to wait for him while you play with the kitten, but exhaustion came faster than sae and before you even know, you were knocked out on the couch with the ball of yarn on your hand. before you pass out, you could’ve sworn you heard the door unlocked but you drifted anyway.
sae sighed, watching you sound asleep on the couch. the blue ball of yarn was still on your hand and the small cat was laying beside you, perfectly loafed.
“hi there,” sae said, kneeling in front of you and the kitten. he felt stupid for greeting the animal, but when the kitten let out a small meow, he was taken aback.
“sorry if i acted that way earlier. truth is, i don’t really know how to take care of someone like you and i’m a little afraid that i might end up neglecting you, but don’t worry. your mom, right here…” he said, pointing at you, still sleeping.
“she’s gonna take good care of you and i will do my best to do my part as well. i’m sorry if i ever had you feel you were not welcome here. i just really don’t know what to react. it’s a me problem. you are definitely most welcome.”
he bit his lower lip as he tried to scratch the kitten’s back hesitantly, but when the kitten leaned on to his touch, he felt a slight relief.
“so how was your day with your mom? did you do anything fun?” he smiled.
“my practice was fine. it was tiring and almost felt redundant, but i love football so it’s fine. i hope you find what you love soon. i’d like to see it.”
“one last thing i have to tell, love your mom as much as i love her, okay? i hope you see how much of a wonderful person she is. she’s the best you could ever have,” he said before finally nudging your shoulders to wake you up.
“wake up, love,” he said in a very soft voice.
you hummed, pretending not to hear all of what he said just now.
“i love you, sae,” you whispered.
“you heard that, didn’t you?” he said.
“maybe?”
“i love you, too. now lemme get you to a proper bed.”
#rei’s home library#blue lock x reader#bllk#itoshi sae#itoshi sae x reader#bllk x reader#sae itoshi#blue lock fic#bllk fluff
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Yours, Finally
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Summary: Bradley and you were never just friends, but you were never more than that either. Caught somewhere between nights together and unspoken feelings, you both built something complicated that neither of you were ready to define. You and Bradley are both left shattered after you breakup, if that’s what you can even call it. When given one last chance by you, Bradley is determined to show you that he can be the man you want him to be.
Warnings: Some Alcohol Use. Other than that this is just a lot of angst sandwiched between some fluff.
Word Count: 10,259
Tags: I don't have a ton of writing for Bradley, but I tagged the people I have listed on the Bradley Tag List. If you'd like to be added in future Bradley stuff just let me know!
A/N: Thank you to those of you that sent in requests for this. This ended up being three or four requests all combined into one. I really hope you guys like this. This one has been a work in progress for over a month, but I really like how it came out and hope you guys do too!
The first thing you register is warmth. Bradley is wrapped around you, his arm draped heavily over your waist, his chest a solid wall of heat against your back. His breath tickles the nape of your neck, and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he was still asleep. But you know better. You know he’s laying there, enjoying the last few minutes before he has to get up.
Your fingers toy with the hem of the old Navy tee you’re wearing. His old Navy tee, soft and worn from years of wash and wear. It smells like him. Like sea salt, faded cologne, and something that’s just Bradley.
You shift just enough to roll onto your side and face him. His arm over you tightens instinctively, pulling you closer. It makes your heart ache in a way you don’t know what to do with.
Bradley Bradshaw is unfairly beautiful like this. Barely awake, and still the most breathtaking thing you’ve ever seen. His hair is a tousled mess of curls crushed against the pillow, sun kissed skin warm under the morning light spilling in through the half open blinds.
For a moment you just look at him. Commit this moment to memory. Because this…waking up in his arms, in his bed, wearing his clothes…it feels like something more than it is.
His eyes blink open slowly, soft with sleep as they land on you. A lazy smile tugs at his lips, and then, with a quiet, gravelly voice, he mumbles, “Mornin’, sweetheart.”
God, he makes this so easy. Makes you want to fall. Makes you want to believe this is more than what it is.
He tugs you closer, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. You sigh as his arm flexes around you, like he’s anchoring himself to you.
Now’s your chance. Just say it. What are we Bradley? Four little words. But the words stay trapped in your throat.
Instead you just bury your fingers in his curls, and let your nails lightly scratch his scalp the way you know he loves. His body relaxes even more against yours, a soft hum vibrating against your skin.
You don’t ask about what you guys are. Not right now anyway.
Instead you close your eyes, and let yourself sink into the moment a little longer pretending this is something it isn’t.
You start to shift, muscles stretching as you prepare to slip out of bed, but before you can even lift the sheets, a strong arm tightens around your waist pulling you back in.
“Mm-mm,” Bradley mumbles, voice thick with sleep as he buries his face against your shoulder. “Five more minutes.”
You huff a quiet laugh. “Bradley—”
“Five minutes,” he repeats, the words muffled against your skin. His grip is loose but stubborn, like he’s holding onto the last bit of sleep and you at the same time.
And honestly? You can’t tell him no.
So you sigh, sinking back into the warmth of the bed, letting him pull you closer. His body is solid and warm behind you, the steady rise and fall of his breathing lulling you right back into a hazy state of comfort.
For a few minutes, you just lay there, letting yourself exist in this moment and be wrapped up in him. But it doesn’t last.
Eventually, Bradley’s breaths even out, turning deeper and slower. Then soft snores start falling from his lips. You shake your head with a quiet smile. Of course he’s already asleep again.
Carefully, you ease out of his hold, slipping from the bed without waking him this time. You know it’s been a long week of training for him. Long days, late nights, constant exhaustion. He needs the rest.
So you let him have it. And as you pull on a pair of his sweatpants and pad toward the kitchen, you decide you’ll let him wake up to coffee and breakfast in a little bit.
You pad down the hallway to the kitchen, not bothering to flip on the light. The early morning sunlight filtering through the blinds is enough light for you to work, casting everything in soft hues.
You know exactly where everything is. The coffee grinds are where he keeps them on the counter right by the sink. The mugs are in the cabinet above the dishwasher. As you reach up for one you realize your fingers don’t have to stretch quite as far as usual. The mugs have been moved down a shelf. Bradley must have moved them lower recently. You pause, glancing at the shelf that's just a little higher than your reach where he used to keep them. He knew you’d want them closer. You grin to yourself, quietly shaking your head as you pull one down.
With easy familiarity you fill the coffee pot and get it started, then crack the eggs for breakfast, turning the stove on without a second thought. You can’t help the small smile that pulls at your lips as you work, feeling more at home here than you’ve ever let yourself admit.
“Didn’t even wake me up,” Bradley’s voice is thick with sleep as he comes up behind you, pressing his warm palm to the small of your back.
You glance at him over your shoulder, amusement tugging at the corners of your lips. “Thought I’d let you sleep.”
He hums, stepping past you toward the coffee maker. “Could’ve at least kissed me awake.”
Your stomach flips at the ease of his words, but you push past it, rolling your eyes as you turn back to the stove. “I’ll make it up to you,” you tease.
Bradley chuckles, low and warm, as he starts to pour himself a cup of coffee. “Damn right, you will.”
A comfortable silence settles between you as you both fall into a familiar rhythm. He pours some coffee into your mug and then gets his daily protein shake going while you handle breakfast, moving around each other like you’ve done this a hundred times before…because you have.
The smell of fresh coffee fills the air, mingling with the scent of butter and eggs. Sunlight spills through the window, casting a golden glow over the small kitchen. It’s quiet, peaceful.
You grab your phone, flicking through playlists before landing on something easy and old school. Music filters through the speakers, something slow with a good rhythm, something that makes you sway your hips slightly as you focus on the eggs.
Bradley notices immediately. Before you can react his arms slip around your waist, his broad chest pressing up against your back as he pulls you into him. His chin comes to rest on your shoulder, his body fitting seamlessly against yours.
You let out a soft laugh, leaning your head back against him. “I take it you approve of the song choice?”
“I approve of you dancin’ in my kitchen,” he says, voice warm, laced with amusement.
He sways you slightly, moving with the rhythm, a slow, lazy kind of dance that isn’t really a dance at all. It's just him holding you, and moving with you like it’s second nature.
You close your eyes for a second, soaking it in. It’s moments like this that make you want to believe. That make you want to ask him when you guys will be official.
But you don’t. Instead, you let him hold you and enjoy the moment.
For now, you let yourself pretend. And for now, that’s enough.
Once the eggs are finished you step out of Bradley’s hold and perch yourself on one of the stools at the island, stirring your coffee as Bradley stands on the opposite side, casually picking at his breakfast with a fork. There’s an easy quiet between you both, comfortable in its silence. There's no real need for conversation.
But then he hesitates, the fork hovering between his plate and his mouth. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. You watch as he scratches the back of his head. It’s a nervous habit of his when he’s about to ask something, but doesn’t quite know how to say it.
“So…” he begins, voice low and thoughtful, his gaze flicking between you and the counter, like he’s trying to weigh whether or not he should say the words. “You doing anything later tonight?”
You raise an eyebrow, leaning back against the stool. “Not sure. Why?”
He shrugs, his usual nonchalant mask falling back into place, even though his words don’t quite match the ease of the motion. “We’re hitting up The Hard Deck. Some of the squad’s gonna be there. You wanna come?”
There’s a long pause as you process it, and then a realization settles over you. He didn’t say anything about it being a date. But the way he said it, like you’re already expected to come along with him, and the slight tension in his voice make it feel like something more than just friends getting drinks.
You glance over at him, but his eyes are focused on his plate now, his expression cool again. Your heart does a little flip.
He looks up, catching your gaze. That signature smirk of his pulls at the corner of his mouth. "You really gonna turn down free drinks?"
You roll your eyes and sigh, knowing exactly what that means. He’s been picking up your tab for the last few weeks. And while it’s generous, it also comes with a slightly awkward weight that makes you question what it means
“Fine,” you say, shaking your head and trying to keep it light, even though something in the back of your mind tugs at you. “I’ll go. But I’m holding you to buying my drinks tonight if you’re going to make me put up with Hangman all night.”
He just smirks wider, though you try not to read into the way he smiles just a little too softly when you agree.
Later that evening the familiar thrum of music and chatter greets you as you step into The Hard Deck. You scan the room, eyes landing on the back corner, the usual gathering place for Bradley and the rest of the squad. You spot them right away. Bob, Hangman, Coyote, Payback, and Fanboy, all of them leaning casually around the pool tables. The laughter and clinking glasses fill the air, creating a vibe that’s both laid back and familiar.
And then you find him. Bradley. He’s standing by the bar with Phoenix. His back is to you. His broad shoulders are relaxed as he talks, laughing at something she’s saying. For a moment, it feels like everything slows down around you. You’re standing there, trying to act casual, but inside there’s a weird twist in your stomach.
Bradley’s gaze flicks toward you. His eyes find yours instantly, and there’s a moment of recognition like he’s been waiting for you to arrive all night. His lips curl up in that easy smile of his, the one that always makes your heart do a little somersault.
He nods toward you in a silent greeting. Without missing a beat, he sets his beer down on the bar top, pushes past the others, and strides toward you.
Before you can even fully react, he’s there. His arms wrapping around you in a bear hug, lifting you off the ground slightly as he pulls you in tight. The familiar scent of his cologne and the warmth of his body are like a magnet, drawing you closer despite your efforts to keep things casual.
“Hey, you made it,” he says, his voice low and warm with a hint of something more.
When he sets you down, his hands linger on your shoulders, the brief touch sending a small jolt through you.
Phoenix and the others are watching, some with smirks playing on their faces, but Bradley doesn’t seem to care. He’s got you in his orbit now, and nothing else matters.
You try to shrug it off, offering a smile that’s more confident than you feel. “You think I was gonna turn down a free drink?”
Bradley laughs, that full, throaty sound that always makes your pulse pick up. “You never turn down free drinks when I’m paying for them.” His voice drops a little lower, and for a split second,you almost think he’s not talking about just the drinks anymore.
The awkwardness of the moment is briefly swept away as he leads you over to the group. Phoenix elbows Hangman who’s snickering at the way Bradley’s being a little too touchy with you already.
Bradley pulls out a chair for you to sit next to him, and he casually rests his hand on the back of your chair, still close enough to feel the heat of his touch.
The group is in the middle of a heated pool game when the door swings open. A tall woman with dark hair and an unmistakable confidence strides in, her eyes scanning the room as if she already owns it.
She’s young, attractive, and radiates the kind of self-assurance that makes even Hangman do a double take. Her uniform is impeccably tailored, and there’s something almost cocky in the way she holds herself.
As she walks toward the bar, her gaze lands on Bradley. She struts over to him with a smile that’s too confident, a laugh that’s a little too loud. You watch as she slips right into the conversation Bradley and Bob are having, leaning in just a bit too close to him, her hand brushing against his arm like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Bradley appears caught off guard. His usual ease with everyone faltering slightly under her persistent energy. She touches his arm again as she laughs a little too hard at something he said. The joke wasn’t even that funny. You know this because you’ve heard him tell that same joke a dozen times. But somehow, she finds it hilarious.
Her name’s Blaze, you hear someone mention. Apparently it wasn’t just your attention she had captured. She’s a new pilot at Top Gun. She’s already drawing attention from the ones in charge of the training, and she knows it.
You can see the way her eyes flicker over Bradley, the way she holds his gaze longer than necessary. Then her gaze meets yours and you feel the shift immediately. It’s as if she’s realized your place in the group and is ready to take it from you. She’s speaking to him like she’s the center of his universe, and you’re left standing on the edge of it, a quiet observer in the background.
Bradley’s laughing now, a little too much, almost like he’s enjoying the attention, though it’s hard to tell if it’s because of her or the fact that she’s making an effort to stay glued to his side.
Your stomach tightens as a knot forms in your gut. It feels like you’re not even there anymore. Blaze’s eyes are on Bradley in a way that makes it feel like you’ve already lost your spot beside him, like you’re some afterthought.
You remind yourself that you’re leaving with him tonight. This girl is nothing. She’s just a new face in the crowd, a momentary distraction. You're the one that will be wrapped in his arms as he falls asleep tonight.
You sip your drink, trying to keep your cool. Don’t let her get to you, you tell yourself. You’ve been doing this long enough with Bradley to know how to keep your composure. She’s not the first girl that’s flirted with him since you two started hooking up. You also remind yourself that the whole point of this thing with Bradley was to keep things casual. You can't be the jealous girlfriend when you aren't even the girlfriend.
You glance at Bradley. He catches your eye for a split second, and the moment passes quickly. But something’s different. He’s caught up in this new energy, and it stings more than you want to admit.
Blaze is relentless. It’s like she has a radar for Bradley’s every move, every word. She doesn’t just laugh at his jokes. Now she leans in, her eyes locked on his.
“I have to say, Bradley,” she purrs, her voice just a little too smooth, “I’ve seen some impressive moves in the air, but yours? Seriously, you’re on another level.”
Bradley chuckles, shifting slightly under her gaze, but the words don’t seem to make him uncomfortable. If anything, they make him look... pleased.
“Thanks, Blaze,” he responds with that easy smile of his. It’s the kind of smile you’ve seen him give a thousand times, but tonight, for some reason, it feels different. Warmer?
She smirks, her eyes glinting with that cocky confidence. “Maybe one day I could be your wingman. Bet we’d tear it up together.”
Bradley laughs again, his shoulders relaxing as he leans back into the conversation. The sound is so light, so easy, that it hits you in a way that makes your chest tighten. It stings, like something cold sinking deep into your stomach.
This isn't what you were expecting when Bradley invited you out tonight. You weren’t expecting to feel... left out.
You don’t want to make a scene. You don’t want to be the jealous girl at the bar. But damn it, it’s hard not to notice that Bradley isn’t pulling away from her. He isn’t shutting her down.
You swallow thickly and grab your drink, nearly draining a quarter of it in one go. The burn of the alcohol isn’t enough to ease the sudden tightness in your chest. You close your eyes for a second, trying to push down the discomfort, to steady yourself.
Don’t overthink it. Don’t read into this. It’s just a girl, just some random girl, right? You’re fine. You’re fine.
But then your eyes meet Phoenix’s from across the table, and for a second you wonder if maybe she can feel it too. The way Blaze is practically clinging to Bradley, the way he doesn’t seem to mind it. Phoenix gives you a small, knowing look. She doesn’t have to say anything. Her eyes say it all. She sees it too.
Your stomach drops, the weight of her silent confirmation crashing over you. It’s not just you. Which means you aren't being irrational.
Bradley’s laugh rings out again, louder this time. And for the first time, you realize tht this thing between you and him? Maybe it’s not as solid as you thought. Maybe he doesn’t see you the way you’ve been pretending to see him.
"Another round?" Penny asks, noticing your empty glass. You quickly nod.
Her eyes flicker between you and Bradley, and you know damn well she’s seen the dynamic. She’s seen how Bradley’s been picking up your tab all month. She’s also seen how he’s been so damn chill with Blaze tonight.
You don’t know if it’s her knowing look or the way Bradley is standing just a little too close, but something feels off.
“Put it on mine, Penny.” Bradley says as he steps beside you.
"No, I got it," you say, brushing him off more sharply than you mean to.
You hand Penny your card, trying to act like you’re fine. She takes it from you without a word, but there’s a shift in the air now.
You hear him sigh under his breath, but you don’t let it get to you. You’re already thinking about leaving. No need to cause a scene with him.
He turns to Phoenix, his back to you. You don’t mean to overhear, but the bar isn’t that loud, and he’s standing just behind you.
"Why’s she acting so pissy tonight?" Bradley asks, his voice casual, like it’s just a passing thought.
You feel the words sink into you like a stone. It’s like a punch to the gut. You know he’s talking about you, but hearing him say it like that...so unbothered, so detached...it makes everything feel so much worse.
Phoenix rolls her eyes. "Seriously, Bradshaw? Blaze has been all over you. She’s been flirting with you all night."
Bradley’s frown is immediate, but it’s confused. “So? What’s that got to do with anything?” He sounds genuinely puzzled, like he doesn’t understand.
Phoenix scoffs, and you feel the heat in her words hit you like a slap. “You really don’t get it, do you?”
“What do you mean? Why would she care if Blaze flirts with me? We are just friends.”
Just friends. That’s it. Just friends.
You freeze, your heart pounding in your ears. You try to swallow past the lump in your throat, but you can’t. You can’t let this go on any longer. You’ve been pretending you’re fine, pretending you’re okay with this casual thing, this “no strings” arrangement. But hearing Bradley’s words, so damn casual, like nothing about the two of you matters to him…like you’ve been nothing but a friend all along.
You’re done.
“Penny can you just close out my tab instead,” you say, your voice tight, barely holding it together.
She gives you a confused look, but she doesn’t question it. She pulls your receipt from the register and slides it across the bar to you.
You don’t even glance at it as you add a tip and then scribble your signature at the bottom.
You grab your purse in a hurry, trying to ignore the sting in your chest. Bob looks up as you move past the pool table, his brows furrowed in concern.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice low, but you can’t handle it. Not now. Not after hearing Bradley’s words.
“Can you tell Bradley I went home?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, but you know he hears it.
You know he sees the pain flickering behind your eyes. Bob hesitates, but he nods slowly, unsure of what to do with the situation.
You don’t wait for him to reply. You head for the exit, your heart heavy with each step, the door of The Hard Deck swinging closed behind you.
You can feel the cool night air against your skin, the weight of everything that’s just happened crushing down on you with every step toward your car. Your mind is a blur of frustration, confusion, and hurt—hurt that Bradley still doesn’t get it. Doesn’t see you. Not the way you see him.
And then you hear his voice, the sound of his footsteps following close behind you.
“Why did you leave like that back there?” Bradley calls out, his tone a mixture of confusion and perhaps concern?
You don’t stop walking. You can’t. You don’t trust yourself to speak without breaking.
“Because,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, hoping he’ll take the hint.
But of course, he doesn’t.
“Because why?” Bradley asks again, his frustration growing.
But you feel the tightness in your chest pulling you back, the anger building with every step he takes. And then it bursts out of you, everything you've been holding back, all the hurt you've been swallowing for so long. You spin on your heel, your eyes glassy with unshed tears. Your heart pounds in your ears. You’ve had enough. You can't hold back anymore.
“Because your dumbass can’t figure out how much it hurts me when you say we’re just friends!” The words are sharp like glass shattering, and you feel the floodgates open as everything you’ve been feeling pours out.
Bradley stares at you, the confusion in his eyes clear, but you can’t hold it in. Not now.
“Friends don’t fall asleep wrapped around each other, Bradley. Friends don’t wake up tangled in bed, making coffee and pretending it doesn’t mean anything. Friends don’t—”
You cut yourself off, your voice breaking in a way you can’t stop. You swallow hard, feeling like you’re drowning in the weight of the truth. You’ve been holding onto these moments, these tiny, intimate things you’ve shared, and it’s killing you to realize he doesn’t see it the way you do.
Bradley’s eyes flicker, and you can see the gears turning in his head, but it’s like he still doesn’t get it. Not fully.
“Why are you so mad about Blaze?” he asks, that typical confusion marking his features again.
You feel the switch flip inside you, like a damn finally breaking. His words are the last straw, and you snap.
“She was flirting with you, and you didn’t do anything! That’s why I’m mad!” Your chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, your words coming out faster now.
You turn to leave, your fists clenched at your sides, but then you feel his hand on your wrist. It’s gentle, but firm. Just enough to stop you from walking away.
“Wait—” His voice cracks, but you’re already too far gone.
You whip around to face him, the sting of unshed tears still burning in your eyes, your heart thundering in your chest.
“No. I’m done.”
His breath catches in his throat, and you can see the realization hitting him, but it’s too late.
“What do you mean, done?” His voice drops, the panic in his tone rising.
You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the words spill out before you can stop them. “I’m done, Bradley. I can’t keep doing this...whatever this is between us...Not when it’s so clear that I don’t mean anything to you.” The lump in your throat grows heavier with each word, but you push through.
Bradley’s expression falters, his eyes widening in disbelief, and he takes a step toward you, his hand reaching out like he’s trying to hold onto something that’s slipping away. “Wait, just—”
You shake your head, the finality of your words tasting bitter on your tongue. “Let me go, Bradley.”
But he doesn’t let you go. His grip is firm now, desperate, almost like he’s trying to hold you in place, as though if he just holds on tight enough, he can undo all the damage.
“Do you understand how much it would hurt me?” His voice cracks, raw with emotion. “How much it would kill me to see you go?”
You laugh, but it’s bitter, cutting through the space between you. “I’m sure your little friend in there will give you a shoulder to cry on tonight if you need one.”
The words hang in the air between you like a knife. It stings. The thought of anyone comforting Bradley eats at you. It stings more than you care to admit, but you don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how much. You pull away, yanking your wrist from his grasp, the movement sharp and deliberate.
You turn and continue walking to your car, your legs feeling heavier with each step. The sound of his breath catches behind you, but you don’t turn back. You can’t. The hurt is too much, the ache in your chest is too sharp.
You get into the car, slamming the door behind you, and the engine roars to life. As you pull away from the parking lot, you glance in the rearview mirror, just for a second.
There he stands, hands on his hips, looking absolutely wrecked. His shoulders slump as he watches you drive away, the night swallowing you both whole.
And as you drive off, the tears finally break free.
BRADLEY’S P.O.V.
Bradley stands there, rooted to the spot, his mind replaying your words over and over. "When it's so clear I don't mean anything to you."
The weight of it hits him like a punch to the gut. Is that really how he’s made you feel? His stomach twists with a sickening realization. He’s been too afraid to put a label on what you two had, too afraid to risk anything. And now? Now he’s lost you.
He doesn’t even think about it. He walks toward the Bronco, barely even aware of what he’s doing. He’ll settle his tab with Penny later. He has to fix this.
As he pulls up to your place, his hands grip the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turn white. His heart pounds in his chest. He parks, throws the door open, and hurries toward your front door. He knocks once, twice, three times hoping you’ll answer. He silently prays that you’ll open that door, that maybe this is all just a bad dream he can wake up from.
When you open the door the sight of your red face, your puffy eyes, makes something inside him crack. The guilt rushes over him like a flood. He never meant to make you cry. Never meant to hurt you.
“I—” He takes a shaky breath, stepping forward, but you don’t move. You stand there, silent, eyes wary.
“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, his voice cracking. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to make you feel like...like you didn’t mean anything to me. I was just scared. I didn’t know how to...how to make sense of what we were. I didn’t want to screw it up.”
He pauses, searching your face for something anything that might show you still care, that maybe he isn’t too late.
“I like you. A lot. And I don’t want to lose you.”
The words tumble out of him before he can stop them, raw and unfiltered. He watches your expression, trying to read you, but you don’t say anything. You just stare at him, exhausted. He hates the way you look, so defeated. He wishes he could erase all of it—the confusion, the hesitation, the fear that kept him from being honest with you sooner.
You break the silence, your voice quiet, almost hollow. “I need space, Rooster.”
The words land like a slap, and his breath hitches. The use of his callsign stabs at him harder than anything else could. You’ve never called him that—never. It’s always been Bradley or Roo, something personal, something that felt like it was just for the two of you. And now, hearing you say “Rooster,” it feels like a barrier between you, like he’s just another guy on the base to you.
He flinches, the sting of it cutting deep.
Then there’s that word. Space. That’s the last thing he wants. Space. Distance. He doesn’t want that.
He wants to fix this, to make everything right. But as he looks at you, he sees the exhaustion in your eyes. The weight of everything that’s happened tonight is all over your face, and it stops him in his tracks.
He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to fix it. Everything inside him tells him to argue, to fight for you, to make you see that he’s not going anywhere, but he knows the exhaustion in your eyes. The last thing he wants to do is push you further away.
“If space is what you need, I’ll give it to you,” he says, his voice rough but steady. “But I’m not going anywhere.”
The words hang between you, and for a long moment, neither of you move. He doesn’t want to leave you like this, but he knows he has to give you time.
And so, he does what he has to do. He turns and walks away, his heart still heavy in his chest, but he holds onto that last promise: I’m not going anywhere.
The Next Few Weeks
The silence between you and Bradley stretches out like an endless aching void. Every day that passes without you feels like a weight he can’t shake off. He tries to keep himself busy. Whether it’s work, training, the endless stream of flights and meetings. But every day, every hour, he catches himself reaching for his phone, hovering over your name, his thumb just a fraction away from pressing send. But he never does. He can’t. He promised you space.
Still, the urge gnaws at him. There’s so much he wants to say, but he doesn’t know how to start. He doesn’t know how to fix this. So he keeps his phone locked, not allowing himself to type out the words that he knows will just make everything worse.
At the Hard Deck it’s the same routine he’s always had, but everything feels different. He still walks in, his eyes automatically searching for you, expecting you to be there, sitting at the bar or talking to Phoenix. But every time the disappointment hits him like a physical blow when he doesn’t see you.
Phoenix notices. Of course she does. She’s always been able to read him like an open book. She leans over to him one night, a smirk on her lips, but her eyes softening when she sees how bad he really looks.
“You look like hell,” she observes, her voice low, a little concerned beneath the teasing.
Bradley just shrugs, not willing to admit anything. Not willing to give her the satisfaction of seeing how much this is killing him.
“Haven’t been sleeping,” he mutters, his gaze drifting to the door again, just in case you might show up. But you don’t.
Phoenix doesn’t need to ask why he hasn’t been sleeping. She knows. She just lets it go, her gaze following his for a moment before she focuses back on her drink, but the unspoken understanding hangs between them. Bradley’s heart aches with the weight of it. Every time she says something like that, it’s a reminder of how different everything feels now, how much quieter the Hard Deck is without you.
The silence is suffocating. It creeps into his thoughts, his every moment. There’s a constant hum in the back of his mind, a reminder of the space you needed, the space he had no choice but to give you. But he hates it. Every second of it. He wants to fix it. He wants to call you, show up at your door, beg you to talk to him, but he knows he can’t. Not when you asked for this. Not when you told him to leave you alone.
The silence eats at him more than anything. The quiet where there used to be laughter, light-hearted teasing, late-night talks. It’s like he’s holding his breath, waiting for something to change, but there’s no sign of it.
Every time he sees someone in the bar whispering or laughing, he wonders if they’re talking about him. The idiot who messed up the best thing he ever had.
Days pass. Weeks. The longing to reach out only grows, but Bradley keeps pushing it down. The empty space between you two is consuming, and while he respects your wishes, he doesn’t know how much longer he can live with not seeing or talking to you.
A Month Later
It’s been a month since the last time Bradley heard from you. A month of sleepless nights, restless days, and a gnawing feeling in his gut that refuses to go away. He’s tried to keep his focus, really he has. But every time he thinks he’s putting it all behind him, something pulls him back—his phone, the Hard Deck, the air hanging heavy with unsaid words. The silence suffocates him.
Today was no different. A grueling day of training with Simpson riding him hard. His head’s been everywhere but in the cockpit, and Simpson’s sharp eyes saw it. The admiral had no patience for distractions today, and it showed. Bradley’s body is exhausted, drained from the tension in his chest and the weight of everything unresolved. He’s spent the entire day pretending to have it together, but the truth is, his head hasn’t had it together since the night he let you walk away.
Now, in the locker room, the sound of water running off his body is almost soothing as he scrubs at his skin, trying to wash away the weight of the past month. But he’s still carrying it. Always carrying it.
Bradley’s just stepping out of the shower, toweling off his hair when another pilot, a guy from another squadron, walks up to him. He doesn’t seem to notice Bradley’s mood. It's different from the casual way in the way pilots usually are with each other. But what he says next hits Bradley like a gut punch.
“So, I asked her out,” the guy says, clearly not aware of the storm he’s about to cause. “Wasn’t sure if you two had a thing or not, but she said you weren’t anything.”
Bradley freezes. His hand tightens around the towel, his heart skipping a beat. "She said that?" His voice comes out tight, controlled, but inside, a thousand thoughts are already spiraling.
The pilot nods, completely oblivious to the fury building inside Bradley. “Yeah. She said you guys were just friends, no big deal. So, it’s cool if I take her out, right?”
Bradley doesn’t even answer. The words are stuck in his throat, his mind spinning with disbelief. She said that? The way she’d made him feel, how much he’d tried to give her space, and now this? Now some other guy thinks he can just walk in and pick up where Bradley left off?
He doesn’t even think about it. Without saying another word, he quickly pulls on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and grabs his bag, slings it over his shoulder. He walks out of the locker room, leaving the pilot still talking, unaware of what he’s just set into motion.
Bradley’s entire body is tense as he heads straight for the Bronco. He can feel the anger bubbling up, but beneath it, there’s fear. Fear that it’s too late, fear that you’ve moved on, fear that he’s lost you forever.
But he’s done waiting. He can’t keep pretending like this, not when he knows what he wants. Not when he knows how much he needs you.
He speeds through traffic, his hands gripping the wheel as he tries to steady himself, but nothing helps. His mind is already picturing you with that guy—seeing him take you out, laughing with you, getting close to you in ways he used to. And the thought rips him apart.
Bradley doesn’t know if he’ll have time to make it to you, but he’s sure as hell going to try. Because if it’s not already too late, he’s not going to let you slip through his fingers without fighting for you.
Your POV
The knock at the door startles you. You weren't expecting anyone. But when you open the door, there he stands. Bradley. The last person you thought you'd see.
He looks like hell. His jaw is tight, his eyes wild with something you've seen before. Desperation. Before you can say anything, he speaks.
"Are you really going out with him?" His voice is tight, controlled, but you can hear the edge of pain in it, like he's trying to hold it all together.
You cross your arms, trying to shield yourself from whatever he's about to throw at you. "I don’t see why it matters to you, Rooster. You said we were just friends."
A sharp breath escapes his lungs, and then he steps closer, closing the distance between you two in an instant. His eyes never leave yours, burning with something deep. "I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong."
You take a step back, but he follows you. "Why are you here, Rooster?" you ask, your voice low, unsure if you're ready to hear whatever he’s about to say.
He doesn’t hesitate. His voice cracks slightly as he pours his heart out. The words coming out fast, like he’s been holding them back for too long. "No label could ever define what you mean to me. I love you. I need you. Losing you made me realize I don’t want to live in a world where I’m just your friend. I want to be your everything."
Your chest tightens, and a bitter laugh escapes before you can stop it. "You broke my heart, Bradley," you say quietly, your voice cracking.
He nods, his eyes full of remorse. "And if it takes me the rest of my life to earn you back, then that’s exactly what I’ll do."
You search his face. His expression is raw, desperate. He’s not just saying these things; you can feel that he means them in his every word, his every movement. But can you trust it? Can you trust him?
"Bradley..." You sigh, rubbing your temples, the weight of everything you’ve been through crashing down on you. You hate that you still love him. That no matter how much he’s hurt you, he can still get to you like this. You look at him, heart torn between wanting to protect yourself and wanting to give in to the love you still feel. "I don’t know if I can just forget everything, but…if you really mean this, if you’re really all in….then you’re going to have to show me."
His entire face softens at your words. The tension in his shoulders eases, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you see the man who used to make you feel like the most important person in the world.
"I swear, sweetheart," he says, voice low and steady, full of conviction. "I’ll spend every damn day proving to you that you’re the only one I want."
You’re still hesitant, your mind racing. But there’s something in his eyes, something that tells you this isn’t just another empty promise. This is real. He’s all in.
Then, without thinking, you pull him in. The kiss is desperate, hungry, a release of everything you’ve both been holding back for so long. His arms wrap around you, lifting you slightly off the ground, pulling you closer, like he’s afraid to ever let go again. His lips are frantic, needy, and it’s everything you’ve missed. Every inch of him, the warmth of his touch, the weight of his love, the way he makes you feel like you’re home.
For a moment, everything else disappears. It’s just the two of you, and everything you’ve been fighting for, everything you’ve been missing, everything you’ve been afraid to admit. It’s all in this kiss. And you know, deep down, that maybe you’re both ready to start over.
Bradley pulls away first, his breath heavy, his chest rising and falling as he looks at you, eyes filled with determination and something softer now like he’s finally letting himself believe that he might get another chance with you.
"Tomorrow night," he says, voice firm but gentle. "Let me take you out. A real date. No bullshit, no hesitation. Just you and me."
You hesitate, your heart still torn between wanting to trust him and not wanting to be hurt again. But there’s something in the way he’s looking at you now. There’s no games, no empty promises. Just Bradley, stripped down to his most honest self.
Finally, you nod. "One date, Bradley. Don’t mess it up."
His grin spreads, wide and genuine, and relief floods his face. It’s like the weight of the world lifts off his shoulders.
"Sweetheart," he says, his voice low and warm with affection, "you have no idea how much I’ve been waiting to do this right."
You almost laugh at the way he says it, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard. But there’s a spark of hope in you now too. Maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something real.
"Just one," you remind him, though a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips, betraying the mix of wariness and excitement you feel.
Bradley steps back, taking a deep breath as if he’s grounding himself, but there’s still that spark of joy in his eyes.
"One date," he agrees, nodding firmly. "You and me. Let’s do this the right way."
You watch him for a moment, your heart pounding. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this uncertain but hopeful. And for the first time in a while, you're not afraid to take that chance with him.
He hesitates for a moment, as if he wants to say something more, but then turns toward the door. "I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven," he says, his voice softer now. "Wear something nice. I’m making this one count."
You watch him leave, standing there for a moment longer than necessary, before finally letting out the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.
Tomorrow. A real date.
The Next Day
The clock on your wall reads 6:58 when there’s a soft knock at the door. Your heart skips a beat, nerves and excitement mixing together as you walk over and open it.
And there he is. Bradley. Looking way too handsome in a cream colored linen button down shirt, his sleeves rolled up just enough to show the forearms you’ve memorized. His dark hair is perfectly messy, the way you like it. And for all the bravado and cocky confidence you’re used to seeing, there’s a vulnerability in his eyes now, nerves, even.
In his hand is a single yellow rose. You glance at it and raise an eyebrow, a smile tugging at your lips.
"Yellow?" you tease, though the soft gesture makes your chest tighten in a way you didn’t expect.
Bradley’s gaze flicks down to the rose, a nervous chuckle escaping him. "I remember you said you hated red ones," he says, his voice quieter now, a little unsure, but still so sincere.
You don’t say anything right away. Instead, you take the flower from his hand and bring it to your nose, inhaling its sweet fragrance.
"It’s beautiful," you say, looking up at him, and for a moment, you both just stand there.
His fingers twitch at his sides like he’s about to do something, but he stops himself. "Are you ready to go?" he asks softly, offering his hand to you.
You look at his hand, the way he’s holding it out to you is gentle, asking for trust. It takes a moment for your heart to catch up, but then, almost instinctively, you take his hand.
"I guess so," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.
Bradley’s face softens in relief, and without another word, he leads you out the door, that same sweet smile lingering on his lips, his grip warm around your hand.
For the first time in a long time, everything feels just right.
The soft jingle of the café door opens, and you walk inside with Bradley. It’s the same quaint little café he frequented with Hangman and Coyote whenever they were in town. There’s a cozy feel to it,plenty of wood and mismatched tables, with the comforting aroma of fresh coffee in the air.
Bradley stops in his tracks for a moment, and you look at him, curious.
“What’s wrong?” you ask.
He hesitates for just a second, then gestures toward the booth in the back. "I want to sit there," he says quietly.
You follow his gaze, and immediately something clicks. That booth…it’s the one you were sitting in the day you and Bradley met. Your heart skips a beat.
Bradley steps toward the booth, but as you settle in, he lingers, his hand resting lightly on the back of the seat, a little lost in the memory.
“Do you ever think about that day?” he asks, looking out the window as if trying to capture the moment again. “I do. I was hungover as hell. Hangman and Coyote dragged me out for breakfast. I didn’t want to be there. But then I heard your laugh.”
You smile at the memory. You remember that Sunday. You were with a couple of friends, laughing, enjoying a lazy weekend morning.
But when Bradley looks at you now, you see something else in his eyes. A depth, a sincerity you hadn’t fully noticed before.
His voice drops, softer now. “I knew I had to come say something. But I was nervous. You...you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and I didn’t know what to do.”
You study him for a moment, realizing how much that memory must’ve meant to him. He’s always seemed confident, but in this moment, you see the vulnerability in him, the way that day affected him.
“I kept staring at you,” he admits, shaking his head, almost laughing at himself. “And I was trying to come up with some kind of excuse to talk to you. But you were with your friends, and I didn’t want to be that guy.”
You chuckle softly, remembering how he seemed so out of place with the guys in that moment.
“I remember looking at you and thinking, ‘I should just go over there.’ But I didn’t. Instead, I sat there like a damn idiot, trying to figure out if I could somehow get you to notice me without seeming like an idiot.” He pauses, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It didn’t work.”
You laugh, enjoying this glimpse into the past, into the Bradley that wasn’t quite as sure of himself back then.
“So,” you tease, leaning back against the booth, “what stopped you from saying hi?”
Bradley shrugs, a little sheepish. “I don’t know. I guess I was hoping you’d somehow come over to us. You know, like some kind of miracle.”
“Lucky for you,” you reply, smirking, “it was only the beginning of the miracles you’d get from me.”
Bradley meets your eyes, the smile on his face softening as he reaches for your hand across the table. “You don’t know how much that moment meant to me.”
You both sit there for a few moments, taking in the memory of that first time you saw each other, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. It's just easy. The waitress comes by to take your order, and Bradley’s already got a half smile on his face.
“I’ll have the classic cheeseburger, fries on the side,” he says, looking over at you.
You grin. “I’ll have the same, but make it a double cheeseburger. And don’t forget the milkshake.”
Bradley raises an eyebrow. “Milkshake, huh? What flavor?”
“Vanilla,” you reply with a shrug.
He laughs, shaking his head. “Vanilla. I swear, you’re the most basic person I’ve ever met. But fine, vanilla it is.”
The waitress gives a nod and walks off to put in your order. You look back at Bradley, catching the playful twinkle in his eyes.
“You know, I’m not surprised you went for vanilla,” he teases. “It’s a safe choice.”
“Hey,” you protest, raising an eyebrow, “it’s not safe. It's a classic. I’m just not into all those crazy flavors.”
“I don’t know,” he grins, “I think you could be into some wild flavors if you wanted.”
You roll your eyes, but you can’t suppress the smile that creeps up. Bradley, the ever charming confident guy that always knows how to make you laugh.
The waitress returns with your orders, setting down the burgers in front of both of you. You each dive in, enjoying the food in that comfortable silence that’s becoming so familiar between you two. After a few bites, Bradley sets down his burger, his hand stretching over to the milkshake in the middle of the table.
“You ready for this?” he asks with a grin, already pulling one of the straws out and offering it to you.
You smirk, playing along. “It’s so cliche, Bradley. We’re not in a black and white movie.”
But as you take the straw and sip, you both know exactly how much you secretly love it. The milkshake is sweet, cold, and the intimacy of sharing it in such a simple, silly way feels easy.
“I don’t care if it’s cliche,” Bradley says, his voice a little quieter now as he leans in, sipping from his own straw. “Sometimes the cliches are the best part.”
You glance at him over the rim of your straw.
This feels more right than anything you’ve had in a while. For all the teasing and sarcasm, there’s no denying the connection between you two. No pretenses. Just you, him, a shared milkshake, and the feeling that something deeper is starting to grow again.
You sigh dramatically, leaning back in the booth. “I hate that you’re right.”
Bradley chuckles, tapping his straw against the glass. “I think I could start getting used to that,” he says with a teasing glint in his eyes. “You admitting I’m right about things?”
You narrow your eyes. “Don’t get cocky, Bradley. I’m just saying I don’t mind the occasional cliché. But it doesn’t mean I’m going to start watching rom-coms with you anytime soon.”
His grin widens. “Baby steps,” he replies, sipping the milkshake again.
As you both continue to share the milkshake, you find yourself enjoying it more than you expected. It’s like all those walls you had built up are slowly falling, brick by brick.
“I’ve always thought you’d be the type of person to watch rom-coms,” Bradley adds, leaning back in his seat, a little smug. “You definitely give off that vibe.”
You scoff, but there’s no real bite to it. “I do not,” you insist, but you can’t help but laugh a little. “And I hate that you’re still so good at reading me.”
Bradley’s eyes soften as he watches you, his fingers tapping lightly on the edge of his glass. “I don’t know about that,” he says quietly, “but I do know this feels like the easiest thing I’ve done in a long time.”
You freeze for a moment, not expecting the sudden sincerity in his words. Your gaze meets his, and for a second, it feels like time slows down.
“I don’t want to mess this up again,” he adds softly, the weight of his words hanging in the air.
You swallow, your heart tightening in your chest.
“Well lucky for you I’m not planning on going anywhere,” you reply quietly, taking a sip of the milkshake again.
Bradley nods, his smile returning, but this time, there’s a depth to it. One that you haven’t seen before.
After leaving the diner you and Bradley get back into the Bronco. Fifteen minutes later Bradley pulls up to a quiet little arcade tucked just off base, nestled between a couple of shops. It’s the kind of place you might walk by and never think twice about, but there’s something cozy about it, like a hidden gem that only locals know. The neon lights flicker warmly as you step inside, and the sounds of video games and the hum of the air conditioner greet you.
You pause at the door, glancing around in confusion. “Uh, Bradley? What are we doing here?”
He grins, stepping in and looking around with a nostalgic smile. “I thought you might like a little trip down memory lane.”
Your eyes narrow slightly as it clicks. “Wait…is this the arcade from my birthday?”
Bradley nods, glancing over at you with a knowing look. “Yep. The very one. Thought we could have a rematch.”
You roll your eyes, but there’s a playful edge to your voice. “You really think you’re going to win? Didn’t I win the first four games last time?”
He laughs, a little sheepish. “Well, I was going to let you win a couple more times tonight..."
You cross your arms, pretending to be offended. “Let me win? Excuse me, but I don’t remember you being such a pushover last time.”
Bradley smirks and steps closer, dropping his voice into that teasing, low register you know so well. “I mean, I was just being a gentleman. But hey, if you want me to take you down this time, I’m game.”
You raise an eyebrow, your competitive side kicking in. “Oh, trust me, Bradley. I’m going to destroy you.”
He laughs again, shaking his head as he leads you further into the arcade. The lights blink and flash as you walk past the old school machines, and the whole place has a vibe of comfort and fun. It’s not flashy or high-tech, but it’s real. It feels authentic.
Bradley stops in front of a classic Pac Man machine, looking at you with a grin. “Let’s start here. Think you can handle a game of Pac Man with me?”
You smirk and grab the joystick. “I’ll make you regret that, Bradley.”
As you both start playing, the sounds of the arcade fade into the background, and for a few moments, it’s just the two of you, and the buzz of the machines. The game starts off lighthearted, but as the score climbs, it gets more intense. Bradley’s eyes flick to you every so often, watching your focus, and you catch him smirking when you miss a turn.
“You know, I’m pretty sure I was better at this game when we were here before,” you say, your voice playful but with just a hint of challenge.
Bradley raises an eyebrow, leaning in. “Oh, really? I must’ve been too distracted last time by, I don’t know…your adorable victory dance when you won. You going to show me that move again?”
You laugh, shaking your head. “That was a one time thing, Bradley. You’d know that if you weren’t so busy letting me win.”
He grins and shakes his head. “Maybe…But alright, no more Mr. Nice Guy.” He hits the joystick harder, making his character zoom around the maze. “You’re going down now this round.”
The playful competitiveness builds between you two, and with every little win or near loss, there’s an energy between you that feels effortless. It’s not just about the game, it’s about how the two of you just fit together in these moments. The way you make each other laugh, the gentle teasing, and the way you both push each other, even in something as silly as an arcade game.
As you finish the round, you glance over at him, a mischievous smile creeping up on your lips. “Rematch?”
Bradley tilts his head and shoots you a look that says he’s definitely up for the challenge, but there’s a softness behind it too…like he’s loving every minute of it. “You’re on, sweetheart.”
After leaving the arcade, Bradley leads you down the winding path of the pier, the soft sound of the water lapping against the posts below. The sun is beginning to dip beneath the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange. It’s quiet here. Peaceful. The hustle and bustle of the shops nearby, the noise of the city, fades into the background. It’s just you and him now, walking side by side, hand in hand, a comfortable silence between you as you take in the view.
He guides you to the edge of the pier, where the view of the water stretches out before you. The faint light from the setting sun glimmers on the surface, making it look almost like the world is glowing.
You lean against the railing, letting the cool evening air brush past you. Bradley stands behind you for a moment, as if taking in the same scene, before his arms find their way around you, pulling you closer. You rest your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against you, grounding you in this moment.
There’s a shift in the air, a quiet tension. His voice, low and serious, breaks the silence. “I don’t want to mess this up again,” he says, his words almost lost in the wind. “I don’t want any gray areas. I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine.”
You smile softly but tease, not ready to let go of the playful energy you’ve shared all night. “You asking me to be your girlfriend, Roo?”
His lips twitch into a smile, and you can hear the hesitation in his voice, but also the sincerity. “Yeah, sweetheart. That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
You pause for a moment, letting the weight of the words sit between you. The air seems thicker now, heavier with unspoken promises and the vulnerability in his confession. He’s not running away anymore, not backing down. He’s all in.
Finally, you nod, your gaze softening as you turn to look up at him. “Okay. But if you pull any of that ‘just friends’ crap again, I swear to God—”
Before you can finish your threat, he cuts you off with a kiss. It’s slow, sweet, and full of all the things you’ve both held back. It’s everything you’ve wanted, everything you’ve been too afraid to admit, and in this moment, it feels like everything is falling into place.
When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, and he smiles, eyes glinting in the soft light. “I promise, sweetheart. I’ll never mess this up again.”
You take a breath, letting the calm settle over you, the warmth of his embrace wrapping around you like a blanket. The night stretches out before you, full of possibilities, and you can feel your heart beating just a little faster now, knowing that this is only the beginning.
And as the two of you stand there, watching the sunset fade into twilight, the quiet understanding between you both speaks volumes. And you are his and he is yours, finally.
#Top Gun Rooster#Top Gun Rooster Fanfiction#Top Gun Rooster Fanfic#Top Gun Rooster Fic#Bradley Bradshaw#Bradley Bradshaw Fanfiction#Bradley Bradshaw Fanfic#Bradley Bradshaw Fic#Bradley Rooster Bradshaw#Bradley Bradshaw x reader#Top Gun Rooster x reader#Bradley Bradshaw x You#Bradley Rooster Bradshaw x You
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love your writing! i was wondering if I could request something for thanos? maybe a softer thanos in the games, after he gets down from his high (after red light green light) he sees his long term gf there too (she joined to pay off his debt) and he just feels guilty and is soft with her? like you can tell he’s scared that she’ll die and he’s pissed that she’s there and in danger but still soft towards her? also she’s the only one he allows to call him by his birth name.
tysm if you do this 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼
STAY CLOSE
parings: thanos/choi su bong x f!reader
warnings: squid game stuff, mention of death and blood, swearing, angst
The chaos had settled. Bodies were dragged away, the stench of blood lingering in the air, but the arena was quiet now—eerily so. The adrenaline was wearing off, the drug-induced haze lifting, and with it came the weight of what had just happened.
Thanos dragged a hand down his face, sucking in a deep breath, trying to calm the storm in his chest. He had survived. He should’ve felt relieved. Instead, his stomach twisted, his high crashing into an ugly, gnawing dread.
And then he saw you.
At first, he thought he was hallucinating. His brain must’ve been playing tricks on him because there was no way. No fucking way. But then you turned your head, the dim, sickly light catching on your familiar eyes, and his heart nearly stopped.
“Y/N?” His voice was hoarse, barely more than a breath.
You flinched, looking up, and when your gaze met his, he felt something inside him break.
No.
No, no, no.
“What the fuck are you doing here, baby?” His voice was urgent, desperate, but he couldn’t move. He felt frozen in place, locked in some twisted nightmare.
You opened your mouth, but before you could speak, he was already in front of you, gripping your shoulders, his touch frantic but careful, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he wasn’t gentle. “Tell me I’m tripping. Tell me I’m still high. You can’t be here.”
You swallowed hard. “I had to, Su-bong. I—”
His whole body flinched at the sound of his real name coming from your lips. You were the only one allowed to say it, and you knew it, but hearing it here, in this fucked-up place, sent a deep, sick feeling crawling up his throat.
“You had to?” His voice cracked. He searched your face, his hands coming up to cradle your cheeks, thumbs brushing against your skin like he was trying to convince himself you were real. “Princess, you don’t belong here. What the fuck did you do?”
Your lips trembled. “Your debt—”
Thanos’ breath hitched, and his heart slammed against his ribs. “You joined for me?”
You nodded, and it shattered him.
His mouth opened and closed, words failing him. His hands dropped from your face, fingers curling into fists before releasing again, shaking from the sheer force of his emotions. He felt like he was drowning in them.
“You’re so fucking stupid,” he whispered, but his voice wasn’t angry. It was broken.
A thick silence settled between you. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to be mad—should’ve been mad—but how could he be when all he felt was raw, aching guilt?
His jaw clenched. “You could die in here, señorita.”
“So could you,” you shot back, a touch of defiance in your voice.
His head dropped, eyes squeezing shut. He let out a slow breath, forcing himself to steady, to think. He had to keep you safe. No matter what. That was the only thing that mattered now.
Finally, he met your gaze again, softer this time, almost pleading. “Stay close to me, honey. I mean it. Don’t leave my fucking side. You hear me?”
You nodded.
But it wasn’t enough.
Thanos pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your hair, his grip tight, like he could shield you from all the horrors lurking just around the corner. “I got you, baby,” he murmured. “I got you.”
And for the first time since the game started, he felt something other than fear. He felt purpose.
#squid game#thanos#player 230#choi su bong#thanos x reader#player 230 x reader#choi su bong x reader#thanos angst#choi su bong angst#player 230 angst
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A Mother With No Heart Will Give Love
pairing: mentor!Agatha x reader
summary: you always believed your mentor had a heart. one lonely night, you find yourself with the proof that agatha harkness can be just as vulnerable as anyone.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆
It was nighttime. You were both outside, in the small wooded area surrounding Westview, slowly finishing up the day’s lesson. It was on Earth magic, Green Craft-- as you’d read in the books, and you wondered briefly why Agatha had saved it for last. Almost as if she were avoiding it. It had gotten dark, slowly but surely, the sun setting behind the small town, the last of its rays disappearing from your face in a slow, bleeding backdrop of color and light as you watched Agatha pack up all your stuff. You were feeling good, content with the day’s outcome, maybe because it was a little different from what you considered the usual.
You were used to staying in the basement and listening to her talk about spells, enchantments, how to channel magic and do useful things, how to defend yourself. But today when you came down with a mug in your hand and your notebook in the other, your mentor shot you a coy smirk, and said to finish your tea and get your jacket. You’d be having a lesson outside today.
So, as you sat on a tree log, shoes shuffling absentmindedly in the dirt, you couldn’t help but notice that Agatha, usually composed, formidable and proficient, seemed slightly off tonight. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing maybe, but she seemed softer towards you somehow, more gentle. You’d take all the affection she gave of course, but you couldn’t stop yourself from worrying a little. It wasn’t like her.
You watched her stacking the few books you’d brought with you, dusting off her dark blue coat.
“Agatha?” you asked carefully.
She looked up at you, “Yes, pet?”
“Is everything okay?”
She smiled at you. Smiled. “Of course, dear. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Don’t know. “ you murmured, “You just… seem a little… I don’t know. Nicer.”
She scoffed. “Please. I’m not nice.” A tad of her usual snark returning.
You gave her a smile, short, nodding, and coughed a little. It was getting cold, and you wished you’d brought a better jacket. Something warmer maybe. A sweater to keep you from freezing on the walk back to the house.
Agatha paused.
You could’ve sworn her hand wavered, the book she was holding almost slipping from her grip. You frowned. That was an odd reaction. Especially for her. Before you could ask anything else she was there beside you, shrugging off her coat and draping it around your shoulders. The words you had died in your throat. One of her hands ghosted across your shoulder, smoothing down the fabric there and sending a wave of warmth from her touch down your arm.
You looked up at her, trying to gauge her expression.
“Thanks.” you murmured softly.
She didn’t answer right away, but her hand stayed on yours, moving lightly to your back, ghosting across your hair.
You didn’t move. Didn’t dare to, not wanting to break the moment of sudden tenderness.
She sat beside you. You stayed still. Then she spoke, her voice still holding a hint of her knowing confidence, but there was warmth there too, a soft, gentle something coating every word of her tone.
“I need you to promise me something, pet.”
You turned to look at her. “Promise what?”
“That this...what we’re doing, what I’m trying to teach you, you take it seriously. I know it may not seem like it but—”
“I take it seriously.” you said, quiet, “You’re a good teacher.” It was a half-truth. She was teasing and tough on you sometimes, pushing you to do things over and over until you felt like there was no magic left in your hands, but she could be kind, too. Sometimes. Rarely. In her own, Agatha way. You knew that she cared more than she let on. And you wouldn’t have anyone else teach you but her.
You watched some unspoken emotion drift behind her blue eyes, somehow bright against the dark twilight that surrounded you.
“Good.” she said. “Flattery won’t get you everywhere, dear, but it’s good you’re listening. You’ll need it all one day.”
“I know.” you said, “I want to learn magic, and you’re amazing at it, and—”
“It’s not just about learning it. It’s about protecting yourself.”
You stayed quiet. “I’m safe here.” you said, “I’m with you, and—”
“And one day I might not be there to come save you from whatever mess you find yourself in.” she spoke, each word sharp and clear. “I won’t be here forever, you know. And it’s vital you learn as much as you can while I’m here to show you how to do it right, to survive—”
You frowned a little. “The world isn’t going to eat me. I don’t go looking for trouble, you know.”
Again, it was a half-truth.
Yes, you didn’t go looking for trouble, but also yes, trouble did seem to find you, maybe because it was one of the many perks of being around Agatha Harkness for long.
“You say that now, but you being a witch is more than enough to land you into danger.”
“Do witch hunters still exist?”
She sighed. Deep.
“It’s not just that. You can’t trust anyone. Even other witches. Especially other witches.”
And you realized what this was. You always knew, of course, how could you not do the simplest research on the person you’d ask to teach you magic, but you never dared to ask.
Your eyes went to the brooch dangling on her necklace, the thin golden chain, three white figures on a dark slab of oval stone. And of course, she noticed at once. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this.
No snark, no sarcasm, no deflection.
Instead her hand, one that wasn’t still playing with the ends of your hair, rose slightly, the tips of her fingers brushing against the pendant.
“It was my mother’s.” she said, quietly. “A useless thing, really, passed down in our family, some dusty heirloom she never intended to give me. I only took it after—”
She didn’t have to finish for you to understand.
You didn’t speak yet. Just thought.
How that must have felt for her, young, maybe as old as you were now, alone, standing in the middle of the aftermath of her own power, the only people in her life dead by her hands, her magic, her own fear and power. How alone she must have felt, you thought. How angry, how afraid. Of course she wouldn’t show it. But you knew. If anyone did, you supposed it was you, knowing that Agatha Harkness did have a heart. You saw the proof every day, soft pats on the head, a tea or coffee handed to you in the middle of studying, the warmth of a mug pressed into your hand, the quiet, soft, gentle hum of her magic washing over you every time she did something sweet, even if she would deny it when asked.
“She wasn’t a loving person.” she murmured. “She was cold, always seeing magic as something to be controlled, same as people. Same as her coven. But she couldn’t control me.”
You didn’t say anything.
“I’m telling you because I need you to know, hun. People always betray you. You can’t trust anyone, even if they’re your coven. Your family. Your sisters. And having too much knowledge or power can make them turn against you like that—”
She snapped her fingers, so suddenly that you flinched.
“And no matter how much power or magic or knowledge you get, you always end up alone. You need to learn to deal with it. Get used to that feeling. Don’t let it control you.”
“But you’re not alone.” you murmured.
She tilted her head to look down at you. “You say that now, but—”
“No.” you interrupted, suddenly feeling the urge to let her know just how much her presence means to you, “I’m not. I mean it. I’m not going to leave you. Or betray you, I wouldn’t, ever—”
“I know, hun.” she murmured. “I know you wouldn’t. I believe you. But I wouldn’t hold it against you if you did.
That surprised you.
“W-what?”
She just shook her head, a distant look in her eyes, “The things I’ve done dear, they’re not decent. They’re not good in any way. And I don’t regret them. Any of them.”
And yet you saw a glimpse of something in her eyes that made you think otherwise.
And then you thought maybe, maybe you were just as twisted as her, because you didn’t care. At that moment, looking at her through the soft moonlight, seeing her look so vulnerable for once, so different and alone, you didn’t have it in you to resent her.
You knew what she’d done. Killed other witches, took their powers, fought so many people, but--
All you wanted to do was reassure her somehow, make her feel safe.
Make her feel as safe as she made you feel.
So you hugged her.
She stiffened immediately, shoulders tensing at the sudden contact, a soft huff escaping her in surprise. “Uh—”
You didn’t let go. Held on tighter. Her arms, hovering hesitantly around you, lowered a little, just barely brushing against your back.
“You’re not bad, Agatha.” you told her quietly. “I don’t think you’re a bad person, and I’m not leaving you-- ever—”
She huffed again, but you went on.
“No. I mean it. I promise. I’ll stay with you, and learn more magic, and-- and I’ll stay until you get bored of me and kick me out.”
You thought you felt her smile against you. Just faintly. Just a little. “Get bored of you, hun? Now that’s impossible.”
It made you smile in return. And, since this was apparently turning into some sort of heart-to-heart talk, the kind that Agatha Harkness never does, well, you thought, might as well--
“Thank you for looking after me.” you made out.
She didn’t reply right away.
“Don’t say it like that darling, you’re making me sound like some sort of-- caring—”
You giggled. She gave you an offended look, pulling away a little, and you couldn’t help but pout. She snorted. “You’re so needy.”
“No, I’m not-”
“Oh, yes. You are. Needy and clingy and must you be so affectionate all the time, honestly it’s like watching a baby kitten.”
“Kittens are cute.”
Agatha rolled her eyes. Quiet fell upon you for a moment, and you didn’t let go of her arm, just listening to the soft stillness of the woods around you, the gentle movements of leaves against the late-night breeze. A gust of wind swindled past you, making you shiver slightly. You felt her arm shift to pull you just a bit closer. Though you knew she wouldn’t admit it. You leaned against her, silent, feeling slightly shy at the emotional moment this was turning into. You ducked your head against her, rested your chin against her arm. She didn’t move away.
“You know,” she said softly, “sometimes… Sometimes I wonder why you’re still here. Why you insist on staying with me. You should be running away.”
“I’d never run from you. Not like that.”
And you meant it. You couldn’t imagine yourself running away from her, not in fear like she was expecting you to.
She sighed, the sound reverberating against you. “You’re far too sweet for someone like me, you know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because…” another sigh, soft, almost sad, “You make it really hard not to care for you. And I don’t do that. Not ever. Not since…”
“Since what?”
“Not since… since my son.” she murmured softly, so quiet you almost missed it. “My… Nicholas. And those last few days...”
You didn’t move. You weren’t sure what to say, how to--
“You remind me of him so much sometimes, you know?” she said, still so quiet, “You’re both so happy, so innocently optimistic and carefree and-- you don’t-- see me like everyone else does. You look at me like-” she paused again, “like I’m…”
You looked up at her and were taken off guard to see tears in her eyes, a rare sight, and you wondered how many had seen her like that and lived.
“Like what?” you whispered, softly.
“I’m not good for you sweetheart. You shouldn’t be spending your time with a cynical old witch like me, looking at me like that—like you think there’s some good left in me. Trust me there isn’t.”
Your heart hurt.“That’s not true.”
Agatha chuckled wetly. You reached up to hold her hand before she could pull away.
“Truth is, hun, you make me feel things I thought I buried-- with—” she turned away. “It’s not good for my-- my reputation.”
You hugged her again.
She hugged you back, arms wrapping around you, pulling you close, more tightly than you’d felt in a long, long while.
“You make me want to be less… cruel, hun.”
“Is that really so bad?” you murmured softly.
She shook her head, just barely, pressed her face into your hair. You felt tears, warm, wet, sliding down her cheeks and into your hair, to your face. You didn’t move. Just held on tighter.
“I’ll always stick with you.” you murmured. “I...I won’t leave you. Ever.”
She exhaled against you, breath trembling slightly. “You stay safe for me hun, okay? I need to know, I need to know you’re listening to me when you’re here, when—”
“I’m listening.” you said, soft but firm. “I promise I am. And you’ll teach me more about protection spells, and about runes, and-- and we can haul up in your basement if something comes for us, and you can kill it and save us.”
She chuckled tearfully.
You could her her sniffling, her hands momentarily leaving your back to presumably wipe her eyes. You didn’t turn, letting her pull herself together. When you thought she did, a little at least, you pulled your head back slightly and glanced up.
Her blue eyes were wet with tears, slightly red and glassy, seeming more pale than usual.
It scared you a little, seeing your Agatha, usually so composed and tough, reduced to tears over-- what?
You?
Her son?
Her-- grief, and--
“I worry about you, pet.” she said finally, her voice frail for once. “Sometimes I look at you and think you’ll change your mind one day, that you’ll see how… how I really am. How b—”
“I won’t. I see you, Agatha.” you told her softly, in the best comforting voice you could muster, “I see through what others don’t, and I won’t leave you. I don’t even know where I’d go if I did. You’re… you’re all I have left.”
There was a moment that seemed to stretch forever, where she simply held you and didn’t let go. And then-- as quickly as it started--
She shook her head, and stood up abruptly.
“We should head back. It’s late.”
That was it then. Moment over. You knew she would probably do this but something pulled in your chest as you stood up as well, her coat still draped around your shoulders. You bundled it into your arms.
“Do you...want this back?”
She looked at you. Then the coat. Then she shook her head. “Keep it until we get back.” she told you, voice already returning to her old self, “I know how much you’d whine otherwise. And dress better next time. I won’t waste all that time and effort on teaching you magic just so you can die of a simple cold. Hopeless.”
You smiled faintly, and looped your arms through the sleeves.
The coat was warmer than it looked, and you immediately felt a wave of comfort wash over you, mixed with a faint whiff of her perfume and laundry detergent, a soft and floral scent, something you associated with her house.
When she picked up the books and started to walk, you caught up with her, following silently in the slightly-oversized coat, feeling way too snug. You tried to loop your arm through hers. She gave you a pointed look, one eyebrow raised, but let you do it anyway.
“Just this once.” she muttered. “Don’t get used to it.”
You knew it was a lie. She knew it was a lie. Neither of you acknowledged it. You knew neither of you probably ever would.
So you walked, quiet and content, with your hand resting on hers, the paved road firm and grounding beneath your shoes. She didn’t speak more, didn’t mention what she told you, but when the two of you stepped into her front yard she leaned down, hand on the door, and said softly into your ear.
“If you tell anyone about that I will turn you into a bug and feed you to Senor Scratchy.”
You stilled. The words were whispered with such an honest threat, and yet you couldn’t help but smile. You weren’t sure she’d ever really do anything she so often threatened you with, but you’d keep her secrets either way. Of course you would.
You tried to look up at her but she was already inside, disappeared into the kitchen or upstairs, leaving you alone on the doorstep. You followed, stepping in and basking in the warmth of the place, then lightly closed the door behind you.
You found her in the kitchen, making tea on the stovetop and waiting for the water to boil.
She didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look at you. But as you sat down, her coat still around, keeping you warm, you noticed the two mugs she’d set out on the counter. You felt her hand ghost over your hair as she went into the living room. A barely-there gesture. Perhaps a silent thank you. But it was enough. You knew, and she knew, and that was more than enough. You were there with her. You were home.
A/n: this wasn't proofread. please don't come at me, I'll edit if I find any mistakes. The title is from Aurora's song Heathens. I'm not sure if I managed to write soft Agatha in a way that's line with her character but I rewatched episode 9 today so that's where the idea came from. Thanks for reading, y'all. Love you. <3
#marvel#agatha all along#reader insert#agatha harkness#agatha harkness x reader#marvel cinematic universe#agnes of westview#mine#soft agatha harkness#mentor agatha harkness#nicholas scratch#agatha all along spoilers
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no but listen... as a breeding kink enjoyer myself, im so on board for the whole yunho and breeding agenda .
we all know he's a passionate lover and that man lives for knowing his partner is into it as well and the intimacy of it all makes his heart skip a beat bc what do you mean you love him SO much to let him breed you?
and that post about tall lovers that you shared goes hand in hand with my train for thoughts as well💀 bc yunho might look a bit freaky and that might translate to bed, but he's deep at heart, a missionary lover (don't @ me im a sucker for soft lover yunho). knowing that his partner is caged between his body and the bed, not going anywhere and their hands stuck on his body, passionate kisses coming and going as he whispers into your ear about how much he wants to make you his, to knock you up full of him🫠
ANYWAYS
i leave the stage to your own brainrot my friend (yes, we're friends now lmao jk, im not imposing it)
yours truly,
✨anon
the way i started reading this ask and was like oh i know this is ✨ anon cooking and i was right
OKAY SO as you can probably imagine i have about a million thoughts about this that are faaaaaaaar too nsfw so everything i think about yunho and his breeding kink is under the cut
now that we’re all safely here in nsfw world…………… nobody judge me this is my favorite kink of all time to read, to write, to uhhhh whatever else and you’ve been warned, this is bringing out unhinged chai. it’s fairly self indulgent to imagine yunho with a wild breeding kink, but i actually do think it tracks for his personality AND i dont care if it’s self indulgent this is fiction lol
OKAY
so the thing about breeding kink that i think when written well, the part that just scratches my feral brain so right isn’t necessarily about the ‘breeding’ of it all it’s about the intimacy, the trust, and the lowkey ownership of it all. now i don’t at all mean that in a toxic misogyny way….. but i do mean it in kind of a ‘sometimes traditional stuff is hot’ way, and giving a piece of yourself like that / allowing your partner to take that piece to me is super hot. it’s like the ultimate culmination of that love and passion - so exactly what you said, you love him so much to let him breed you and his brain goes mushy.
i’ll talk a little bit about breeding kink specifics in a sec but as far as yunho having one….. i truly will die on this hill. he may or may not irl actually have one, who knows, but i think he’s the perfect type of guy to have one. i’ve talked about this before, but he really gives ultimate soft dom vibes, the kind of man who would want to be a guiding hand to his partner. he’s traditional in a lot of ways, and i think that would also lean him towards liking those traditional aspects of gender - i don’t mean this to limit him i’m just saying those things would probably make his guy brain light up. i.e. a parter in a skirt, heels, doing things that feel traditional like cooking etc. I don’t think he consciously thinks about the fact that those traditional elements are hot to him, but i also think he’s the kind of guy who gets hard watching their girlfriend make dinner. i think breeding kink is such a natural next step there because it is another very domestic, romantic, traditional thing. even if yunho wasn’t into women or if he didn’t actually want children, i still think those things would be true, because i just kind of read him as that type of dude and i think that would translate into any more specific kinks he has.
if he does want children / is with a partner who can get pregnant…. then i think the kink could become even more intense and go a step further into him really being into his partner while they’re pregnant / wanting to have even more kids etc.
so when it comes to yunho and breeding in particular…………… here’s a feral headcanon
he keeps it to himself for a long time, but there are certain things he does that tip you off earlier in the relationship that this is something he’s into
for one…. he’s literally obsessed with cumming inside you to the point that once you stop using condoms you never start again, and where other guys are fond of cumming other places…. your mouth, your tits, your face…… he’s the type of guy to stop you blowing him just so he can get off inside
the type to press his cock right up against your pussy when he’s jerking it he’s so obsessed with it
to say nothing of the time he came all over your stomach and he got deeply embarrassed, ears running red, and trying to brush over it…. but you saw the way he looked at you.
so you coax him into it - begging him to cum inside, telling him how much you need it…… slipping and calling him ‘daddy’ just to see him break
and it’s not in a dom/sub way, not like that…. it makes him crazy because that’s what he wants with his partner, with you, he wants to actually have kids and be a dad and make you a mom and have a happy family the way that he was raised, he wants to give you and his future kids the world
so when he finally admits it, it is soft. it’s a while into you being together, after talking about the fact that you want to be married to each other one day, after you know you’re both it for each other
and he’s worshipping you as he always does, buried inside you in missionary and just kissing the breath out of you, when he says it between soft moans, “Want to make you mine, forever, baby, want to get you pregnant,”
and he freezes, realizing he said it out loud but then you moan, absolutely losing it at finally hearing him admit it
and you both know in that moment……… the stars are aligning all too well. both of you want that. bad.
and that just lets the floodgates open completely.
“Is that what you want? Want everyone to know I got you pregnant?”
“Want me to give you a baby, sweetheart?”
“Beg me, jagi, beg me to cum inside you,”
“Tell me how much you want me to knock you up,”
And for a while, you stay on birth control and the dirty talk gets feral. Knowing you both love it, but also knowing that for now it’s feral and risk free? You can’t even keep your hands off each other.
Spread open in bed, legs back in a press, “Can you feel me here, baby?” His hand always pressed over your stomach, teasing and tender and driving you up to orgasm faster than anything else.
“You’ll be such a pretty mommy, won’t you? So round and full of daddy’s baby,”
“Want me to knock you up with my big cock, sweetheart? Is that what you need?”
But……………..things get tender again when you’re actually trying. When it’s not just dirty talk and getting off…. when you’re actually ovulating and tracking and planning and when you both want it for real this time.
And the first time, he really takes his time with you. Soft and gentle in a way that shows every ounce of his love. What it means for you both to do this, what you’re giving to him and to each other.
And he’s whispering it, already emotional at how much he loves you, and how you’re looking up at him in this moment - “Sweetheart, I’m gonna take such good care of you,”
You know he will, he always does.
Slow strokes, foreheads pressed together, easy, rolling orgasms.
“That’s it baby, let me in, cum and open up for me,”
“Gonna make you mine,”
“Take my baby, beautiful,”
“Gonna put it right here,” With his hand on your stomach, “such a good mommy for me,”
And all bets are really off once you’re pregnant. If you thought he could keep his hands off you before? Oh no, Yunho’s the type of guy who isn’t just in it for the breeding, he’s in it for the LOVE, for the baby, for the partnership….. so of course he’s excited to watch your body change.
He’s the type of guy who gets excited over every little thing, ear pressed to your belly too early just to see if he can hear something, feel a kick, anything.
And the knowledge that he did that? That your body is powerful and beautiful and strong but he planted the seed and you both made this beautiful wonderful amazing decision together? Well…. that gets him riled up too.
So it’s worshipping time when you’re pregnant.
Back rubs, foot rubs, belly rubs, you name it he’s there with a bottle of warming oil and a whole lot of words of affirmation.
“So gorgeous like this,”
“You’re doing so well, baby, you’re growing a whole person, you’re incredible,”
“Can’t believe I got you pregnant,”
And more often than not those touches and massages lead to a lot more. He just can’t help it - you deserve to be taken care of in every possible way.
And the more pregnant you get, the more dizzy it makes him. Your belly swollen, tits full, your body softening and filling out deliciously in ways he didn’t even know he wanted.
Until all he’s thinking about is the next time he can get you knocked up again.
Until he’s dirty talking again like he just can’t stop.
“You like being full of me, babygirl?”
“Beg me to get you pregnant again,”
“That’s my girl, that’s it, cum for me mama,”
he’s the type of guy to get addicted to you, and that combined with how much he wants a family with you? there’s no escaping the feral breeding kink of it all in that case.
anyways this ask killed me, i died. i’m off to scream into the void about him yet again.
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Okay firstly hi. I saw u take req for wlw stuff so wondering if u could do like In-ho's daughter (reader)also joining the games with him and they're stayed together most of the time until in mingle where when it was two players in a room reader first didn't know with who she should go with so she was playing on staying alone since nothing would happen to her but then she got pulled in a room with 380 (Se-mi) where she totally falled for her and now has an identity crisis because she still believes she's straight
Ok I made this right after seeing a pov with her and I was inspired, I hope you like it
I Wanna Be Yours
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Summary: You, a girl with many problems from the life you were leading, decide to follow your father on a mission as an infiltrator, at first you are not very interested, you just wanted to get out of your comfort zone, but suddenly your eyes meet... ¿her?
Warning: typical violence of the series, internal conflicts, In-ho going out of character to be emotional support
Se-mi player 380 x fem reader blonde¡! (wlw)
English is not my original language!
master list!¡
When you infiltrated these games you had low expectations, you had already seen before through cameras and a mask but doing them yourself, being another player certainly awakened the adrenaline in your body.
You already knew that they would play, you had helped the frontman organize them and choose each one but now you regretted a little for having given the brilliant idea of having the lights turn on and off constantly just to increase the fear in the players.
The platform turned and turned under your feet, your heart was beating normally but for some strange reason your breathing became more intense, once again adrenaline began to flow through your system as you heard the children's music echo throughout the place.
—¿What do you think the next number is? —Jung-bae asked next to you with notable nervousness.
—Dos —respondiste sin pensar mucho.
—¿How do you know?
—The number of players and the number of doors —Young-il said quickly, you hadn't noticed the small mistake that could have put your identity at risk —There can only be two players per room, the first to arrive will be saved.
You nodded in agreement and continued looking forward, knowing that your father would reprimand you later for that mistake.
"Two"
The robotic voice rang throughout the place and in a matter of seconds each player grabbed his partner and ran without looking back.
You ran through the crowd without knowing exactly who to grab because the rest of your group had already grabbed their respective partner and only you were left, "great dad" you thought rolling your eyes but he had his reasons for leaving you there, anyway they weren't going to kill you even if you lost.
Despite the disturbance, you walked calmly through the place looking for an empty room so you could go in alone, you didn't realize that the counter was about to reach zero.
Ni siquiera te diste cuenta cuando un jugador corrió hacia ti, simplemente sentiste que alguien tiraba fuerte y firme de tu brazo y te introducía en una sala verde.
As soon as you heard the "click" of the door close you looked up to see who had dragged you there, at that moment, you were sure that your eyes shone like they usually do in the fairy tales that mom told you when you were little.
—A thanks is enough —Se-mi said with disdain while taking deep breaths.
Her short black hair caught your attention, it fit perfectly with his features, his skin looked so soft and shiny from the sweat that adorned his face, your eyes landed on his lips, pink and thin, pretty.
—Stop seeing me like that —She demanded and you immediately looked away.
Hearing her voice for the second time was like music to your ears, it sounded so firm, confident, the complete opposite of the expression that was forming on her face, you frowned, ¿why did you feel this? Damn.
You reviewed her words mentally, you hadn't even realized that you completely ignored the life or death situation that should torment you and the sound of gunshots coming from outside, it was as if she had stolen your brain and rational sense just by looking into her eyes.
¿What the hell was happening you?
—Thank you —You said, feigning more anguish —You saved me
Se-mi remained silent this time but looked at you curiously, ¿why did you seem not to be afraid? ¿Were you very brave, very stupid or were you hiding something?
For the first time you felt the room around you suffocating, it was strange, you wanted to get out and get away from her because of what she was making you feel but at the same time you didn't want to do it, her aroma filled your nose, a sweet mixture, traces of the perfume she used before coming here, mixed with the adrenaline that her body emanated.
The seconds felt eternal, for the two girls who were there, and as soon as the door opened you were the first to leave at full speed.
However, as you let your feet guide you back to the huge room with the other players, your mind still wandered to the features of that girl with the number 380 emblazoned on her clothes.
—¿Are you fine? —Your father's hand on your shoulder brought you out of the thoughts.
You nodded.
But you didn't feel good.
You had never before experienced these mixed emotions that accumulated in your stomach, you had not had a boyfriend or girlfriend, you had arrived on this island since you were a girl and therefore your social life only focused on masked soldiers and your father.
In-ho was a busy man, you knew it, therefore you had never talked to him about love or relationships between couples, incredible, you knew how to handle all kinds of weapons and hand grenades but you didn't know what people felt when they liked others.
—Not really —You decided to correct your previous answer, it wasn't the time but you needed your father —¿What did you feel when you saw mom for the first time?
Your question caught him off guard, he stopped walking down the endless stairs and turned to look at you with a raised eyebrow.
—¿Really? ��Now?
You raised your shoulders and put your hands in the pockets of jacket, the other players behind you complained about having stopped the line and continued moving forward with him telling you that would talk about it at lunch time.
As you continued walking you felt a pair of eyes on you so turned your head a little to discover who was looking at you so much but instantly regretted it when you met their 380 gaze.
Once again your heart beat with speed
¿Why was she looking at you? ¿Did you catch her attention the way she caught yours? ¿Was she having the same doubts? Without realizing it your hands were sweating inside your pockets.
—Well… talk to me —In-ho sat next to you, a little apart from the rest of the group because they didn't know what your family bond was or your respective true identities.
Cautiously and without omitting any details, you told him exactly how that person made you feel since you saw, how his eyes captivated you and his aroma attracted you like a mouse to hot bread.
After a couple of minutes in which he listened to you attentively and in silence, he finally spoke with a soft smile.
—I'm glad you experienced the attraction for the first time —He paused and his smile diminished a little —but I don't like that you did it in this place... You have to keep in mind that if he dies…
—She —You interrupted him, looking down at your food —It's not he… it's, She...
In-ho looked at you in silence for a few seconds, increasing the anxiety in your body until he spoke again calmly and confidently.
—Listen… I know you lived under rules and orders for several years but this is not like that… For love there are no rules or a guide and in this case, you don't have to worry if it's a he or a she, but here…
—I know —You said with slight frustration running your hands through your golden hair, you didn't want her to die, whatever the reason she was here you didn't want her body to end up in a gift box.
—Just don't do something reckless.
And with that short conversation your father stood up and left again with Gi-hun to continue with his plan, you were grateful for the little time he gave you but you still felt confused.
During the next few hours you were not focused, you cast fleeting glances around the huge room looking for her and you did not see her until the votes, she voted by scratch, she wanted to leave, strange, when you saw her you noticed the blue circle on the left side of her chest.
The votes had been tied so they would repeat the votes the next day but you could feel the tension between both sides and the last straw was a fight in the men's bathroom where five players died.
You knew what was coming now, you had seen it several times before, the special game
At night this place would be a battlefield full of blood, hatred and death, the forks in your food would be weapons and the players themselves would become killing machines as soon as the lights went out.
Gi-hun gathered a small number of players on his side to come up with a plan, they would form a rebellion to get out of here, how naive, if they knew they had the leader of this place among them maybe would have won this fight, you thought silently.
But your head was also thinking about someone else, about a certain black-haired woman who was in her bed playing with the rings on her fingers.
Your eyes looked at her analytically, she looked so calm but at the same time worried, there was something that worried her, immediately your eyes moved to the opposite side where you saw player 124 looking at her with hatred, contempt and other negative emotions that only meant one thing in this place.
Kill.
"Don't do anything reckless"
Your father's words resonated in your head, you lowered your gaze and continued listening like 456 but occasionally you turned to look at her once more.
So until the lights of the emorme room went out, the glow of the figures on each side was the only thing visible among the darkness and the soft murmuring mixed with soft breathing became present, you followed the plan and the instructions and went under the bed to just watch as the players killed each other.
But you heard a scream that caught your attention, you saw 124 attacking the girl who had taken over your head and without thinking twice you came out of your hiding place despite hearing your father's protests, here he couldn't protect you, in this game you could die like any other player but you didn't care.
You ran until you reached them and with a kick you pushed him away from Se-mi who fell to the ground exhausted from the confrontation, if it hadn't been for you she would already be dead.
—Get away from her —You hissed, watching him with disdain as he stood up again with a broken glass bottle in his hand.
—¡This is not your business! —Nam-gyu raised the bottle and tried to stab it in your face but you skillfully moved away and hit him in the chest with a strong, concise movement.
As a result, he lost his breath and his balance for a few seconds, but being highly drugged, the adrenaline was in his favor and he managed to throw himself at you once again, this time managing to make a cut on the side of your abdomen.
A stab of pain invaded you and you stumbled back, he was going to attack you again but Se-mi took him off of you and pushed him down the stairs, she was barely going to ask you if you were okay when you took his hand and pulled away from there, both ran through the chaos and hid under a bed.
—You're bleeding —She said seeing the wound in your abdomen, it was not lethal but it was scandalous.
—I'll be fine —You responded with a soft smile.
The closeness between you and her was great, you could now see with perfection and fascination each of her facial features, her bright eyes, her thin lips, the piercing that decorated her nose and the black ribbon that hugged her neck.
You could practically hear your heart beating.
And you knew you weren't the only one, she also kept her gaze fixed on you.
—Thank you for saving me... —She murmured close to you to the point where you could feel his breath hit your face.
You didn't answer anything but millions of words crossed your head, you wanted to tell her many things "you are beautiful ¿what did you do to me?" maybe even kiss her but you knew this wasn't the right time and you still weren't sure what you felt or if she felt the same.
When the lights came back on and the guards came in to remove the bodies, you ignored the plan that 456 had said, you just stayed with her, you wanted to do it.
Even when Young-il talked you into going with them to the rebellion you refused and stood by Se-mi's side, receiving an unreadable look from he.
But he didn't insist and left you with the other players while he betrayed his entire team.
—¿Won't you go with them? —She asked you curiously as she bandaged the wound on your body, her hands felt like heaven on your skin but you kept your face serene throughout the entire process.
—No, I'm where I should be.
You had changed sides, you would not be a soldier again, you just wanted to be with Se-mi, get her out of there alive and pay any debt she owes.
Incredible the things someone can do for love.
And In-ho understood that which is why he gave you full control over the decisions you would make from now on.
#se mi squid game#se mi x reader#se mi x you#se mi x fem!reader#squid game x reader#squid game#squid game fic#squidgame x you#fem reader#x reader#player 380#player 380 x reader#player 380 x you#380 x you
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Promise
Warning: pure fluff
The salty breeze wrapped around you like a warm hug as you sat on the dock, legs dangling over the edge, watching the sun dip below the horizon. The sky was painted in hues of pink and gold, and the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore filled the air. It was one of those rare, peaceful summer evenings, and you couldn’t have asked for better company.
Rafe sat beside you, his hand lazily tracing circles on the back of yours. There was something so different about him in moments like these. The usual cocky smirk was replaced with a soft, genuine smile, his sharp blue eyes reflecting the golden hour light. It was a side of him that only you got to see, the version of Rafe Cameron who wasn’t weighed down by expectations or reputation.
“You’re thinking too hard,” he murmured, nudging you playfully with his shoulder.
You chuckled, tilting your head to look at him. “And how would you know that?”
“Because you get this little crease right here—” He tapped his finger gently against your forehead, his touch featherlight. “—whenever you overthink.”
Your heart swelled at the realization that he noticed even the smallest things about you. “I was just thinking about how perfect this is,” you admitted, glancing back at the water. “How I wish we could freeze time and stay here forever.”
Rafe hummed in agreement, his fingers intertwining with yours. “Yeah? Well, maybe we don’t need to freeze time. Maybe we just make sure we have more moments like this.”
You smiled, squeezing his hand. “You promise?”
“I swear on everything,” he said without hesitation, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your temple. “You make me feel like I can just…breathe. Like none of the other stuff matters.”
Your chest ached in the best way possible. Rafe wasn’t perfect, but in like these, he was perfect for you.
As the sky darkened and the stars began to sprinkle the night, Rafe pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you like he never wanted to let go. And for the first time in a long time, you truly believed that he never would.
#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron x reader#outerbanks rafe#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron smut#rafe obx#rafe outer banks#rafe x reader#rafe cameron#rafe cameron fanfic#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron one shot#rafe imagine#rafe cameron x female reader#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x kook!reader#drew starkey
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S stands for scam 2.
nepo baby!Seungcheol x scammer!reader
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Synopsis: Seungcheol wakes up in empty hotel room the morning after you had your way with him.
Warnings: plot and smut, scam, dom!reader, sub!seungcheol (first time), dirty talk, butt stuff (m.receiving), crack
WC: 1.6K
Status: part 2. - ongoing, part 1.
a/n: I have too much fun writing big strong men into pathetic bottoms. my requests are now open so go ahead and ask for a fic!
tags: @hanniebanggi , @sexygrass, @dunixxd join my tag list to get notified about new chapters - here
masterlist / requests
Cash never smelled so good.
What you laid your eyes on, after fishing Cheol's wallet out of his suit jacket, came as a surprise even to such seasoned scam veteran like you. 50k bills neatly rolled into a bundle, secured with elastic band, reminded you of old mafia movies. You were not sure why this man had, literally millions of Won on him but you were not one to complain. Chaebols were indeed built different. You could only be grateful to this real life Motherlode opportunity. In the same time it was more convenient to take his nice, clean, sparkly cash than cards. Purring knowingly at the sight of his black credit card but keeping it in its place.
Loot +1!
Smirking as you look back at the mess of a man, showing the treasure into your tiny purse. It barely fits. Absolute unit of a man who would usually strike fear to his enemies was laying peacefully in bed. So big but so spent. Dishevelled hair, blanket revealing most except his lower body. His dried up release from yesterday marking perfectly toned muscles. Strands of hair sticking to his forehead.
"You won't mind if I take this, will you?" asking with utmost politeness as you gently take his golden cross necklace off of him and dangle it around your neck.
"All that just for me? Oh, you shouldn't have~" pressing soft peck on his cute nose. The handsome man smiles from his dream and hums in agreement.
Loot +2!
"This will go together nicely." you chuckle, unclasping another treat. Obviously expensive bracelet on his wrist.
You didn't know much about modern jewellery, mostly being antiques and vintage aficionado, but you did know your gold and by the look and weight of this piece, it will earn you nice sum at your favourite pawn shop.
Loot +3!
The night was nearing it's end, muted red light slowly painting the sky, you were pleased by the outcome. Seungcheol was quite a treat, his fucked out puppy eyes filled with tears will most likely occupy your mind for the upcoming week. Unfortunately this would be the first and only time you see each other. Made it a rule for yourself to never go for the same man twice. It was just easier that way. And safer.
You smirk as you write a little goodbye note, leaving it next to his, deeply, breathing body.
"Hmm, something is missing.." you look around the messy hotel room to see bunch of fresh towels piled up on a cabinet.
"Perfect" you smirk as you arrange them into a heart around the note.
It will be better to get going and deposit your newfound fortune into your checking account. Before the princess wakes up.
Well, but this much cash.. will have to be split into smaller bits. After the banks passed new rule about the amount of money you can deposit without having to name source of income.. your head has been aching more than usual. Why make life harder than it already is?
"Sleep tight, pretty boy. Dream of me." You sigh as you fix Cheol's hair behind his ear and close the door behind you.
__
Morning come, soft sunlight tickles Seungcheol's chestnut hair.
"Hmm, is it morning already? You really did a number on me, princess." eyes still closed shut, he rolls over to the other side of bed, in search of your warmth, only to be met with a bunch of cold pillows, put together like a barricade. Plus something resembling a towel arrangement?
"..the hell?" he takes one pillow after another, throwing them to far away corner of the room, digging thru your towel heart he is smoothing down the sheets with palm of his hand, when something rustles.
"You need to stop spoiling me so much, pretty boy." he read out loud, your note was accompanied by tiny little heart.
"So you seduce me, have your way with me and disappear next day? Not even kiss goodbye? Not even a breakfast? After all you did to me? Use me like if I am some kind of common SLUT?!" voice thunders between four white walls.
Furrowing eyebrows meet in the middle of forehead. Shaky fist crumples the poor piece of paper, letting it fly straight to the bin.
"Me, Choi Seungcheol, man worth billions, the face of Forbes 30 under 30(!!), won't be treated like that! No, no. Don't think so, Darling!" swearing with that same clenched fist asking any god who was watching for help.
Fully awake in matter of seconds, Seungcheol springs out of bed ready to get justice only for his legs to wobble, adventures of yesterday taking their toll, tumbling down to his knees. For the second time in span of 12 hours.
Pride -10! Ego -20!
--
We already established the fact that Seungcheol was an adventurous guy.
Emphasis on was.
However, he felt rather meek in dark depths of night, spread out in all his glory on hotel bed with your malleable tongue working him open.
"H-hey! Where do you think you are going???" he almost cried out
"Exactly where you need me to be" you rub your thumb over his pulsing, pretty, pink hole.
"Fuckfuckfuck. I don't think that's righ-" he has no time to finish as you forcefully pull him up by the hips, flush against your mouth.
"Oh? But I think this is so right, pretty boy. Be good for me?" Hot, slippery tongue lapping circles in his prohibited zone. You can feel him vibrating under your touch. You can hear his breathing getting louder. You can see his legs slowly opening on their own.
"Let me hear you, big boy" as you slam his hips on your waiting tongue. And then again. "Beg for me."
"p-please" Seungcheol couldn't think, Seungcheol couldn't breathe. Only thing he could do was to speed up his thrusts and meet your insatiable mouth halfway. It was a reflex really. It was a reflex for him to chase after the source of his pleasure as it was a reflex for you to whine into him. Body's natural reaction was making you drip on the crips white bedsheet under you.
"P-please d-don't stop" mouth agape as you slid one finger into his slacken hole. Other hand gripping his thigh harder. Nails digging into flesh.
"fuckfuckfuck, I will be good, I will be so soo good for you.. j-just don't stop." Oh no. You did not plan on stopping anytime soon. Hearing his pathetic pleas had your pussy squeezing around nothing.
"Turn around for me and I will give you whatever you need."
Seungcheol felt a bit dizzy from all the action but followed your instructions nevertheless. Falling apart in front of you.
"Such a good, good boy. Looking so handsome all open for me like this." eyes dark with lust, you bend over to meet his quivering lips, licking into his mouth.
"mmmf.. yes" shutting his eyes in bliss he gave you full access as you added a second finger. Curling them up, diving deeper inside of him. Searching for that special spot... Finding it and immediately hitting it vigorously.
"mmmf, I.. your good boy..yes" big hands shot straight to your hips, getting a handful in attempt to ground himself. Those rough hands were squeezing your flesh, thumbs were massaging circles into your skin as you danced with his tongue. Gently sucking on his plump bottom lip. Each moaning to the other's mouth..
The two fingers inside of him were pistoning without mercy. With each slap on his balls you could feel him squeezing you harder, swallowing you deeper. It was so obvious he was close.
"Such a little slut, aren't you, Cheollie?" grazing his ear with edge of your mouth. "Letting a woman you just met fuck your pretty ass.. That's not what good boys do." halting your movements altogether.
There it was. That nickname again. Such a little thing made his erection throb against your stomach. "P-please, I will do whatever, fuck, need you so bad."
"That bad, huh?"
"So so bad, touch me pleasepleaseplease, don't stop..I will do whatever you want!"
"Whatever I want?" you finally fit third finger into his completely messed up, stretched out hole.
"god yes"
"What is you credit card PIN?" sliding fingers almost all the way out jut to ram them right back in. Taking his breath away.
"8895" rumbles on without hesitation. Few sharp inhales, wiggling himself even deeper on your digits.
"Well done," you purr "now cum for me, pretty boy." Not much else had to be said or done. Seungcheol pulled you down by the back of your neck, locking your mouth in desperate kiss.
"thankyouthankyouthank you." Holding you right there, flush on his chest, while thumb of his other hand rubbed tight circles on your dripping heat - eager to please. Bucking his hips ungently into the palm of your hand.
He was such a good boy for you. So polite. Took all what you gave him. His shiny boba eyes, the moaning into your mouth, how he held you in place while eating your mouth alive, his thumb touching you exactly where you needed him, your fingers way too deep inside working on his high... It was all too much for little Lando Norris..
Just as he came undone, painting his bare torso white, you reached climax sobbing into his lips.
Nirvana +1!
--
Sitting on his knees in silent lonely hotel room Seungcheol noticed quite an empty space around his wrist and neck. Black leather wallet laid open on coffee table, visibly thinner than yesterday. Only his credit card was left. Ramming thru the rest of his belongings, he picked up the phone and dialled a number.
"It's me. Need you to find somebody." he bend down, fishing your little hand written note from the trash.
"You forgot to take my card, Darling" smirk on lips, he smooths out the paper and raises it to his eye level. Pressing small kiss on that tiny heart.
"See you soon"
To be continued
#seventeen smut#scoups x reader#scoups x you#choi seungcheol#seungcheol x reader#seungcheol x you#sub scoups#seventeen dubcon#pathetic bottom#good boy scoups#whiny men#seventeen imagines#seventeen fanfic#seventeen x reader#good boys take it from the back#strangers to lovers#dubcon#fem dom reader#i like my men on their knees
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死 KKANGPAE | #05 死
† medical emergencies †
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"There's something ironic about learning to stitch wounds while he's sitting there half-naked, making your heart do things that probably need medical attention. But hey, at least if you stab yourself with the needle, there's a doctor in the house."
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next | index
⚔ chapter details ⚔
word count: 7,5k
rating: mature
content: V being a menace, worried Chaewon, slaps, stitching practice, getting to know the medical chief aka J-Hope, shirtless stormy men and sexual tension.
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☠ author's note ☠
DISCLAIMER TIME! I am not, in fact, a medical student. Shocking, I know. My knowledge of medical procedures comes entirely from watching too much House M.D. and falling down WebMD rabbit holes at 3 AM. So if any actual medical professionals are reading this... I am begging you to suspend your disbelief (;一_一)
I did spend like two hours researching stuff though! That counts for something, right? RIGHT? The things I do for accuracy, I swear. My browser history probably has me on several watch lists by now. Between this and the weapons research for chapter 3... Yeah, I'm definitely getting flagged somewhere (◎_◎;)
BUT ONTO THE GOOD STUFF! Ladies and gentlemen and everyone in between, please welcome our resident grumpy doctor to the stage! My love, my light, the medical chief himself - Jung Hoseok! What are we thinking? Because I'm lowkey living for his whole "I hate everyone but I'll still patch you up while cursing your existence" vibe.
Fun fact: I totally channeled my inner Dr. McCoy from Star Trek for his character. If you know, you know. And if you don't know... well, Spirk are my space parents and Bones is their bratty child. This is the hill I will die on. Do not @ me.
We've still got so many characters to properly introduce though! Remember that info dump in chapter 2? Yeah, we're gonna actually explore all of those personalities. Your girl's got PLANS.
Also, this chapter turned out way longer than expected but like... more content for you guys? You're welcome? I think? Look, my ADHD brain knows no word limits. It's either 500 words or 5000, there is no in between.
Anyways, hope you enjoy this one! Your comments fuel my questionable life choices and enable my caffeine addiction. Much love! (。♥‿♥。)
Caffeine addiction can only do so much. Stay tuned! (ノ◕ヮ◕)ノ*:・゚✧
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⚔ socials ⚔
read on ao3
read on wattpad
tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode
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⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎
You can't help but roll your eyes as V carries you through the castle like some damsel in distress. His confidence borders on cocky as he navigates the maze-like hallways, cradling you against his chest like you're made of glass. Which you're definitely not.
"Any chance we can skip this knight-in-shining-armor bit and just let me limp my way there?" You grumble, acutely aware of how your ankle throbs with each of his steps. "I promise I won't sue if I faceplant."
V's laugh rumbles through his chest. "And rob myself of playing the dashing hero? I don't think so, love."
His grin is infuriatingly charming as he spirals down another identical-looking hallway. The air smells like industrial cleaner and... cinnamon? You wrinkle your nose, trying to place that oddly familiar scent.
"You do know where you're going, right? Or should I start worrying that we're hopelessly lost?" Your tone is dry enough to kindle a fire as V makes yet another right turn. At this rate, you'll end up back where you started.
"I could navigate this place blindfolded," V assures you with a theatrical wink. "Just thought we'd enjoy the scenic route together."
"Scenic... sure." You emphasize each word with as much sarcasm as you can muster. But dammit, there's something about his playful banter that tugs at the corners of your mouth. You bite the inside of your cheek, determined not to give him the satisfaction of making you smile.
You shift slightly in V's arms, trying to find a position that doesn't make your ankle scream. Each movement is a lovely reminder of how you got into this mess in the first place. t̶h̶a̶n̶k̶s̶ ̶J̶e̶o̶n̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶a̶s̶s̶h̶o̶l̶e̶
The castle halls are alive with activity, but everything seems to pause as V carries you through. Other members stop and stare, probably wondering why one of the most dangerous men in Kkangpae is playing nurse. Their whispers follow you like shadows.
"If you're trying to show off your navigation skills, I should mention we've passed that painting three times now." You eye him skeptically.
"Bold of you to assume I'm trying to impress you." His grin never wavers. "Though I'm flattered you think I'd go to such lengths."
The silence that follows feels loaded. This little detour isn't just about getting you to medical—it's about something else. A game, maybe, or a message. With V, it's hard to tell where the performance ends and reality begins.
"So what's the real reason for the scenic route?" You can't help asking. It's weird how safe you feel in his arms, considering he could probably kill you fifteen different ways without breaking a sweat.
"Call it... building rapport." His voice drips honey-sweet mischief. "You're quite the talk of the castle these days. Thought I'd see what all the fuss is about."
A laugh bubbles up before you can stop it. There's something absurdly hilarious about being carried through the gang's headquarters by one of its most lethal members.
"Well, don't get too attached." The words come out lighter than intended. "This doesn't make us friends."
His chuckle vibrates through his chest. "Give it time." When his eyes meet yours, they're dancing with amusement. "Besides, isn't this more fun than limping alone?"
More members pass by, their stares lingering a bit too long. You know tomorrow the castle will be buzzing with gossip about this little parade, but somehow you can't bring yourself to care.
"Fun's one word for it." You crack a smile despite yourself. "But just so we're clear—I'm staying out of whatever's going on between you and Jeon."
Something dark flickers across his face at the mention of Jeon, his thorny aura constricting for just a second before relaxing again.
"Wouldn't expect anything else." There's actual respect in his voice now. "You've got a mind of your own. That's rare around here."
The infirmary door finally comes into view. This weird little moment of almost-friendship hangs in the air between you.
"End of the line." V announces with theatrical flair. "I must say, this has been delightfully entertaining."
The wooden barrier of the infirmary looms ahead, but V shows no signs of letting you down. Before you can voice your protest, he shifts you slightly to pull out his digital card, swiping it with practiced ease. The panel blinks green, and he sweeps through the door like he's making a grand entrance at a red carpet event.
You're starting to feel less like a patient and more like a prop in V's latest dramatic production.
"Not you again, V. Get out of here."
J-Hope doesn't even bother looking up from his paperwork, his voice dripping with the kind of exasperation that only comes from dealing with V's antics on a regular basis.
"But it's an emergency, Hobs!" V's pout is so exaggerated it should come with its own spotlight. "This young lady has been severely injured."
J-Hope finally turns around, giving you a quick once-over before fixing V with an unimpressed stare. "That's what you say every three business days."
"Ah, but this time it's different, I promise." V's grin could charm snakes, but J-Hope seems immune.
"And why exactly should I believe you?" He crosses his arms. "You know I only handle council cases and actual emergencies."
V sets you down on the nearest bed with surprising gentleness, his playful demeanor dimming just slightly. "I know, I know. But look at her ankle. It's swollen like a balloon. I couldn't just leave her hobbling around, could I?"
J-Hope sighs but steps closer to examine your injury. His touch is clinical and professional as he assesses the damage. "Fine. But this is the last time, V. You can't keep using the infirmary as your personal clinic for every damsel you distress."
"Damsel I distress?" V laughs, eyes dancing with mischief. "That's a new one. But I appreciate your assistance, Hobs. You're a true friend."
"Don't 'true friend' me." J-Hope rolls his eyes, gathering his medical supplies. "I'm only doing this because it's my job. And because she actually looks like she needs help, unlike your usual guests."
V lounges against a counter like he owns the place, watching J-Hope gather supplies. "Come on, give me some credit. I do bring real patients sometimes."
"Yeah, once every solar eclipse." J-Hope doesn't even look up from his medical kit. His earthy, sandalwood scent mixes with the sharp hospital smell of the infirmary.
V just shrugs, that playful grin still plastered on his face.
J-Hope finally turns to you, all business now. "Let's check that ankle." Then to V: "Get out."
"Think I'll stick around." V doesn't budge an inch. "Make sure she's in capable hands and all that."
"Right, because you're such an expert on medical care." J-Hope rolls his eyes. "Just admit you're bored and looking for entertainment."
V's laugh bounces off the sterile walls. "Maybe. Or maybe I just care deeply about my fellow gang members' wellbeing."
"Ignore him," J-Hope tells you, voice gentler than you expected from someone who looks perpetually done with everyone's shit. "This might hurt a bit."
You try to focus on J-Hope's treatment, but it's hard with V hovering nearby, his thorny aura filling the room. There's something almost fascinating about watching these two interact—like they can't stand each other but also can't help falling into this familiar pattern of bickering.
It hits you then, sitting on this hospital bed with one of the gang's most dangerous members playing guard dog while the chief medical officer patches you up—you've somehow stumbled right into the middle of Kkangpae's complicated web of relationships. And judging by the way V's still watching everything like a hawk, you're not getting untangled anytime soon.
The quiet of the infirmary shatters when the door slams open with enough force to make you jump. J-Hope doesn't even flinch—probably used to dramatic entrances by now.
Chaewon bursts in looking like she just ran a marathon, panic written all over her face. When she spots you on the bed with J-Hope working on your ankle and V lounging nearby, that panic turns to pure rage.
She doesn't say a word. Just marches straight up to V and slaps him so hard the sound echoes off the sterile walls. V, being V, doesn't even have the decency to look hurt. Just keeps grinning like this is all terribly amusing.
"Wow, you're feisty today, Chaechae." He rubs his cheek, still smiling. The nickname only seems to piss her off more.
"You absolute asshole." Chaewon's practically vibrating with anger. "I let you handle cross-training with my division for one day and someone gets hurt? What the hell, V?"
V throws his hands up, the picture of innocence. "Hey now, this one's not on me. Blame Jeon."
"Jeon?" She scoffs like the very idea is ridiculous. "Yeah, right."
You figure you should probably step in before Chaewon decides to slap V again. Not that he doesn't deserve it, but your division chief shouldn't have to deal with assault charges today.
"Actually..." You clear your throat. "It kind of was Jeon. I mean, technically it was my fault."
Everyone turns to stare at you. Even J-Hope pauses his ankle-wrapping to raise an eyebrow.
"I tried to ambush him," you explain, heat creeping up your neck. "There were these weird noises in the forest, then footsteps, and I thought maybe it was an enemy or something. Turned out to be Jeon. And then we found out it was all just V's paintball game."
Chaewon's anger dims a little as she looks at you, but when she turns back to V, there's still plenty of bite in her voice. "Paintball? Again? Are you actually five years old?"
"Guilty." V's grin gets wider, if that's even possible. "But you have to admit, it keeps things interesting around here."
"Can we focus on the actual patient?" J-Hope cuts through the tension, sounding like he's one dramatic moment away from throwing everyone out. "You can kill each other later, preferably not in my infirmary."
Chaewon's shoulders drop a little, but you can still see worry lines creasing her forehead as she moves closer to your bed. Her presence feels protective, almost maternal—which is weird considering she can't be that much older than you.
"You okay?" She asks softly, then shoots V a glare that could melt steel. "I should've known better than to let them handle cross-training. Especially those two."
V just keeps grinning like this is the most entertaining show he's watched all week. He steps back, giving Chaewon space, but you notice he doesn't actually leave. Probably hoping for more drama.
"It's fine," you try to sound reassuring. "Just a sprain. Could've happened to anyone."
Chaewon's face says she's not buying it. The look she gives you reminds you of when your mom knew you were lying about doing your homework. Meanwhile, V's just chilling against the wall, watching everything unfold like it's his personal Netflix series.
J-Hope works on your ankle in silence, occasionally muttering what sounds like curses under his breath. The infirmary fills with an awkward mix of Chaewon's worried sighs, J-Hope's grumpy instructions, and V's unhelpful commentary about proper ankle-wrapping technique that makes J-Hope's eye twitch.
"There." J-Hope finally sits back, your ankle wrapped tight in elastic bandage. "Nothing serious, but you need to rest. Keep it elevated above your heart, keep the compression on. Should be fine in a couple weeks."
Your stomach drops. "I'm sorry—did you say weeks?"
"If you're lucky." He stands up with a scoff that suggests he's seen way too many idiots ignore his advice. "Could be longer if you try to play hero."
You look at Chaewon, hoping she'll say something about how that timeline is ridiculous.
Two weeks of no training?
You'll be behind everyone else, t̶o̶t̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ ̶u̶s̶e̶l̶e̶s̶s̶ completely out of practice by the time you're healed.
"I can't just not train for two weeks." The words come out whiny, but you're desperate. Two weeks of doing nothing while everyone else gets stronger? No way.
"Hell fucking no." J-Hope's voice is definite as he digs through medical drawers. "I'm not dealing with Jeon 2.0. You either rest for two weeks or I'll make it two months."
"That's why he avoids this place like the plague." V's still lounging in the doorway like he owns it, looking way too amused by everything.
J-Hope slams a drawer shut. "God forbid that fucker lets me do my actual job." He finally finds what he's looking for—a small bottle of pills. "Here." He tosses them at you with surprising accuracy. "Ibuprofen. One every eight hours. Six if you're dying, which you won't be if you actually rest."
"But—"
"Two. Weeks." Each word comes out like a threat. "Unless you want to become my permanent resident." His scowl could curdle milk. "And you—" He rounds on V, who's still grinning like this is the best entertainment he's had all day. "Get that bastard in here. His check-up's three months late."
V actually laughs at that. "What makes you think I have any control over what Mr. Stick-up-his-ass does?"
"Maybe he'll show up just to spite you." J-Hope's voice is dry as dust.
"Your optimism is adorable."
"Well, hope is literally my name." A rare smirk crosses J-Hope's face before his signature frown returns. "And you owe me, you dramatic little shit."
"As you wish, oh great healer." V throws his hands up in mock surrender, laying the theatrics on thick. "Your humble servant shall attempt this impossible task."
You stare at the bottle of ibuprofen in your hands, turning it over and over like maybe if you fidget with it enough, the label will change from "two weeks rest" to something more bearable. The thought of being benched for that long makes your stomach twist.
Two weeks is forever in gang time. Everyone else will be getting stronger, better, more valuable, while you're stuck playing invalid. By the time you're back on your feet, you'll be so far behind it'll be like starting over.
"Hey." The bed dips as Chaewon sits beside you, her presence grounding and familiar. "I can see those wheels turning. Don't stress. We'll figure something out."
"Actually," J-Hope pipes up from where he's finally managed to shoo V out the door. "You've got cross-training with my division coming up anyway. Could knock that out while you're healing. We always need an extra pair of hands here, and it'll keep you from going stir-crazy."
"Seriously?" You glance between them, hardly daring to hope. Medical training sounds way better than two weeks of staring at your ceiling.
"Makes sense." Chaewon nods, and something in her tone makes you think she's already working out the details in her head. "We can reschedule your Assassination Division training too. They can do individual sessions to work around your injury."
Wait.
Individual sessions? As in... one-on-one training? With V?
With Jeon?
Your brain short-circuits for a second before logic kicks back in. Cross-training exists for a reason—coordination between divisions is crucial in this life-or-death world you've chosen. One wrong move, one miscommunication, and people end up dead. If private lessons are what it takes to stay in the game, then t̶h̶a̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶t̶e̶r̶r̶i̶f̶y̶i̶n̶g̶ that's what you'll do.
"Okay." Your voice comes out smaller than intended, but you mean it.
"Good." J-Hope shoves his hands in his pockets, already looking done with this conversation. "See you tomorrow before lunch then."
"See you tomorrow, chief." You manage a smile, even as your mind races with possibilities—both exciting and terrifying—of what these next two weeks might bring.
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Chaewon insists on wheeling you back to your room herself. The halls feel longer from wheelchair height, and her silence as she pushes you isn't helping. You can practically hear the gears turning in her head, probably already reworking training schedules around your stupid ankle.
She swipes her card at the elevator before you can even reach for yours. The ride up is quiet except for the soft hum of machinery and your own thoughts about how spectacularly you managed to mess up your first cross-training session.
The elevator dings open to your division's floor, and immediately you hear laughter spilling out from the lounge. Eunchae and Sakura are sprawled across the couch, but their smiles fade as soon as they spot you rolling in like some kind of injury parade.
"Holy shit, what happened?" Eunchae practically teleports to your side, crouching next to the wheelchair with wide eyes.
"Yeah, we heard all this commotion earlier but then you just... vanished." Sakura hovers nearby, her gaze bouncing between your wrapped ankle and your face like she's trying to piece together what went wrong.
You let out a long breath. "So... funny story. I tried to ambush Jeon during V's paintball game because I thought he was an enemy infiltrator or something."
"Oh no." Sakura's face does this thing where she's trying not to wince but totally failing.
"What the hell?" Eunchae's protective side flares up immediately. "Did that asshole body slam you or something?"
"Actually, no." You can't help but laugh at how ridiculous it all sounds now. "He just... countered me. Really easily. I'm the one who fucked up my landing."
"That's rough, buddy." Eunchae squeezes your shoulder, and you're grateful for how normal she's making this feel. "We played it smart—just hid behind trees and watched everyone else lose their minds."
"Yeah, except someone turned out to be weirdly good with a paintball gun." Eunchae nudges Sakura with her elbow. "Better watch out, Jeon. You've got competition."
Quick footsteps in the hallway make you look up. Yunjin bursts into the lounge like she's being chased, pink hair flying everywhere, face flushed.
"I heard voices and—oh my god, are you okay?" The words tumble out of her in a rush. "I couldn't find you after all that shooting started and I got so worried and—"
"Just a sprained ankle," you cut off her spiral with what you hope is a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, really."
Her shoulders drop a little, but she's still hovering like a concerned mother hen. "I got you dinner from the cafeteria. Figured you might be hungry after... everything."
The gesture makes something warm bloom in your chest. "Thanks, Yun. You're the best."
Chaewon clears her throat, reminding everyone she's still here. "Alright, enough chit-chat. Time to get you to bed. Doctor's orders."
Your little entourage follows as Chaewon wheels you to your room—Yunjin with the food tray balanced carefully in her hands, Eunchae and Sakura trailing behind like excited puppies. The scene would almost be funny if your ankle wasn't throbbing with every tiny bump in the floor.
Once you're settled in bed (after Yunjin fusses with your pillows for a solid minute), everyone finds spots to perch. The food smells amazing, and you realize you're actually starving.
"So what happened after I got taken out?" you ask between bites. "Did anyone else get ambushed by grumpy snipers?"
Sakura practically bounces in her seat. "Oh my god, you missed the best part! V did this insane action-movie roll thing when someone tried to corner him—"
"He looked like a deranged raccoon," Eunchae cuts in, making Yunjin snort water through her nose.
You lean back against your mountain of pillows (thanks, Yunjin), letting their chatter and laughter wash over you. Your ankle still hurts like a bitch, and the thought of dealing with Jeon and V for the next two weeks makes you want to scream a little. But right now, surrounded by these idiots who somehow became your family...
Maybe it won't be completely terrible.
t̶e̶r̶r̶i̶b̶l̶e̶ ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶J̶e̶o̶n̶'̶s̶ ̶s̶t̶u̶p̶i̶d̶ ̶p̶e̶r̶f̶e̶c̶t̶ ̶f̶a̶c̶e̶
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Morning hits different when your whole body feels like it's been run over by a truck. Between last night's paintball drama and your throbbing ankle, you sleep through your usual breakfast time. Not that there's much point in early rising when you're stuck playing invalid anyway.
By the time you make it to the cafeteria, the morning rush is long gone. Your beloved croissants are just a distant memory, replaced by sad-looking toast and a fried egg that's probably been sitting under the heat lamp for hours. You grab a cup of earl gray because there's no way in hell you're touching that brown water they call coffee at this hour.
At least Eunchae's still around. She's like Yunjin's louder, bolder evil twin—in the best way possible. While Yunjin's off somewhere being productive (thanks to that whole "new year, new me" thing), Eunchae's happy to keep you company, practically writing poetry about her breakfast sandwich. The girl takes her food seriously, and honestly? You respect that.
When breakfast's done, she insists on walking you to the infirmary. You've swapped the wheelchair for crutches because hobbling around on sticks somehow feels less pathetic than being rolled everywhere like some kind of injured parade float.
You slide your card at J-Hope's private wing, expecting rejection—his space is usually reserved for council members and people who are literally dying. But apparently he's added you to his VIP list because the scanner blinks green without hesitation.
J-Hope actually looks pleased when you walk in, which is weird enough to make you do a double-take. Then again, he probably doesn't get many patients who actually follow his instructions. Must be a nice change from dealing with gang leaders who think they're too important for basic medical care.
Eunchae gives you a warm wave and friendly nod before disappearing, leaving you alone with the medical chief. The quiet efficiency of his workspace and his focused presence makes everything feel weirdly... peaceful.
"Nice to see someone following orders for once," he mutters, not looking up from what appears to be a small mountain of paperwork.
"You didn't exactly make it optional." Your lips twitch into a crooked smile.
"Never do." He grunts, shuffling papers. "Some people are just too stubborn to live."
"Can't you pull rank on them? Being head of medicine and all?" The question slips out before you can stop it.
"Oh, I do. More than I'd like." His voice carries years of dealing with difficult patients. "In here, I'm god. They pull rank, I pull rank. Doesn't matter if you're the supreme leader of the universe—I'll uno reverse card your ass so fast your head will spin."
"Bet that goes over well with the big shots."
"Their faces are always priceless." He actually smirks, tapping a stack of papers into perfect alignment. "Now, ready to learn how to not kill people with medical supplies?"
"Born ready." You settle into a chair, trying not to look too eager. After all, how hard can it be?
The infirmary honestly feels very different from the rest of the castle—all sterile air and quiet efficiency. J-Hope moves around like he's performing some kind of medical ballet, laying out supplies with the kind of precision that makes you think he could probably do this in his sleep.
Which, you guess, he probably can.
"Alright, lesson one." He snaps on latex gloves. "Stitching wounds isn't like sewing clothes. You fuck up, get sloppy with cleanliness, and your patient gets an infection. In our line of work, that's not just inconvenient—it's deadly."
You pull on your own gloves, the latex clinging weird and tight to your fingers. J-Hope picks up a suture needle, holding it between you like he's showing off a prized possession.
"What about when we're in the middle of nowhere?" The question slips out before you can stop it. "You know, during missions when shit goes sideways?"
He sets the needle down, and something in his expression shifts. The overhead light catches the tired lines around his eyes—probably from years of patching up stubborn gang members at ungodly hours.
"Field medicine is different," he says, suddenly sounding more like a battle-hardened mentor than a cranky doctor. "Clean is still better, but sometimes you've got to choose between perfect and alive. When someone's bleeding out in some warehouse, you work with what you've got."
He grabs a bottle of disinfectant, tapping it with one finger. "This? This is your new best friend. Small enough to carry anywhere, strong enough to maybe keep someone from dying of infection in a pinch."
"What about stitches?" The question slips out before you can stop it. The thought of someone bleeding out because you don't know what you're doing makes your stomach turn.
J-Hope nods like he gets it. His usual grumpiness softens into something more teacher-like. "In the field? Use whatever you've got—fishing line, clean thread, even fibers from sterilized cloth. Main thing is getting that wound closed before they bleed out or it gets infected."
He lets that sink in for a moment, fiddling with something metallic between his fingers. For all his crankiness, there's something reassuring about how seriously he takes this stuff.
"But the second—and I mean second—you're back, you bring them to me." His voice goes hard again. "This isn't permanent fixing, it's just keeping them alive until they reach actual medical care."
He holds up what looks like a weirdly curved needle. "This is what we use for stitching. Curved makes it easier to control, especially for beginners." His fingers dance over different types of thread. "Absorbable sutures for internal wounds, non-absorbable for surface cuts."
"Yeah, that means absolutely nothing to me."
The corner of his mouth twitches. "Right. Let's dumb it down." He reaches for what looks like a small medical kit. "In the field, you won't have time to play doctor. Your emergency kit will have basic curved needles and non-absorbable thread. Simple, reliable, gets the job done."
"And the other kind? The absorbable ones?"
"Those are for surgery—internal stuff. They dissolve on their own." He waves vaguely at the door. "Out there? Stick to non-absorbable. Quick and dirty fixes until you can get them proper help."
"So it's basically just... sewing someone up?" You try not to sound as skeptical as you feel.
"If you want to oversimplify it, sure." His dark eyes lock onto yours, dead serious. "But this isn't patching up your favorite jeans. You've got to line everything up right, make it tight enough to hold but not so tight it causes damage. And for fuck's sake, keep everything as clean as humanly possible."
You nod along, trying to picture yourself actually doing this in the field. The thought of having someone's life literally in your hands makes your stomach do weird flips.
"What about really bad wounds?" The question slips out before you can stop yourself. "Like, really bad."
J-Hope's hands pause over his supplies. Something in his expression shifts, and suddenly you remember he's probably seen exactly what you're imagining.
"Then your priority is keeping them alive long enough to get to me." His voice goes flat, professional. "Stop the bleeding first. Stabilize what you can. Stitches won't mean shit if they bleed out before you finish the first one." He looks you dead in the eye. "I'm good at what I do, but I can't bring back the dead."
The words hit harder than you expected. It's easy to forget sometimes, working in Seduction, that this isn't just some elaborate roleplay. People actually die in this life.
You watch as J-Hope threads the needle easily, his movements quick and precise. When he turns to what looks like a piece of fake skin, you try not to think too hard about where it came from or why it looks so... realistic.
"Pay attention now." He positions the needle above the practice pad. "Basic interrupted suture—it's your best friend in the field. Simple, reliable, gets the job done."
The way he handles the needle is almost mesmerizing. Each movement flows into the next like he's done this a million times before. Which, considering his job, he probably has. The stitches line up perfectly, neat little soldiers in a row.
"The key is entering at a 90-degree angle," he explains, demonstrating another perfect stitch. "Too shallow, it won't hold. Too deep, you cause more damage."
You lean closer, fascinated despite yourself. It's kind of beautiful, in a morbid way. Like some deadly form of embroidery.
"Your turn." He holds out the needle, and suddenly this doesn't seem so fascinating anymore. "Time to see if you've been paying attention."
Your hand definitely doesn't shake when you take it. Not even a little. And if it does? Well, that's between you and whatever poor bastard ends up needing your stitches someday.
You take a deep breath and try to copy J-Hope's movements. Your hands aren't nearly as steady as his, but he guides you with surprising patience, adjusting your grip here and the angle there. For someone so cranky, he's turning out to be a pretty decent teacher.
"Not completely terrible for a first try." The words sound almost like praise coming from him. "This kind of skill? Could mean the difference between life and death out there."
A soft beep cuts through the quiet, followed by the infirmary door swinging open.
Cool air rushes in, making goosebumps rise on your arms.
You don't need to look to know who it is—there's only one person whose presence makes the air feel this heavy, like the moment before rain.
Jeon walks in, all dark clothes and darker mood. His eyes find yours first, something unreadable flickering across his face before he turns to J-Hope.
"Looks like V didn't hold back," J-Hope says with a smirk.
Jeon just grunts, which seems to be his default response to everything.
"Sit." J-Hope points to a nearby chair like he's commanding a particularly stubborn dog. "I'll deal with you in a minute."
You try not to stare as Jeon drops into the chair, but it's hard to ignore how he fills up the space. Everything about him radiates tension—from the set of his jaw to the way his fingers tap against his thigh. The guy looks about as comfortable as a cat in water.
The contrast between them is almost funny—J-Hope moving around with his usual efficient calm while Jeon sits there emanating pure "don't touch me" energy. You catch a whiff of pine and mint when he shifts, and something in your chest does this weird little flip that you choose to ignore.
You try to focus on your suturing practice, but your eyes keep drifting to Jeon. It's weird seeing him like this—quiet, still, almost t̶a̶m̶e̶ docile. The great Chief of Tactical Assassinations, reduced to sitting in a medical chair waiting for J-Hope like some kind of obedient schoolboy.
He looks... different here. Less like the intimidating force of nature who uses you as paintball bait, more like someone who really, really doesn't want to be at the doctor's. His knee bounces slightly—probably the only sign he'll allow of his discomfort.
The door clicks shut behind J-Hope, and suddenly you're very aware that you're alone with Jeon. The silence feels heavy, broken only by the soft rustle of medical supplies and his measured breathing.
You force yourself to concentrate on the needle in your hand. These stitches aren't going to practice themselves, and the last thing you need is to look incompetent in front of him. But it's hard to focus when you can feel him there.
It's just so strange seeing him hold himself back like this. Usually his presence fills any room he's in, but now he seems almost... contained. Like he's trying to make himself smaller, less noticeable.
It doesn't work though—you're still hyper-aware of every tiny movement he makes.
The silence stretches until it feels like another person in the room. You've never been good with awkward silences, but starting a conversation with Jeon feels about as appealing as pulling teeth. Besides, what would you even say?
Thanks for using me as bait earlier, that was super fun?
"How's the ankle?"
His voice catches you off guard—low and quiet, missing that sharp edge he usually carries. For a second, you're not sure if you imagined it.
"It's... getting better," you manage, your voice too loud in the quiet room. "J-Hope knows what he's doing."
The corner of Jeon's mouth twitches up, and for a second he looks almost human. "Yeah, give that man a white coat and suddenly he thinks he runs the place."
There's this weird undertone of respect when he says it though. Like maybe he actually appreciates having someone who isn't afraid to boss him around. You get it —there's something weirdly comforting about J-Hope's no-nonsense attitude, even when he's being a grumpy dictator about your ankle.
"He definitely doesn't take shit from anyone." You find yourself smiling a little, because it's true. Even the mighty Jeon has to sit and wait his turn in here.
Something flickers across his face and he looks away quickly, like he just remembered he's supposed to be an intimidating gang leader, not someone who makes small talk about cranky doctors.
You go back to your stitching, trying to focus on the fake skin instead of how weird it feels to have an almost normal conversation with him. The silence creeps back in, but it's different now. Less like you're both waiting for the other to attack, more like... well, like two people just waiting for the doctor.
You try to focus on your stitching practice, but something feels off. There's a rustle that doesn't quite fit with the usual infirmary sounds—too careful, too measured.
When you glance up, you catch Jeon staring at... a pastry bag? One that definitely wasn't there when he first walked in. Or maybe it was and you were too distracted by his whole everything to notice.
He's looking down at it like it holds the secrets of the universe, brow furrowed in concentration. It's weird seeing the Chief of Tactical Assassinations, terror of rival gangs, looking almost t̶e̶r̶r̶i̶f̶i̶e̶d̶ uncertain about a paper bag.
What could possibly have the human hurricane so wrapped up in thought? The last time you saw him this intense, he was lining up a sniper shot. But now he's just... staring. At pastries.
Before you can ponder this mystery further, J-Hope bursts back in, arms loaded with enough medical supplies to patch up a small army. The sudden entrance makes Jeon flinch—just barely, but you catch it. His eyes snap up like he's been caught doing something wrong.
Then, in a move that feels almost panicked (if Jeon did panic, which he obviously doesn't), he thrusts the bag at J-Hope.
"For you." The words come out gruff and quick. His tattooed hand extends the bag like he's diffusing a bomb, gaze fixed somewhere over J-Hope's left shoulder.
J-Hope freezes mid-step, and honestly? Fair reaction. If this was V pulling something like this, it'd be normal—probably part of some elaborate prank. But Jeon? The same guy who treats medical check-ups like personal attacks? Bringing peace offerings?
"You know I don't even like croissants, right?" J-Hope stares at the bag like it might bite him. The disbelief in his voice makes you pause mid-stitch.
"It was the last one." Jeon crosses his arms, all defensive posture and clenched jaw.
J-Hope holds the pastry bag between two fingers like it's evidence in a crime scene. When he looks up at Jeon, his eyebrows disappear into his hairline. "What's the catch? Trying to bribe your way out of the physical?"
"What am I, V now?" Jeon's shrug carries enough attitude to fill the room. "No catch. Just thought I'd... you know." He waves vaguely at the bag, looking like every word physically pains him.
You focus very intently on your stitching practice, pretending you're not eavesdropping on whatever this weird interaction is. The silence stretches until J-Hope breaks it.
"Right..." He drags the word out like he's talking to a particularly suspicious child. "Since when do you do random acts of kindness?"
Something flickers across Jeon's face. His eyes meet yours for a split second, and your stomach does this weird flip that you choose to blame on hunger. The scent of pine gets stronger as his irritation builds.
"Since now, apparently." His voice could freeze hell over. "If you don't want it, give it to her. I don't give a shit."
J-Hope's eyebrows climb even higher as he turns to you, lips twitching. "Want a potentially poisoned croissant? I can test it first if you're feeling brave."
Your ears definitely perk up at the mention of croissant. After that sad excuse for breakfast this morning, you're practically going through withdrawal. The smell of butter and fresh pastry wafting from the bag is t̶o̶r̶t̶u̶r̶e̶ tempting.
"I'll risk it." You can't help but laugh a little. "Can't say no to a good croissant, even if it comes from suspicious sources."
Jeon's eyes find yours for a split second. Something colors his face—too quick to catch—before that familiar blank mask slides back into place. He doesn't say anything, but some of that rigid tension leaves his shoulders.
J-Hope passes you the bag, but his attention stays locked on Jeon like he's trying to solve a particularly frustrating puzzle. The pastry's still warm when you take it, and honestly? If it's poisoned, at least you'll die happy.
"Right then." J-Hope's voice goes stern. "Your turn, Mr. I-Can-Walk-It-Off. You're three months late for your check-up." He emphasizes each word like he's scolding a child. "Three months, Jeon."
Jeon responds with his signature grunt, finally hauling himself out of the chair. He moves to the medical bed a few meters away from you, and you can smell the pine notes slowly dissipating. Not that you're paying attention to how he smells. Obviously.
The infirmary suddenly feels smaller when Jeon steps into the medical bed area. There's something about the way he moves—all quiet power and deadly grace—that reminds you of his rank. Every single one of his steps looks calculated, like he's constantly ready for anything.
He shrugs off his leather jacket, and you try really hard not to stare. t̶r̶y̶ ̶b̶e̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶k̶e̶y̶ ̶w̶o̶r̶d̶ The movement is unfairly fluid, drawing attention to arms that definitely come from years of training. The kind of definition that makes you think he could probably lift you without breaking a sweat. (You already know he can)
Your eyes drift to his hands—the same ones you've seen wrapped around coffee cups or handling weapons, but never really looked at before. The infirmary's harsh lighting makes the tattoos on his wrists pop, intricate designs disappearing under his black t-shirt like secrets waiting to be discovered. His fingers are long and elegant despite their strength, decorated with simple silver and black rings that somehow make them look even more dangerous.
He grabs the hem of his shirt and—oh.
Oh.
The movement is so casual it's almost offensive, the way he just strips off his shirt like it's nothing. Like he doesn't know exactly what he's doing to your blood pressure right now.
A tattoo catches your eye, peeking above his waistband. "Devil never sleeps" inked in bold letters right above the waistband of his pants, and suddenly you're very interested in what that might mean. t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶t̶s̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶l̶a̶t̶e̶r̶
Your gaze definitely doesn't trail up his torso. You absolutely don't notice the thin silver chain you've never seen before, probably always hidden under that stupid leather jacket. And you certainly don't catalog how the muscles in his chest look strong but not bulky, or how his abs are defined but natural-looking, the kind that come from actual fighting instead of just gym sessions.
And for some stupid reason the pine scent comes back, stronger, and you realize you might be staring. But honestly? If he's going to just casually strip in front of you, he can deal with the consequences. You're only human, after all.
You try to focus on your stitching practice. Really, you do. But there's something magnetic about the way his scars and tattoos map stories across his skin. Each mark feels like a chapter you shouldn't want to read but can't help being curious about. It's not just that he's t̶o̶o̶ ̶h̶o̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶l̶ physically impressive—it's the way he wears his battle wounds like armor.
Jeon doesn't seem to notice or care about your wandering eyes. He carries himself with this casual confidence that suggests being shirtless in the infirmary is just another weekday for him. He shifts a bit, settling on the edge of the medical bed.
You snap your attention back to your suture pad so fast you nearly stab yourself with the needle. This is not the time to appreciate how the fluorescent lights catch on his silver chain, or how his muscles shift when he—nope. Absolutely not. Back to stitching.
J-Hope transforms before your eyes, seemingly possessed by professional focus. He grabs his stethoscope with ease, moving toward Jeon like he's approaching any other patient. Not a deadly gang leader who could probably kill someone with his a snap of his fingers.
"Let's check that heart of yours first, Jeon." The words come out clinical, detached.
Jeon just nods, and it's weird seeing him this... compliant. His stormy presence seems to settle into something quieter.
When the stethoscope touches Jeon's chest, the room goes so quiet you could hear a pin drop. You definitely don't notice how the metal disc sits right above one of his tattoos, or how his breathing stays perfectly steady despite the cold touch.
"Heart sounds good, strong and regular." J-Hope moves the stethoscope, all business.
You resist the urge to roll your eyes because of course his heart's perfect too.
Stupid, perfect Jeon with his stupid, perfect everything.
Jeon stares straight ahead at some fascinating spot on the wall, the perfect picture of indifference. His chest rises and falls steadily under J-Hope's stethoscope, and you definitely don't notice how the muscles shift with each breath. Nope. Not at all.
"Deep breaths," J-Hope instructs, all business.
Jeon complies without a word. The movement makes his chest expand more noticeably, and you suddenly find your suturing practice absolutely fascinating.
Super interesting, these fake stitches. Totally worth your complete attention.
Except it's not.
Your hands are going through the motions, but your mind keeps wandering. The needle weaves in and out mechanically while you try really hard not to think about the way the infirmary lights catch on Jeon's silver chain, or how his jaw clenches slightly when J-Hope's stethoscope touches a cold spot.
You feel like you're intruding on something private, which is stupid because it's just a medical exam. But there's something weirdly intimate about watching someone like Jeon—who's usually wrapped in leather and attitude—sitting here half-naked and compliant.
The needle slips.
"Shit—" The sharp sting makes you jump.
A bright red bead of blood wells up on your fingertip, because apparently you can't even do basic stitching when you're t̶o̶o̶ ̶b̶u̶s̶y̶ ̶o̶g̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ slightly distracted.
"You okay over there?" J-Hope looks up from his examination.
You're about to brush it off when you feel it—Jeon's eyes on you. The weight of his gaze hits like a physical thing, dark and heavy and way too knowing. Like he can tell exactly why you stabbed yourself, and t̶h̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶t̶ ̶m̶a̶k̶e̶s̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶h̶o̶t̶ that's... interesting.
There's something in that look—something that makes your skin prickle and your breath catch.
Is he annoyed? Amused? Or maybe...
He turns away before you can figure it out, but the heat lingers on your skin like a brand.
Jeon grabs his shirt and pulls it back on in one smooth motion. You try not to notice how the fabric clings slightly before settling into place, or how his hair gets messed up for just a second before he runs his fingers through it. Just like that, the mask slides back on—Chief of Tactical Assassinations restored, that glimpse of something more human safely locked away again.
Your finger throbs, a tiny punishment for letting yourself get distracted.
t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶w̶h̶y̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶c̶a̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶h̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶n̶i̶c̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶s̶ Real professional, getting caught staring like some rookie. In this life, distractions get people killed. Though usually not by sewing needles.
J-Hope's already moving around the room, putting away his supplies. He definitely catches you trying to hide your pricked finger, because suddenly he's there, slapping a band-aid on it with more force than strictly necessary.
"Pay attention next time," he grumbles, but there's something almost fond in how annoyed he sounds. "These needles aren't toys."
Jeon's already heading for the door, leather jacket back in place. He moves like someone who can't wait to put as much distance between himself and this medical checkup as possible.
Can't really blame him—you'd probably bolt too if you had to deal with J-Hope's judgment this early in the morning.
He pauses at the door though, just for a second. Those dark eyes find yours one last time, and something in your chest does this weird little thing that has nothing to do with the pine and mint scent he leaves behind.
Then he's gone, and you're left wondering what kind of storms are brewing behind those gloomy eyes.
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Before I knew you
soap x reader
CW: canon-typical violence, blood, probably ooc, torture, dark stuff ig idk
summary: your family..friends..lover..all seem set on you being the mole..oh what a shock is to come…
part 1- part 2-
10 hours ago, you were laughing and arguing with Soap about what the right name for a pop (just simply juice, as he called it) right before the mission.
now you were tied to a cheap plastic chair in the stingy integration room for war criminals, you fumbled with the rope that was digging in your skin before your head gets forcefully snapped up by the hands of your captain, The fluorescent lights of the interrogation room were unforgiving, making your eyes squint. The room was cold, and the silence was broken only by the frantic hammering of your heart.
you opened your mouth to speak, your eyes frantically scanning the room where you once were the one asking the questions not answering… "Look," you pleaded, "Someone's setting me up! I would never…"
TAWP
Ghost, who seemed to come from the shadow punched you right in the nose your eyes going blurry and the soft trickle of blood to run down your lip..
at first you didn't even register the pain just a warm buzz but then the pain was roaring…it was a searing sensation that spread through your face. You tried to speak again, but your nose was throbbing too much for you to form words.
"Oh ye shut the fuck up" The voice, thickest you've ever heard Johnny's scottish accent, ripped through the room like a gunshot.
Your head snapped backwards nose throbbing it the process to see Soap Standing just outside the door, his face a mask of rage you'd never seen directed at you before. You flinched back, but the chair surprisingly stayed upright
"Johnny! Please- you ought to believe me-..we were with each other before and after the mission!" you pleaded but Soap did nothing but shook his head as he walked painfully slow to wear you were tied..bent down..and spit on your face which was already caked with blood
You gagged, desperately wanting to wipe the fluid off your face, but the more you moved your hands, the deeper the ropes cut into your wrists.
"You're a damn liar," Johnny hissed, standing back up, his fists clenched at his sides ready to strangle you…
The look in his eyes was fierce, a mixture of hurt and a terrifying amount of betrayal. You had seen him angry before… hell, you had been the target of his playful teasing more times than you could count, but this was different. This was a cold, disgusted man, clouded by fear and anger, and you knew, in that moment, you'd lost him.
"I could kill ya"
He took a step forward, and you braced yourself. This wasn't a threat, you realized as your heart lurched in your stomach… it was a promise. The air in the room felt thick, heavy, and suffocating. You closed your eyes, trying to control your ragged breaths. This couldn't be happening. Not to you. Not by them.
Price's voice cut through the tension clapping a hand on the feral man's shoulder "Johnny. Enough." Soap froze, his hands still clenched. He didn't look back at Price right away just staring at you, before turning his head with a scoff
Price gestured to Ghost, whom was behind him standing, waiting like some sort of dog before he stepped forward his movements precise and deliberate. He produced a pair of pliers. Your eyes widened, and a whimper escaped your lips. This couldn't be happening. It wasn't real.
"We have evidence," Price said, his voice devoid of warmth. "Intel that was leaked, information only you could have known."
"It's not true!" you choked out, desperate. "I swear! Ask me anything! Test me!"
Ghost ignored your plea. He gripped your arm, The pliers shined under the harsh lights. You squeezed your eyes shut, your body rigid with fear.
"Where's the contact?" Price demanded, his voice cold. "Who are you working for?"
"I…I don't know!" you sobbed, the words catching in your throat. Your world was collapsing. Your friends, your family, your lover – all turning against you. It felt like a nightmare, one you couldn't wake up from.
The cold metal of the pliers touched your fingernail. You flinched, every nerve in your body screaming in protest.
"Last chance," Price said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Tell us the truth."
CRACK
The pressure increased, a searing pain shooting through your hand. A scream tore from your throat, raw and loud..it pierced through the room, you wouldn't surprised if you could hear it on the other side of the base
"I SWEAR-" you gasped, your vision blurring. The pain was the worse thing you ever felt…But even as you sobbed, screamed, nearly threw up Ghost's grip never ended.
another scream ripped from your throat as your thumbnail gave way.
The world swam. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with the blood, the spit. Your entire hand throbbed, a burning, pulsing agony. The smell of blood filled your broken nose which fueled your tears.
"Next?" Price's voice was monotone, even his warm British accent seemed to be scared of him since it was non-existent when he spoke
Ghost didn't hesitate. The pliers moved to the next finger. The cycle of pain, denial, and screams repeated. Each tear of the flesh, each broken nail, was a hammer blow to your sanity. You screamed until your voice was raw, until your lungs burned. You begged, you pleaded, you swore on everything you held dear, but they didn't stop.
at one point they left you there with your head hung low and your body shook…
you didn't know when they came back..a day? an hour? 30 minutes??? You lost track of time after your right hand was stripped of its nails… The interrogation room had become your own personal hell. Days bled into nights, marked only by the cycle of pain and the hollow silence that followed. Your body was a canvas of bruises, cuts, and raw wounds. Your right hand was a picture frame of shattered bones and bruises. Each breath was a struggle against the pain and the terror that gnawed at your sanity. They came and went, only three figures, Gaz was still in medbay...If he had been told of your 'betrayal' you did know. each face a blur of accusation. Price, ever the captain, remained the unwavering force, Ghost, his movements fast but painfully slow... and Soap... your Johnny. He was the worst. The door creaks open, and your head slowly raises to see Soap. He's carrying the bucket, and something in your chest twists. You don't want to be afraid of him. You shouldn't be afraid of him. He should be here, holding your hand, not this... Today, he'd chosen rocks. He picked up a medium-sized stone, its rough surface catching the harsh glare of the lights. He examined it, his jaw tight, his eyes blank of any warmth. Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he hurled it at you. to your surprise and his...it missed, earning a dry chuckle from you sending you doubling over in a coughing fit " You always did have a bad aim" you rasped out, your voice a broken whisper. The sound of your voice echoed in the silence. Earning a glare from Soap "Aye, well, let's see if you're still laughing after this, lassie." His words sent a shiver down your spine. You watched, eyes wide and glassy, as he reached down to the bucket grabbing a bigger one and hurling it at you... time seemed to slow and before you got a chance to scream you get interpreted by the sound of fast boots and yelp of someone "T-THEY AREN'T THE MOLE" Gaz pants and Soap's head snaps towards you but its hard to stop a rock when its already moving... The rock collided with your face with sickening crunch, and darkness consumed you.
~~~~
A/N: MHAHWHAHHWHWH!! cough anywho!! This is my longest thing I ever wrote!! :D over 2k words!! YIPPPEEE
can you tell I like cliffhangers…??
I really gotta stop adding them…
but I can never end a chapter/part without them!!
see you in the next part!!
~~~~~
#cod#x reader#call of duty#ghost#soap#gaz#price#johnny soap mactavish#simon ghost riley#kyle gaz garrick#john price#cod x reader#angst#sad#wipes tear#call of duty x reader#x reader angst#fic#part 2#cod x reader angst#reader insert#x you#gn reader#I need a callsign for reader#callsign ideas plz...#...#:'3#WHHOOOP#byyye...
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Well-...my Poppy Playtime OC.... how...how the hell did I even get here? Seems I got drowned after 4th chapter. I mean-, I LOVE THIS GAME! Just never had favourite characters and never thought of bringing Rina in it-... And here I'm. Doey and Kissy just captured my heart, there's no going back
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I know, I know, looks poorly compared to my other drawings-, but, hey, it's just a first try, right? I'm sure I'll figure out how to draw her more comfortably in time. Anyways-
Dreamy Bunny
Basically a breathing Toy. Her ears are two big blankets. Non violent creature. After the "hour of joy", she hid somewhere on the lower floors, gathering around useful stuff and growing some vegetables under the under ultraviolet light, at least tries. Refuses to touch corpses. Haven't encountered any non violent toys, so is very cautious. Mostly doesn't leave her home but sometimes it's just necessary. Remembers everything....still goes by her real name. Gets very uncomfortable when called the toy's name.
Marina Winter...
Well...you remembered her original story right? If you're new, in short she's an orphan who found out about her orphanage being well....a small meat farm. I guess it's clear where the meat was coming from...in this version, after her orphanage closed, she was sent with other kids to Poppy Playtime factory orphanage. Was too curious, always sticking around workers and trying to keep her ears perked up. Was always suspicious. Sly, was very cautious during experiments saying what they wanted to hear without revealing anything important about her state after being turned into a toy.
That's...all I guess? I don't know if you'll take a liking to her :'
#art on tumblr#ilustration#oc art#digital art#poppy playtime 4#poppy playtime#poppy playtime oc#artwork#graphic art#art#art illustration#digital illustration#digital artist#poppy playtime doey#doey the doughman#doey fanart#kissy missy#kissy missy poppy playtime#kissy missy fanart#kissy missy ppt
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After that drab version of The Tempest, saddled with a less than charismatic Sigourney Weaver, some of us were bracing ourselves for the director Jamie Lloyd’s next offering at Theatre Royal Drury Lane. Would the much-loved duel between Benedick and Beatrice turn out to be some grim rerun of Fight Club?
There was no need to fret. Lloyd’s mischievous club-culture reinvention of Much Ado About Nothing has colour, passion and, in the form of Tom Hiddleston, a head-miked leading man who is absolutely in command. His Benedick leers and winks at the audience, gives his fans a peek of an ultra-chiselled six-pack and demonstrates that he’s light on his feet too. Hayley Atwell more than holds her own as a wilful Beatrice strutting her stuff in a catsuit.
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The performance is packed with dancing and music from an energetic cast
MARC BRENNER
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Hayley Atwell holds her own as a wilful Beatrice alongside Hiddleston
MARC BRENNER
Lloyd is asking us to reconnect with the tradition of the Elizabethan clowns who thought nothing of bantering with their audience or adding digressions of their own. He wants us to embrace music and dance too. So a disco beat thumps away while we take our seats and, as the gossamer plot unfolds, the ensemble erupts into exuberant dance moves that are a cross between a Bollywood epic and Saturday night at Studio 54.
Along the way the story has been streamlined. The officious Dogberry has been excised; the romantic entanglements are resolved even more briskly. Given that Mara Huf’s Hero has a penchant for full-on twerking, it might not seem obvious why James Phoon’s Claudio is alarmed by any threat to her virtue. But this is one of those productions where it’s best not to ponder the details too closely.
Instead you can marvel at how Soutra Gilmour’s design and Jon Clark’s liquid lighting somehow fill the cavernous space with next to nothing. A giant pink heart stands at the rear, plastic chairs are deployed here and there, and billowing waves of pink confetti rain down from the ceiling. It might sound cheap and cheerful but the effect is enchanting.
Gerald Kyd’s Don Pedro seems less like a warrior back from a campaign than Messina’s sexually ambiguous answer to Peter Stringfellow. As Margaret, Beatrice’s attendant, Mason Alexander Park becomes the play’s lead singer, microphone in hand.
Four years ago Hiddleston turned up as one of the VIP guests in the revival of the Morecambe and Wise tribute show The Play What I Wrote. At Drury Lane he deploys the same light comic touch while ensuring that every line lands with classical precision. Atwell matches him step for step. Yes, the ticket prices are ridiculous — the best seats cost in the region of £300 — but the party is great fun all the same.
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
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In Celebration of Your Birthday
Batfam x Reader (Platonic)
It's my birthday (releasing this as soon as it hits 12am hopefully) so I wanted to write a little drabble Disclaimer(s): Unfortunately there's no Steph, Babs or Duke and they're all probably OOC
Today felt like chaos incarnate, countless things had already happened, yet it was only midday.
You hadn’t woken up on your own, no. Damian was there, waking you up from your peaceful slumber at the ungodliest hour of the night and demanded you to get ready already. You had slowly done your morning routine, still fatigued by sleep, but Damian had rushed you, saying it was dire that you needed to be fast.
When you had finished, he dragged you down to the batcave, excited about whatever he has planned. He shoved your vigilante costume to you and started getting dressed into his Robin uniform.
“Dami? What the hell is going in?” You dressed in your costume, alarms raising in your head.
“We’re going on patrol.” He had finished getting into his costume swiftly, now standing with crossed arms waiting for you to finish.
“It’s not even my turn?” You questioned.
“Just follow me.... Please?” You sighed, he knew you could never deny it when he asked like that
“Alright, lead the way then.”
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The patrol was less of a patrol and more of a game of tag with the rooftops of Gotham as your playground.
When the first rays of light first showed, he had quickly led you to the highest point of Gotham: the top of Wayne Tower. When you had finally caught up to him, he was sitting, patting on a place next to him for you to sit in, and so you did. The rooftop was the perfect place to watch the sunrise. The sky had been painted with various shades of orange, like it had been dipped in gold.
He had leaned his head on your shoulder, wrapping his arm around yours and you held you arms around them.
“I’m grateful to have you as my sibling [Name].”
Damian had whispered to you, and you felt your heart swell. You pulled him in closer, ruffling his hair.
“I love you too, you cuties. What’s with the clinginess today though?” You asked, confused as to why he was suddenly acting more clingy than usual. In response, he only looked at you weirdly, as if in disbelief, then stayed quiet. You left it at that.
The two of you had stayed there for a few minutes, until the sun was fully up, and you could see some people already starting their day. Then, you two had went back to the manor, and he left, saying his goodbyes and off to do his own thing.
As soon as you had went up from the Batcave, Cassandra was there, ready to greet you. She had been in her ballet clothes, and pulled you into one of the many rooms of the manor, saying that you two should perform a duet, her dancing and you playing the violin.
And so you did. However, you were so focused on her dancing that you messed up several notes, but she didn’t mind and kept dancing with grace. The duet had lasted several minutes, yet you were so captivated by your little sister’s dancing that it had felt like it was only a few seconds. You were so proud of how far your little sister had come with her ballet dancing.
She had left not long after, but not before saying “I’m glad I’m your sibling, [Name].”
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Dick was next with this weird behaviour from your family. He had come up to you while you were resting in your room. He had been sent on a mission, but wanted to see and talk to you before starting it. It was quick, definitely not as long as the other two, but no less impactful to you.
With so much stuff happening around you, you had honestly forgotten it was your birthday. It was no wonder why everyone was suddenly acting weirdly.
You loved them all dearly, but with so many interactions happening so early in the morning, you were already drained. You had been walking around the manor when you spotted Tim laying on the floor of the living room, taking a nap. Tired, you joined him, cuddling up next to him.
Tim had briefly woken up when you laid next to him, but he didn’t move and let you get yourself comfortable as he went back to take a nap.
Alfred had seen you two as he was cleaning around the manor—not that it was unclean, it was just his daily routine— and smiled when he saw you two. He placed a blanket over the two of you and placed a Do Not Disturb sign near the living room to warn the others, who knew exactly what it meant at first glance.
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You had woken up a few hours later. Tim had still been taking a nap by that time, so you decided to let him sleep peacefully. He must’ve hear you moving though, because you swore you head a small mumble that sounded like the words ‘I love you.’
Once again, you were taking a walk around the manor when you stumbled into another one of your family members. Though it was unusual to see Jason in the manor, you guessed he was here for your birthday as well.
This time, you were the one to initiate the clingy behaviour. You had opened your arms wide, silently inviting him for a hug. You could see the hesitation in his face before he decided to throw it away and envelop you in an embrace.
“I love you [Name].”
“I love you too little bro.” You two had stayed like that for a while, letting silence overtake the both of you. After all, actions spoke louder than words.
When you had finally let go, you ruffle his hair before he went to go do his own thing.
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Your father had called you into the batcave that night before dinner, saying he had a gift for you. Your father was standing in the middle, clearly waiting for you. The lights behind him were dim, clearly hiding something.
“[Name].” He stated plainly.
“Dad? What’s going on?” That was when the lights behind him had turned on and showed a collection of various different weapons behind him.
“I know you’ve been wanting to try out other weapons than your usual one, so your siblings and I have been working on this project for a while now.” You felt your eyes tear up. You had mentioned that in a passing conversation with your father during a patrol once, you never would’ve guessed he would even remember it.
You ran up to hug him. “You really didn’t have to do this, just you being here was everything to me.”
“I wanted to do this for you, you’re my child.”
Later, your whole family had given you a surprise party for dinner. It was small, definitely not as grand as the balls that the Waynes would usually host, but it was perfect. It had everyone you loved and everything you needed.
This is very much inspired by Rizzanon's Batfam February, especially Dami's part lmao
It was supposed to have Jon in it as well but it felt unfair to include him but not anyone else so I had to get rid of him 😔
No song for this title so that's why it's very basic lmao
Have a great day/night everyone <3
#batfam x reader#batfamily x reader#x reader#damian al ghul#damian wayne#alfred pennyworth#bruce wayne#jason todd#batfamily#batfam#batfam fluff#fluff#birthday fluff#x gender neutral reader#x gn reader#gn reader#dick grayson#cassandra wayne#tim drake#tim drake wayne#I can't be bothered with tags#dc x reader
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Ok, here's some stuff on Demon's Disciple Stan. I think I'm putting these out almost EXCLUSIVELY for @localcanadiancreature62 because they like it so much. XD
The second half of this is more self-indulgent though. XD
After being betrayed and injured by his brother and left to die in the multiverse alone after Ford went back to Bill, he would have stumbled upon an alien tribe that helped him and gave him a translator. Yes, the same one Ford ran into in Journal 3.
After this incident, Stan would be EXTREMELY distrusting of other Fords. He would not project his murderous intent or abject hatred on all of them though, because he IS smart enough to realize that not all Fords would be the same. But if they showed the same ego and lack of accountability as his own, he'd write them off as useless to him and leave.
He would end up being generally more serious than Cannon Stan, but would be able to turn on the charm instantly when he needed to, which was often. He'd be a BIT of a playboy like cannon except it would actually work. Most of the time though, he only slept with someone because they had something he needed. And you know, the man's got needs. XD
He is very much a wanted criminal in the multiverse too because he's MUCH less discriminate about what he steals than Cannon Ford was. He steals things for survival, but also just things he wants because he's an expert swindler. XD
He got into "trading" goods and bounty hunting and got damn good at both. Basically he got in with this one dude who accepted some earth contraband he had on him (cigarettes, probably. VERY hard to come by in certain places) in exchange for some clothes. Particularly this one brand of combat boots that are the most comfortable boots he'd ever had. Sturdy, teflon coating, light and LOTS of cushion. He would also trade for mods on the boots that gave him speed, enhanced jumping capalities, magnetism, etc.
His jacket would have temperature regulation capabilities and he would get a coating on it to protect from laser guns, as well as teflon for when he made it to parallel versions of his dimension that had regular ol garden variety guns. XD His fingerless gloves have padding on the bottom to help protect his palms in instances of climbing or gripping things that could harm his hands normally. They also have the ability to shock, burn and stun people, as well as tell him his heart rate, the time or weather, depending on what he wanted to do. XD There's a button in the back that controls this.
He would stay away from Fords for the most part, unless they happened to have parts he needed and could steal. The only Fords he could stand to be in the same room with would be the most NOT versions of his Ford.
If he happened upon them, he wouldn't mind @tinfoil-jones's Jerk Ford if only because Jerk Ford knows he's a jerk and is upfront about his assholery. XD There is no trying to hide it for ulterior motives or just straight up denying that what he's doing is for anything other than his own selfish reasons like his own Ford. He would like Anti-Ford because that would be the most NOT Ford you could be. The streaming stuff would annoy him though.
If he ever came across @nowimjustastranger's Watchdog Ford, Stan would tell him in no uncertain terms was his Ford to get another Stanley. He was in fact, very much alive and had big plans to kill his twin when he got back home.
One of the services he would offer would be himself, after he found out that humans were VERY coveted in certain sectors. Most folk would pay handsomely just for a few ours with one, and this was actually how he met his best friend/fwb. She hired him one night and offered a large sum of money. He declined, stating instead that he wanted some parts she had that could work for a gun he was building. She agreed.
Afterward, she asked why he needed it and he explained his story. She took pity on him and offered him a drink. He accepted, and suddenly his broken and chipped teeth were fixed. His nose that got broken and never quite set right. His spine that got kinda messed up from all the years of sleeping in his car. The fingertip he lost during his last fight with Ford when Ford stranded him.
After this, they became allies and stole things together for Stan's boss. XD
#demon's disciple au#gravity falls#gravity falls au#stan pines#stanford pines#gravity falls Stan#jerk ford au#stcmo au#watchdog ford#jerk ford#anti ford#stanley pines
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some more assorted thoughts about the white phosphorus AU:
rin may or may not have a tiny hoarding problem. he hates throwing stuff away. this is a direct consequence of growing up with minimal possessions. his bedroom is a minefield of stuff.
(you can really tell which half of the twins' dorm room belongs to rin.)
he raised goldfish as pets with his mom while they were both confined at the Vatican, so she could teach him how to care for living creatures. they were still alive when yuri died, and he refused to leave them behind so shiro had to have the whole tank brought with them to the monastery.
(they have all since died, and rin never replaced them. but he still has the empty tank.)
shiro leaving futsumaya to find shiemi has given rinka a flower crown made of woven sunflowers. he bursts out laughing at the sight. this is the kid that he resented for so long? that everyone's afraid of? they're all idiots, he thinks.
(one of the priests teaches rin to press flowers. he saves the whole crown.)
living in the world outside the room he's been confined in for his entire life is just one huge chain of firsts for rinka. his first summer! his first fall! his first winter! his first snow!
shiro: where's...?
nagatomo: he's running around outside barefoot in the snow
shiro: of course he is.
rin going from weird feral gremlin child to someone who can mostly pass for a (slightly weird) human. god bless yuri, she did her best, but rin is an absolute mess those first few years of living at the monastery.
the only demons kings rin has met are mephisto, amaimon and beelzebub. he likes beelzebub the best out of them, though sometimes it's fun to let off steam with amaimon in a way he can't with humans.
rin voice: i only know three demon kings, but i'm putting money on samael being the most eccentric.
rin, much later: i was fucking right.
the idea of the other exwires being intensely unnerved by rinka and shiemi just. oh! that's my friend! hi rinka! :)
rinka: hi shiemi! :)
shima: ...in some ways, i think moriyama-san is the strongest of us all.
(everyone just nods)
samael has long since taught rinka how to hide his demon heart, but he shows it to shiemi, just once. she smiles and says its warm and toasty.
shiro: don't worry about the right eye of the impure king. i got a reliable guard to watch over it.
(flash cut to rinka, sitting in front of where its sealed, yawning and in his pajamas, complete with bedhead. this sucks. they were supposed to have the day off today. he was going to see kyoto tower.)
rin: i don't have a deeply rooted complex about the fragility of humans in comparison to myself or anything. no need to deeply examine my reactions to look for one.
the exwires interacting with rinka with his mask off is just like. okay. yeah. if you didn't have that thing, we would have connected you to rin *a lot* sooner.
(it's going to take a little while to get used to seeing rin's expressions with those eyes.)
while yukio is away on his middle school trip to kyoto, rinka just lounges around the monastery. it gives the priests whiplash. oh right. that is his actual appearance.
rin swinging by the old men's dorms during the exwire exam preparation training camp with food for everyone, only to find everyone doing collective bariyon punishment. hm. he's missed something.
(he leaves right before the lights go out, and the ghouls arrive. yukio freaks out because he's pretty sure his brother is still somewhere in the dorm. by himself. unarmed. what if there's more ghouls?)
(there were. but rinka can handle himself.)
(neuhaus' true target is yukio, this time. he can't touch the paladin's familiar, after all.)
#white phosphorus au#you'd better fucking run neuhaus#it's okay he'll forgive you though.#rin bursting into the classroom after the lights go back on like. holy shit are you guys okay? there were ghouls!#and they just all stare at him like. what the fuck yukio. what is your brother *made* of
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