#and the same goes for the rest of the squad

[beyfaker]

yall gotta remind me 😭is there ever a point in s2 where ginga trains outside of the teamwork exercises that gan gan galaxy did in ep 17. . .it just feels like he and the rest of the team hardly train compared to the other teams from around the world asdhasjk

[dogboytits]

was tagged by @kasugas to do a tag game abt 3 albums you've been listening to lately...! I honestly don't listen to albums much these days which is criminal and I need to start doing it again.

anyways. Get to Heaven by Everything Everything, Death of a Cheerleader by Pom Pom Squad, and Electra Heart (deluxe version) by Marina...!

these are all absolute classics to me I love them all very much... Pom Pom Squad and Everything Everything are some of my fav bands I think ^__^ everyone go listen to Pom Pom Squad NOW!!!

[dahllaz]

Just re-watched SVU s4e16 Tortured and the husband of the victim is explaining that she was screaming so loud that cops were called because of nightmares from the torture she had suffered.

And our intrepid detectives? Do not believe him one little bit. They do not believe, cannot understand, this is just too far fetched as far as they are concerned. What a bunch of bullshit is essentially what Elliot and Olivia say.

And all. All I could think was. That. Season 4 Olivia may not understand. But Season 15 Olivia would understand!

[lulunothulu]

“Migraine Induced”

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Summary: You have a migraine and Jake’s the one who caused and clocked it.

Content: good ole Hangman charm, migraines, FLUFF

Your call-sign: Sparrow (yes I know it’s been used before but not the same universe lol)

“Sparrow!”

You wince at Hangman’s loud and obnoxious voice. You’d had a migraine for the past few hours and his loud, southern drawl wasn’t helping.

“Sparrow!” He calls again. You pinch the bridge of your nose before turning around.

“What?” You ask harshly.

“You joinin’ us tonight?” He asks, winking at you.

As much as you’d like to react to him winking at you (and god did you want to) you furrow your brows, placing pressure on your right eye before shaking your head. “I’m sorry, where?”

“Hard Deck,” Rooster says, walking toward the two of you. “We asked you about it yesterday?”

Oh fuck.

“Yeah,” you start, “I think imma have to sit this one out.”

“C’Mon,” Phoenix joins in, playfully elbowing you. “Don’t leave me here with all these boys.”

“We’re men,” Coyote corrects.

“Whatever,” Phoenix laughs. She turns to you, expectantly waiting for your response.

“Um,” you start, squeezing your eyes shut to then open them again. “Sure.”

———

Later after work, you and Phoenix are playing pool and about a beer or two into drinking. You thought it would help but of course…it didn’t. Your migraine still hadn’t passed and you were starting to squint, trying to keep the light out. So you asked Bob to get you a water, thinking that would help.

Of course the one day you need an ibuprofen, you leave it at home.

“You okay?” Bob asks from the stool he frequents.

“Never better Bobby boy.” You flash him a tight smile before groaning when Hangman approaches you and Phoenix.

“Ladies,” he says loudly. If the music in the bar was loud, Hangman made sure to be louder. “What’re we drinking?”

“I’m having beer, Sparrow’s drinking water,” Phoenix tells him.

Hangman turns his gaze to you, green eyes full of something you hadn’t seen before. Was that worry? And why did that do something to you?

“Is that so?” He asks, flashing you his famous cocky smile and shedding whatever possessed him before.

“Yeah, I’m not really in the mood to drink,” you tell him.

“Let’s change that.” Before you can begin to resist, Hangman turned to the rest of the Dagger Squad before yelling, “Let’s play a little game called ‘List Five Things’.”

Around you, Rooster, Hangman, Phoenix, and Coyote gather around in a circle. Bob, Payback, and Fanboy decided to sit this game out and are acting as the judges.

You knew the game well—list five things for whatever someone chooses. The twist to it is you have to remember what the person before you said that way, you can not only repeat what they had said—but also add on. If you end up forgetting, you have to take a shot.

“Coyote,” Hangman calls. “Start us off.”

“List five things a woman would say to you on a first date,” Coyote smiles.

“You’re handsome,” Hangman smirks across from you, winking in your direction.

“You’re handsome, you look nice,” Rooster adds.

“You’re handsome, you look nice, you have a pretty smile,” Phoenix adds.

“You’re handsome, you look nice, you have a pretty smile, yoi have something in your teeth,” you add, a fake smile directed toward Hangman.

“You’re handsome, you look nice, you have a pretty smile, you have something in your teeth, and your dance moves are killer,” Coyote ends it. 

This goes on for a while, only you and Jake drinking five shots compared to everyone else’s seven to eight. You were all pretty plastered and you knew your migraine would be ten times worse tomorrow.

“Sparrow, my dear,” Hangman smiles, taking a swig of his beer. “You’re up.”

“Name five things you can say in bed,” you randomly blurt.

“That’s tight,” Coyote laughs.

“Thats tight, where are my clothes?” Hangman smiles.

“That’s tight, where’s my clothes?, can I taste?” Rooster adds, wiggling his brows at Coyote making him howl in a laugh while simultaneously making you flinch at the loudness.

Across from you, Hangman’s brows furrow.

“That’s tight, where’s my clothes?, can I taste?…”Phoenix thinks before shouting very loudly in your ear, “GOT PROTECTION?!”

“Fuck!” You yell, grabbing your right eye and shutting both in pain.

“You lose, Y/N!” Everyone yells.

Well, everyone but Hangman.

No, he’s watching you with the same worried expression on his face. But instead of hiding it like he did before, he makes a point to walk up to you and tilt you head back for you look up at him.

“Let’s go outside,” he tells you.

“I’m fine,” you start.

“Now.”

You obey, hearing the others whoop and whistle behind you. You allow him to walk you out to the beach before sitting you down in the warm sand.

“What’s going on? You’ve been a lot more irritable today and that says a lot because normally loud noises wouldn’t bother you.” He’s squatting before you, practically begging you to rip his vocal cords out by how loud he’s talking.

“Just for once, can you please talk quieter?” You scold. “It’s bad enough you’re already loud, just…dial it down.”

He silently watches you, at least you assume because you’ve already closed your eyes again. Even though you’re fairly far away from the bar, you can still feel the pulsing in your eye every time someone inside yells.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs. “Sometimes I get over-excited and can’t help myself.”

To say you’re surprised is an understatement. Hangman had never apologized to you or anyone for anything. Not even when he almost got into a fight with Rooster that one time. Or that other time he ran into you as you ran during PT.

You squint to look at him. He’s breathtaking. The moonlight lights his handsome face and makes his green eyes look almost aquamarine. His golden skin practically glows, his hair along with it.

You were caught off guard by those thoughts. Why are feelings suddenly manifesting for him? And why do you like how it feels deep in your stomach?

“Are you seriously apologizing?” You ask.

“Don’t get used to it, sweetheart.” He smiles down at you before grunting and joining you in the sand.

You sit in comfortable silence, taking in the crashing of the waves ahead and the beautiful night sky.

“I have a migraine,” you finally tell him. Looking up at the barely starred sky. “I’ve had one since,” you look at your watch and it reads 2:35 AM. “4:15 PM yesterday.”

“That’s why you didn’t want to drink,” he states. “You didn’t want to have to nurse that and a hangover.”

“Yup,” you say, lips popping on the ‘p’.

“I’m gonna make it up to you,” he tells you.

You snort. “How?”

“Let’s go for a dip,” he smiles.

“Now how the hell is that gonna help?” You frown. “I’m not skinny dipping with you.”

“As much as I know you’d love that, no. The water’s cool.”

“Okay?” You reply, still frowning and ignoring the comment.

“The cool water to your feet will help minimize the pain in that thick ass head of yours,” he says, standing and offering you his hands.

“I do not have a thick head,” you mutter, taking his rough hands. “That’s all you, Bagman.”

“I’m just here helping you out of the goodness of my heart and you want to insult me?”

He doesn’t let go of your hand after you both remove your shoes.

In fact, he holds it even when you both start splashing in the water and again when you decide to walk down the beach, shoes in his other hand.

He stops you in your tracks when you both return to Hard Deck. You’re standing on the back deck of the bar and looking in on your colleagues and friends laughing up a storm.

“What?” You ask, a small smile creeping on your lips.

“Did the water help?” He asks, his thumb caressing the back of your hand.

You smile up at him, you never realized how much taller he was than you. Maybe a head taller? And god, he smelled so good.

“Yes, it helped a lot actually,” you tell him. “Thank you, Jake.”

“I like how your voice sounds with my name on your lips ,” he flirts.

“Are you flirting with me Seresin?” You grin.

“God, even my last band sounds good,” he rolls his eyes in pleasure.

You laugh, going on your tiptoes and kissing his cheek. “Fuck off, Bagman.”

You make to turn away but he catches your wrist and spins you around so fast, you feel like falling. Only, he catches you before planting his lips on yours.

It’s like a scene from a cheesy rom-com you and Phoenix watch. You used to think it was funny but now actually living it? You loved it.

Jake pulls away, panting before giving you the biggest smile. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

“Have you?” You ask.

He nods. Then, pulling you up and in his arms, he asks, “So did this help ease the migraine aftermath?”

You smile, reaching up to pull him in for another kiss.

“Definitely. But I think a date would settle it once and for all.”

Before he even has time to answer, you’re pushing him away softly and swaying your hips to walk into the bar.

“Fuck, I think I’m in love,” he mutters to himself.

I kinda wanna write a part two…. Their date maybe and her realizing she really likes him? Let me know 💗💗

[heich0e]

you're almost giddy as you run your hands underneath the stream of cool water rushing from the sink's tap, an effervescence fizzling in the pit of your stomach as the sound of running water whooshes through your ears. you watch the soap suds circle the drain as your teeth bite down against the side of your cheek.

on the other side of the restroom door, you can hear the distant din of the restaurant creeping in, reminding you of where you are. the sound spurs you on and quickly, haphazardly, you shake whatever water is left clinging to the tips of your fingers away once the soap suds are gone—too eager to even bother with properly drying them. next, you fish your cellphone out from inside the little purse you'd brought with you that evening.

you tap the name at the top of your recent call log, and your roommate answers after two rings.

"date goin' so bad yer calling in the black ops squad for rescue? what's our story gonna be this ti—"

atsumu sounds entirely too pleased by the prospect of your date going badly, and it makes you all too happy to cut him off.

"it's going really well," you say, nearly breathless in your delight. it's been a while since you've been this... excited about a date. about a guy. "too well, actually."

"oh?" atsumu's voice lifts in surprise, but he doesn't say a whole lot else.

you hum affirmatively, reaching into your purse again to pull out a tube of lip gloss, pinning your phone between your ear and your shoulder to free up your hands to unscrew the lid. your eyes are fixed to the reflection of your mouth in the mirror as you swipe a thin coat across your lips. "i need a favour."

"'n what's that?" atsumu asks, his voice drying out into a monotone that indicates his distinct lack of trust.

"can you go in my room and shove any mess i left out into my closet?" you ask him before rubbing your lips together to evenly coat them in their lacquered shine.

atsumu guffaws from the other line. "'m i yer maid?"

"a second ago you were ready to go full boots on the ground as the black ops squad," you chide him. there's a moment of silence that passes in the restaurant bathroom, you can't even hear him breathing from the other line. finally, you speak again—softer this time, more sincere. "please, tsumu. i really like him."

he clicks his tongue behind his teeth in that admonishing way you hate, but there's a certain concession in the sound. "yer doing my laundry for a week."

"if the rest of the night goes as well as dinner, i'll do it for a month," you laugh, your cheeks pinching with how widely you smile.

"when are ya landin' here?"

"probably in like... an hour? we're just gonna have another drink or two." he grunts in recognition, even if he doesn't seem thrilled about it. "thanks, 'tsumie. i owe you one."

"ya owe me at least four," he grumbles. "try 'n keep it down once ya come stumblin' in all handsy and whatever, will ya? i don't need to hear all that."

"promise, promise!" you singsong. "you're the best."

"whatever," he answers with a stiff laugh, ending the call soon after.

you quickly tuck your phone back into your purse, adjust yourself one last time in the mirror, and then slip back out into the restaurant towards your waiting date.

the rest of your evening passes much the same as the rest had already unfolded—though something between you and the young man seems to shift as time goes on, turns more palpably yearning. it's no surprise that when you ask him if he'd like to come back to your place with you, he quickly agrees.

"is your roommate home?" atsushi—who you'd met at a work event a few weeks prior, and had been talking to ever since—asks quietly as you two step through the door of your higashiosaka apartment. he's pressed close to you in the genkan, a hand on your waist as he toes off his shoes, and his warmth makes you suppress a shiver.

you hum. "he sleeps like the dead though."

atsushi knows about atsumu, having revealed to him not long after you started texting that your long-time friend turned professional volleyball player is now your roommate. atsushi seemed to know who atsumu was, and even noted he looked forward to meeting him, but that would have to wait for another day.

there were more important things at hand.

you twine your fingers with atsushi's, using that grip to lead him towards your bedroom on the other side of the quiet apartment as your heartbeat thumps—hot and wet and noisy—in your chest. you close the door to your bedroom quietly behind you, and before you even have time to reach for the light switch you feel a soft pair of lips against your throat.

"oh," you gasp, your hands reaching up and threading through the silky strands of atsushi's hair.

it's an uncoordinated blur after that as you lead your date blindly towards your bed in the dark, tumbling back across it in a flurry of limbs and lust.

atsushi's hands slip up underneath the hem of your dress as he pants against your mouth. you wiggle a bit to help him ease it up over your hips, but there's something soft underneath you that makes it a bit awkward—a pillow taking up too much space. he goes to push the pillow off the bed, but it's bigger than either of you seem to anticipate.

he pulls back, squinting at it in the dark. he laughs, tugging the unexpectedly large mass up from underneath you. "what is this?"

you can't quite identify it, reaching over to your bedside table and flicking on the light to get a better look.

you really wish you hadn't.

in his hands, atsushi is holding a—not quite life-sized, but certainly much too large—pillow with atsumu in his MSBY uniform printed across it. you're so shocked by it that it takes you a moment to see anything else, but atsushi is not so fortunate.

"uh," his voice cracks a little as he peers around your room. "is this—?"

pasted on virtually any open space on your walls, and lining the various shelves and dressers of your room, atsumu's obnoxious face stares back. it's like the MSBY merch stall has set up shop in your bedroom—the only thing missing is the lineup of squealing teens fighting over the last sakusa jersey.

you're seeing red.

"i'm so sorry," you say, mortified, as you scramble upright in your bed and look at atsushi's startled face. "atsumu must have... i asked him to... oh my god."

you take the body pillow that atsushi still has clutched in his hands, more in shock than anything, and throw it onto the floor. he laughs a little, shaking his head.

"well, i definitely wasn't expecting that."

"this isn't my stuff, i swear," you insist.

he laughs again, but this time it's less strained, almost a giggle. he peeks over at you. "i believe you."

you bite your lip. "did this scare you off?"

he shakes his head, smiling shyly. "nah."

you sigh in relief as he dips down and kisses you again, cradling the nape of your neck as he leans you back in your bed once more. your head is spinning as he presses himself between your parted thighs, grinding gently against you. your eyes flutter open as you moan, but that sound turns into a small shriek of surprise that has him recoiling upright.

taped to the ceiling over your bed, almost perfectly mirroring your own position, an enormous poster of atsumu stares down at you.

that breaks you.

you slip out from underneath atsushi, standing on your bed and ripping the poster down as you reach up on your tiptoes. the sound of the glossy paper ripping is almost violently loud in the quiet of your bedroom.

"i'll be right back," you say, stiff but apologetic, to your bewildered date, before fleeing from the room.

you don't knock when you get to atsumu's room, throwing the door open and stomping inside.

he's sitting in his bed, watching something on his phone with a pair of headphones covering his ears. he looks up in surprise when you come storming in, and his gaze goes from amused to concerned when he sees the look on your face.

"what the fuck is wrong with you?" you seethe, struggling to keep your voice low in spite of your desire to scream. you're still clutching a shred of the torn poster in your clenched fist, and you toss it onto his floor angrily. he pushes his headphones down to rest around his neck.

"aw, c'mon," he laughs as he sits up a little straighter in his bed, but the sound is a bit forced. "'s just a joke."

"well, it wasn't funny."

atsumu's jaw twitches a little bit. "if the guy got scared off by a harmless little—"

"he didn't get scared off," you hiss, "no thanks to you."

that shuts him up.

"he's still in my room, by some fucking miracle." your hands are shaking, that's how angry you are. you feel sick. "i told you i really like him, atsumu. why would you do that?"

you wish you didn't sound so wounded. you wish atsumu's answering expression wasn't so blank in the wake.

"god," you say, with a mirthless laugh. "when are you going to grow up?"

if atsumu wants to say more, you don't give him the chance. you spin on your heel and head towards the door, but just before you exit the room, you look back at him one last time. your eyes are narrowed in resentment and sharpened with hurt.

"you're gonna wanna turn that volume up, because i don't plan on keeping it down for your sake."

atsumu says nothing in reply, just stares at you. there's something almost desperate in his gaze that you don't understand, and make no attempt to.

you leave his door open behind you as your final act of spite.

[theredcuyo]

Late night idea came into this

So, for whatever reason Bruce is out of comission for a while and i mean A GOOD CHUNK of a while

And the family looks at Dick like, you go

And he's like hell no

Cass offers herself, but Dick tells her not to, that is too much for one person but she really wants to

And who else really wants to? Damian

...

A few hours later, there's two little Batmans (compared to the og) running around with a squad of robins behind them

Damian and Cass are taking turns after this, and the rest of the family does the same to go with them

Tim only goes with Cass tho because Damian refuses to be Batman when he could 'show who is the superior Robin' by competing fairly with Tim while both are Robin

The first night, Dick showed up in a fitting version of the original costume, because he wanted to, Jason because he thought it'd be funny

Steph and Duke thought it'd be fun to use different ones, so you had about-

Four robins with shorts and one with pants before they got sent to change

Then the number stayed because 'No, no i was wearing Dick's costume, this is Jason's' and viceversa until there where four versions of Tim and one of Damian

Bruce won't tell them, but he was in tears when he saw all of them, literally all of them (he's so proud of how far they've come and he's also SO sad because when did they grow this much again?)

[shadow4-1]

(Based on a true story) I'm just imagining being a military contracted funeral director who's responsible for handling Soap's funeral arrangements.

Apparently, depsite how much John MacTavish loved his family, he listed his Captain as next of kin in his will. You sit in the tiny arrangement conference room in a nice suit, surrounded by three distraught men in bloody tactical gear.

The giant Lieutenant in a skull mask is crying. Not sobbing, but just crying. As he blinks, big wet tears drip down in between the teeth's ridges. Even when he speaks his voice is still the same, even tone.

The one in the blue cap is bouncy and forcibly stoic. His jaw is set so hard you can see his forehead muscles clench. He pretends like you don't exist but you can feel his eyes on you every time you look away.

And the Captain...he's blank faced. He shows no emotion. He absent-mindedly flips through the packets of information in front of him. He asks honest, curious questions about the cremation authorization forms. It's obvious he's buried more than his fair share of people.

"You're not going to cut up his insides, right?" The blue cap asks. He catches you off guard, but also his squad.

"Garrick. Now is not the time." Captain warns.

You butt in, knowing damn well this won't end well without some mild intervention.

"You've selected a direct cremation package for Mr. MacTavish." You nod, gesturing to the papers in front of you. "Mr. MacTavish hasn't been autopsied, so...no. Nothing but cremation will be done to his body."

The blue cap sinks in his chair in relief. The Captain scoffs at him, but based on his and the Lieutenant's reaction, they also relax with that knowledge. You center yourself before forcing eye contact with every man in the room. You manage to get all of their attention.

"I'm here for you guys. If you need anything or have question, please let me know." You nod, smiling softly. "Mr. MacTavish will be well cared for. I promise."

The rest of the conference goes normally. The Captain signs the papers and thanks you for your hard work. You shake their hands and show them to the door. You offer the Lieutenant your suit's handkerchief on the way out. You expect him to give it back but he just takes it.

Little do you know, that night he can't stop himself from crying into it. Your little bit of genuine sweetness makes him want to keep living despite the fact the loss of Johnny makes him want to die.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || poly!141 x Reader

[Chapter 29] || [Chapter 31]

Pairing: 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.4K~ cw: injuries + recovery Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: johnny is a filthy man :) but also we love him so is that a problem? no, it's not.

Chapter 30: Playing House

It took a while, but, Simon got healthy, and John and Kyle got their soreness’ settled enough to be able to go back to work.

Johnny, however, needed a little extra TLC. Being shot in the shoulder involved a longer period of medical leave, paired with a long while of physical therapy…

And that means that he decided to make himself your problem.

The rest of the lads left on a mission a few days after being cleared and, as such, left Johnny with you. Not because the lad is incapable of looking after himself, but more so because he, himself, decided he didn’t want to be away from you.

And so, whenever you leave for work, Johnny leaves for PT, then, goes to base for a bit, mostly doing work on things that he can feasibly do without straining his left shoulder/arm… Like doing paperwork and reports, going to the gym for cardio, crunches, and leg and hip workouts… Then he comes home to you.

He goes shopping for you, cooks you dinner, cleans after the two of you, despite your insistence that he rest… But, as it turns out, Johnny isn’t good at that.

Nonetheless, the flat is cleaner than ever before, Johnny’s drawing supplies are permanently stationed on the dining room table, next to your laptop, and some of his clothes have taken a permanent spot in your closet.

And, of course, he spends every night in your bed, spooning you from behind and hiding his face in your neck while you watch tiktoks, talk, or he regale you with the most ridiculous of puns.

In a way, it’s like Johnny MacTavish is your live-in boyfriend. Or, rather, that you’re playing house with him.

You wouldn’t say you hate it. In fact, it’s quite nice to have someone staying with you all night… Johnny is a good partner, he’s helpful and chill and provides wonderful cuddles…

Though you’ve jokingly started calling him ‘Johnny Price’, because, since he hasn’t been working for a month now, he’s let his beard grow out. And he looks like Price more often than he does not.

It’s on week three of your new routine with Johnny when you’re at work, that you get a text from him:

Johnny: guess what bonnie. Johnny: [1 Video Attachment]

You definitely should’ve put on some headphones before you watched that video during work… His grunting and groaning was almost pornographic and definitely earned you a few confused/worried looks from your coworkers…

But all you could think of was how he was finally easing back into his arm/shoulder workouts, which meant he finally got cleared by his PT to do as such!

you: did you finally get cleared johnny? 🥺 Johnny: cleared at 50%. Johnny: not there yet. but soon. you: I’M SO PROUD OF YOU! 🫶🫶🫶 Johnny: thank ye bonnie  you: this calls for a celebration! Johnny: i like how ye think bonnie but im not cleared yet to be able to manhandle ye 😏 you: get ur mind out of the gutter johnny price!!!!!!!! Johnny: oof not ye still calling me that! you: ur beard is looking like his what do u expect of me! 🙄 Johnny: yer right idk what i expected. Johnny: so about this celebration. you: i was thinking we go out for dinner? Johnny: are we going to dress up nice? you: i wasn’t thinking we’d go somewhere super fancy because i do not have money johnnyyyy Johnny: oh good because i dont think i can button up a shirt my shoulder is sore 😖 you: okay then! nando’s!!! 🫶  you: and i’ll give you a shoulder rub when we get home Johnny: speaking my language bonnie.

And so that’s what you did. You went home in a hurry to shower and change, and, for once, Johnny wasn’t there, having chosen to shower and change at base.

You met up in front of the Nando’s closest to your flat and you immediately chuckled at the sight of him. Sure, he had changed, but he was still very much wearing a pair of jeans, sneakers and a grey zip-up hoodie… Although you could very obviously tell he was naked beneath the hoodie.

“Mo leannan.” He murmured in an exaggeratedly polite tone as he popped the door open for you with his good arm.

“Thank you, my good sir…” You joked, which caused you both to chuckle and shake your head.

You got inside, ordered your food and, as you talked, you site adjacent to him, right on his left side, so you could gently rub his arm with your hand.

“Do you miss the lads?” You ended up asking him as you caressed his bicep and shoulder with your hand, watching him wince a bit at it, because he felt so sore from his first workout.

“A little.” Johnny admitted as he looked toward you. “Do you miss ‘em?” He returned the question. You found yourself nodding in reply.

“Having you here is wonderful though… I… quite miss you lot when you’re all gone together. Not to mention I worry sick for you.” You admitted and pressed your lips together a bit awkwardly.

“You do?” He asked you, to which you nodded. So, he continued. “Well.. I guess I understand. I imagine my mam and sisters worry about me too… As do the Kyle and the Captain’s families.” He conceded.

“That’s actually…” You found yourself trailing off as the waiter brought you your orders and you thanked him, unboxing your food so you could dig in.

“As I was saying…” You trailed off. “That’s actually an interesting point… I feel like I know very little about you and the guys’ when it comes to your personal lives… Outside of hobbies and what you do with me.” You mused as you glanced at him as he dug into his double chicken burger one-handed.

“I don’t know much about the others myself to be honest with you.” Johnny admitted as he stole one of your chips off your plate.

“Really?” You asked softly as you ate your own sandwich yourself, nodding along as he continued speaking.

“We try to keep our… ‘outside’ lives under wraps. Even being a team… what we talk about is always very superficial.” He trailed off.

“So you don’t know anything about the rest of them, nor them about you?” You cocked a brow in confusion.

“Oh, no, bonnie, I talk about myself a whole lot, I’m a blabber mouth, me.” He joked and winked at you. “But family is one of those topics that’s best kept under wraps in our line of work.” He told you as he leaned in, rubbing his thumb on the corner of your mouth to wipe it clean of peri-peri sauce. Then, he sucked his own thumb clean.

“What about me? Do I get to know about you?” You asked him playfully as you leaned forward, setting your elbow on the table as you lean in to him, eyebrows raised in intrigue.

“Tell ye what, bonnie.” Johnny leaned toward you too, licking his fingers clean and then wiping them on a napkin before he set a hand on your thigh under the table. “Anything I tell ye about my family is not going to do them justice… So how about I take ye up to meet my family over the summer… And ye meet them directly? Could even take the Captain, Simon and Kyle with us.” He offered.

Your eyes widened a bit and you blinked away the surprise, staring at him like he had grown a second head.

“Meeting your family? Really? Isn’t it a bit early for that…?” You chuckled a bit sheepishly.

“Aye, maybe it is…” He trailed off. “But at this point, I’m basically livin’ wit ye and ye’ve looked after me in sickness, haven’t ye?” He joked. “And I’ve fended off yer ex… so I’ve looked after ye in health, haven’t I?”

Rolling your eyes in amusement, you shook your head. You knew he was just joking, the look in his eyes showed it… “Are you implying that we’re married, Johnny?” You teased him playfully.

“I’m just saying…” He trailed off playfully, a playful smirk on his lips. “And, if we were married, not saying that we are,… I’d make sure to take ye home tonight and rearrange yer guts if ye let me, mo leannan.”

Looking away and biting your lip, you couldn’t help but chuckle. “Shut it…” You trailed off. “You need to rest, your shoulder’s bad still.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t use my mouth on ye… and that you can’t be on top.” He added before he grabbed another one of your chips and popped it in his mouth.

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taglist (CLOSED! not adding anyone else, sorry!):

@daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling ,

@tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva ,

@emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes ,

@irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @cod-z , @frescoisnotinthemilitary ,

@leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark , @xxshadowbabexx , @severenswife , @enarien ,

@agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind ,

@neoarchipelago , @sodavrr , @cutiecusp , @lilliumrorum , @c-nstantine ,

@kneelforloki , @comeonatmebruh , @codsunshine , @waiting-so-long , @captainquake42 ,

@gazspookiebear , @mynameismisty , @reap3erslov3 , @reaper-chan666 , @poohkie90 ,

@kitwithnokat , @stick-the-dumbass , @mothsdrabbles , @justanerd1 , @thesinsoflust ,

@thriving-n-jiving , @blckbrrybasket

[woso-dreamzzz]

Peanut and Liefje

England Lionesses x Child!Reader (Peanut) x Liefje

Summary: Liefje's your best friend

"Hey," Georgia says," Stop wandering. Your mums won't be happy if I let you run in traffic."

"Waitin' for Liefje," You say," She's coming today. Did you know?"

Auntie G laughs. "I did know that. Are you excited that your friend is coming?"

"Haven't seen Liefje in ages," You reply," Because she went with her Viv to the Netherlands. I want to see her."

"I'm sure that she's excited to see you too."

When the bus finally pulls up with the rest of the squad, you're practically vibrating in excitement and keep trying to push Auntie G's arm off of you as the doors open.

Liefje is one of the last off, with her blue fish backpack on her back and her cookie cutter shark under her arm.

"Liefje!" You cry, running towards and nearly knocking her to the ground if her mum wasn't there to stabilise you both.

"Hi!"

You hug for a super long time because Liefje's your very best friend and you love her so much.

You hold her hand nice and tight all the way to the lunch room where you sit at a table together with her mum, your mums and a few of the City girls.

"My mummies were naked cuddling a few days ago," You say over the sound of cutlery scraping against plates," Mum was kissing Mummy's neck and whispering things to her. Mummy kept making weird noises too and-"

Mum's hand covers your mouth so you can't speak anymore. Hempo and Chloe are laughing but you're not sure why. You haven't said anything that funny.

Liefje's frowning though, a little furrow between her eyebrows as she stabs a carrot with her fork. "My mummies don't naked cuddle," She says," Sometimes they make weird noises but I stay in bed. Sometimes, I go and see Carpet."

Beth covers Leifje's mouth too and the whole table bursts into laughter.

Chloe wrenches Mum's hand from your face. "Tell us more," She says," What else did you see?"

"Peanut," Mummy says," Less talking, more eating."

You know that really means no talking, just eating so you sullenly shovel food into your mouth.

"Mummy," You hear Liefje say," I'm done."

"Done?" Beth says," Well done, Liefje. Do you want something else?"

Liefje shakes her head. "When Peanut's done, can we go and play?"

"I don't know. You'll have to ask Peanut's mums."

"Keira, when Peanut's done, can we go and play?"

"I'm done!" You say," I'm done, Mummy! Can we go and play now?!"

Mum shakes her head before Mummy can speak though. "You're not done at all, Peanut. Come on, a few more bites."

"But I want to play with Liefje!"

"Eat and then we can play. It's just like at Barcelona. You don't get to go and play with Pina and Patri until you've finished lunch. You don't get to play with Liefje until you finish lunch."

"Two more bites," Mummy says," And then you can play with Liefje until training. Agreed?"

"Big bites," Mum tacks on," Not little girl bites. Big girl bites."

You huff but do as you're told. You don't want Liefje to think you're not a big girl and you grab her hand as soon as you're done, dragging her off to where Lessi and Tooney are sitting.

Lessi and Tooney are very funny sometimes so you and Liefje play around with them and a game of Connect Four. You're on the same team as Liefje because she's your bestest friend and she's very smart.

She knows lots of things about sharks so her brain must be very big so she should be good at Connect Four too.

You're mainly there to be her cheerleader. Your Mum says you're the best hype girl in the world and you really want to support Liefje so she can win for your team.

"No!" You say, standing up when Tooney flicks one of the counters at Liefje. "Stop it! No bullying! Bullying is bad!"

"Yeah, Tooney," Alessia giggles," No bullying."

"It's really bad!" You insist," So stop or I'll tell on you!"

Liefje goes to select one of your team's counters when Tooney flicks another one at her.

You don't like that all. Liefje's your bestest friend in the world and she shouldn't be bullied.

You stomp around the table and hit Tooney on the arm. Your mummy says never to hit people but Mum says you can hit to protect someone else. That's what you're doing.

You're protecting Liefje.

"No! No! No!" You say, hitting Tooney so she knows that there's consequences to her actions," Stop! Stop! Stop! No bullying!"

You want to keep hitting her but a soft hand takes yours and you turn to look at Liefje.

She looks a little sad, eyebrows drawn together and you glare at Ella for making your friend look like this.

"Come on," Liefje says in that quiet voice of hers," I think I'm tired. I don't want to play anymore."

"Okay!" You nod, taking her hand in yours a bit more firmer and pulling her over to where your mummies are sitting. You stick your other hand out towards your Mum. "Blanket."

"Blanket, what?"

You huff. "Blanket, please."

Mum hands you your blanket and you wrap it around Liefje's shoulders like how Mum does to you sometimes. You don't have a pillow but you drag a table cover off a table that isn't being used and bundle it up so Liefje can rest her head.

You don't really like sleeping without being in a blanket cave but you're feeling a little sleepy too so you cuddle up next to Liefje and lay next to her.

You're just protecting her in case Ella comes back to bully her.

[winterzsurprise]

Playing with fire || Miguel O'hara

Pairing: Miguel O'hara x f!reader

Summary: After risking your life to save one spider, Miguel had enough and decided it was time to discipline you.

Tags: SMUT, NOT BETA READ, face slapping (M&F), brat! reader, spanking, very brief blowjob, gagging, Miguel has a big dick, overstimulation (?), multiple orgasm denial, rough sex, pussy slapping, unprotected sex, pain kink, some aftercare at the end.

Words: 2.8k

idk how Tumblr works as well but user @/octobersoot said something about reader being a brat to Miguel and I had to revamp this one idea lol. I hope this counts as reader being a brat.

Spanish speakers, do correct me with the last one in the translation, thank you in advance :DD

cariño - honey || mi vida - my life || coño - fuck (literally means cunt but google said it can also be used as like 'fuck!' or 'shit!' in English)

"NO DON'T!"

When you ripped yourself from Miguel's hands and jumped down into the black hole to catch the Spider-Man that fell into it, you had two thoughts.

If you die, Miguel would pull you from hell to kill you.

If you lived, Miguel would make sure you'd regret it.

As the void approaches, you latched onto one falling debris and leaped out to get closer to the guy whose wrist’s flicked to release some webs for you to catch on but you ignored it. You’ve seen how using webs to catch someone goes and it didn’t end well, you’re not about to make the same mistakes.

Reaching out to grab the falling Peter's hand, you webbed to the nearest stable item you could before feeling Miguel’s webs wrap around your waist. The momentary fear and adrenaline from saving the spider drained out of your skin almost immediately. Hearing the angry man barking orders above you, you prayed early for your soul.

You're not religious but you'd certainly need a diety's kind soul to take pity on you today once you’re left behind doors with Miguel alone.

"AY COÑO, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?! DID YOU GET YOUR HEAD HIT SOMEWHERE??"

You grunted, tugging President Spidey with you. "Just pull us up!"

"I should let go of you for being so stupid!"

"Then fucking do it coward!"

Despite his comments, it took one tug from Miguel to pull you and President Spider-Man to a safe spot on a building they were resting at to watch the consequences of altering canon events. The anger radiating out of his body would be enough to trigger your senses, his glare searing a hole through your skull.

Looking up sheepishly, Miguel’s face was contorted into subdued rage. The absolute fury lashing in his dark red eyes made your heart drop to the soles of your feet.

You're absolutely fucked and you don't know if you regret it or not.

On one hand, he's going to murder you and split your body into pieces to feed the kraken version of Doc Ock. But on the other, he's unfathomably hot when he's glaring through your flesh and soul.

How could he be so alluring while plotting your murder? You have no idea.

"We're going to have a talk." His darkened voice made your spine tingle, you nod and turned to run towards Hobi but the firm hand on your shoulder halts you. "Don't move, I'll break your knees if you do."

President Spider-Man shrunk beside you, more intimidated by the threat directed towards you than you do. 

"Is that a threat, boss?"

"No cariño, it's a promise."

Leaping down to greet the quarantine squad, he left the two of you on the rooftops. President Spidey turned to you, worried to the nines for your soul.

"D-do you need to universe hop? You're free to hide at mine, since it's my fault you're gonna get grinded later."

You laughed, slapping him in the back to which he wheezed at. "Don't worry, he won't bite."

•=•=•=•=•=•

Despite your shit attempt of comforting President Spider-Man, he didn't leave your side, ready to jump in front of you if Miguel happens to snap in the middle of the journey back to HQ. Hobie however, attempted to pry him off of your side with an amused smile.

“Have you realized how fucked you are?”

President Spidey hushed him, to which the man raised an eyebrow at. “Don’t say that.”

When you all entered the office, Miguel halted and you all followed. There’s a buzz in the back of your head and a glance at the nervous wreck beside you tells you that he felt it too.

"Everyone except my wife, leave."

President Spidey almost spoke up, probably to request to stay next to you until Hobie swung his arms around his neck and pulled him out, but not before saluting to you.

"I'll burn the ministry in your honor."

His voice echoed in the dimly lit room until the hatch closed shut, isolating you and your husband from the outside world until further notice. You watch as a yellow holographic lady materializes over his shoulder, Layla whose gaze immediately met yours.

"Layla, make sure no one tries to enter my office until I say so. Go hang out with Spiderbyte in the meantime."

"Don't break the poor girl, she didn't do—"

"I don't want to hear it. Leave." 

Sparing you a pitiful smile, she dispersed into the air. With no hatch to escape to, nor any obstacles to run behind, you were left standing a few footsteps away from the man.

"I thought we had an agreement to keep ourselves safe during missions?"

There was a simmering anger hidden behind his words, tone almost dark and bitten back.

"I was safe, you just need to place a little faith on—"

"The last time I did that, the people I cared about died." 

You wanted to defend yourself, bring up being safer since you're Spider-Man and all that but you knew it wouldn't end well. Seeing the seething anger radiating off of him, that's the best course of action.

Hanging your head down with a sigh. "Alright, I'm sorry."

"Sorry's not gonna cut it this time, cariño. I think I have to drill it into you."

Your brain clicks, realizing what he said and you frown. "Fucking is not gonna help us right now, Miguel!"

"Well I don't see you complaining every time it happens, do I? If I recall, you've begged, cried and screamed my name again and—"

Your hand moved faster than your brain as you slapped the man. You gasped, bringing both hands up to your mouth as you watched him go silent.

"I-I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—"

"No no no, I see how it is."

You waited for his next move with bated breath, goosebumps prickling your skin. You debated on taking a few steps back but before you could, he surged with his hands grabbing your neck and slamming you on the wall, stealing the breath from your lungs and you gasped.

“You know the words, mi vida?”

You curled your eyebrows at him. Does he mean your safeword?

“F-fucking get your hands off of me, let's talk."

The light slap on your cheeks shocked you, mouth falling ajar at the action. You couldn’t deny the fact that the sting left by his hand has stirred your desires awake, nor can you even dare to mention how breathless—figuratively and literally—he left you. 

Miguel observed your eyes, cautious of any hurt flashing in them before putting more pressure on the side of your throat and you greedily inhaled more air as much as you could. Dark spots crawl from the side of your vision and fear starts to claw at your heart.

Yet the uncomfortable slickness and ache between your thighs says otherwise.

"Your words."

"I'm not using them!"

The grin curling his lips sent shivers down your spine, doom looming over you.

"Good."

Before you could say anything, he released your throat and you fell to the floor, inhaling greedily for air as your vision slowly repairs itself.

"I've been wanting to tame that mouth of yours since earlier."

You coughed, peering up at him through your eyelashes. "R-really? I thought you liked that about me?"

"Oh really? I thought I said I only liked your mouth, not your voice."

Grabbing your jaw, he forced you to look up before pushing two of his fingers through your lips, pressing down on your tongue as his suit disintegrated to reveal his formal clothes. Miguel's hand threads through your hair, caressing the back of your head before tugging. With a wicked grin, he continued.

"Strip."

It was a command, not a request. The low timbre of his voice sends jolts of pleasure down your spine. Following his heeds like a hypnotized woman, you made quick work of your clothes, tossing them to the side and unshackling your web shooters.

Reaching up, you unbuttoned his pants and took care of his fly before shrugging the clothing down his thighs. The tent in his boxers sent shivers down your spine, a promise of pleasure behind its confines.

Pulling it down, his girth revealed itself to you and your tongue grew heavy inside your mouth, a few dribbles of pre-cum on the tip and the prominent veins giving it an illusion of being larger than it already is. Miguel pulled you closer making you kiss the base of his dick.

"What a sinful face you have, cariño. I'm starting to like this more."

He guided his length to your mouth, smearing his clear arousal on the plush of your lips making you open up only for his hand to come down harshly against your cheeks once more.

The sharp sting immediately melts into hot arousal pooling down your thighs.

"Do you really think you deserve me, mi cielo? After speaking back to me earlier?"

"I want it, please?"

He scoffed. "'Want' it? Do you think you own me? That's funny."

His webs embraced you and he pulled, making you stumble to the floor with a yelp. Being bound tightly by Miguel who towered over you with sadistic glee and glowering eyes, made you feel small all over.

Yet the sick bastard at the back of your head smiled an ugly grin.

"How about we try it again? Maybe if you ask nicely, I'll give you what you wanted."

He pulled you back to a standing position, his hand immediately locking onto your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his dilated and darkened red pairs that seemed to tempt you to drown yourself in them.

Your eyes fell to the hand pumping himself leisurely and groaned.

"Please? Darling, I want to taste you."

"Do you deserve it?"

"I'm more of an action type of person than a talker."

He said nothing, watching as you fall back to your knees before tapping the head of his cock onto your lips. Once your mouth opened, his hand on your jaw crawled to the back of your head and pushed.

The sudden and wide intrusion down your throat got you gagging yet Miguel only found pleasure from the throb of your muscles constricting around him. 

You remind yourself to breathe through your nose, trying to force yourself through it but your throat complains and you knew you couldn't take it. Slapping his thighs thrice, he pulled away immediately, clicking his tongue while you coughed and gasped for air.

"Bold talk. I knew your mouth wasn't fit for speaking at all. Such a shame it can't do anything at all."

Still focused on the throb in your throat, you weren't able to react fast enough when he pulled you flush to his chest by the web and carried you to the platform where a cushioned chair awaits.

He sat and you ended up on his lap with both his calloused hands grounding you by the shoulder and hips. Miguel's burning eyes roamed the expanse of your chest, one hand rising to trace his gaze with his fingertips and pinching the stiffened peaks of your mounds making you moan from the slightest touch.

"Maybe your pussy could do a better job."

The hand soon crept around your neck with his eyes where it pressed against its sides once more.

It was maddening how you could feel his hardness pressing against your folds yet unable to do much about it. The firm hand on your hips prevents you from grinding down on him. He does reach down to your clit, palming your engorged bead but before you could revel in it, he pulled away.

"Did those slaps get you this wet baby? Didn't know you're such a slut."

Your cheeks lights up and you slapped his cheek lightly for the name he called you, only for Miguel to return it harder.

"You don't get to slap me, slut. The only thing you're for is this pussy."

A wet slap resonated in the room and you cried, thighs closing from the impact on your heat, embarrassment burning your body before shame crawled up your throat as you realized his demeaning behavior seems to only goad you further.

He didn't give you a chance to prepare when he pushed his cockhead into you. Tears brimmed in your eyes as the burn of the stretch stung your veins and stirred your desire further. Every inch inserted tore you apart, the sensation a mixture of heaven and hell, it was delicious as it was painful.

Seeing the struggle in your face, Miguel reached down to roll your clit in slow circles, whispering affirmations into your ears. The moment he sensed your accommodation to his girth did he pull out till his head remained, angling his hips before inserting himself back again to hit the spongy spot on your walls.

You whimpered and moaned in his shoulder as his pace grew with a manic fervor. The pain slowly transitioned into pleasure with the frequency of his thrusts, your nails dug into his shoulder as he pushed himself deeper and deeper into you, narrowly missing your uterus as he pistoned into you.

Mind whirled in ecstasy and lightness brought by his fingers on your throat, you only grabbed onto him for dear life as he quickly dragged you to the edge. 

Feeling the familiar pulse and tightness of your walls around him, Miguel suddenly pulled away and you cried.

"Why did you pull away?"

His hand came down with a loud crack! as it collides with the globes of your ass in quick successions. Your hips twists as you clenched desperately on air. Desire clawed at your throat and you whimpered, body already missing the rush of pleasure he brought with every push.

“Do you think you deserve it, mi vida?”

You nodded and he chuckled darkly. “I don’t think you do.”

Despite his words, Miguel entered you once more, picking up his previous pace. Your previous orgasms arose, walls clamping down onto him, desperate for the release you craved so deeply. There's a wet sound echoing in the room along and you flushed deeper yet far too desperate for euphoria to care. 

His deft fingers found your clit with experienced accuracy and slapped it with every thrust of his hips. 

You shouldn't be enjoying every bit of pain yet here you were, moaning and wriggling your hips for more stimulation like a mad woman.

"My cariño's such a slut taking all of this pain like the whore she is. Bet you liked that spider guy huh? Jumping off like a fool to save a dick, so pathetic."

Miguel pulled away and you cried, the itch of dissatisfaction searing through your body. You clawed at his back as if the pain could threaten him, in response, Miguel swats your rear once more.

"A little slut like you doesn't deserve to cum. After that stupid stunt earlier? Do you think you deserve to come?"

"Yes yes yes."

He slapped you across the face but you could care less, whining.

"Stop being a dick and give it to me, please!"

Clicking his tongue. "Such a desperate slut, I'd slap you for that, but I'm feeling a bit generous."

It was his fingers that attacked you this time, deftly rubbing your clit. Your hips stuttered up to follow his hand.

“Might as well count how many, right?”

Your mind grows lighter as time bleeds against each other. His objections to your orgasms grew frequent as the intervals between your nirvana grew shorter, you have lost count of how many he has denied you and has long stopped doing so, body now laid motionlessly on top of his as you sobbed onto his shoulder from frustration.

Miguel didn't care, in fact, he reveled in your misery every time. 

His hips pistoned faster, tip almost always nudging your spot with every thrust as his lips caught yours in a weakened dance, there was a shift in the air and you knew he had finally relented on dragging it out. 

"Come for me, darling. I want it all, give it to me."

The pleasure that bursted in your veins wasn't like the others from before. The ecstasy woke every nerve ending in your body alight, limbs growing weightless from the shock of pleasure from your orgasm as electric shocks reverberated from your core and to the tip of your fingers.

Your thighs convulsed violently and you screamed, arousal squirting to drench his stomach. Miguel's arms curled around you protectively as you shivered, whispering hushed affirmations in your ears while the impact of a long-denied orgasm shattered you.

"You did so well for me, mi vida. I’m here, no more of that."

Miguel soaked in your every moans and sobs as he murmured something you couldn't catch, mind far too foggy to process.

You didn't even realize that he didn't came, focused solely on comforting you through your high.

His racing heartbeat matched the pace of the throb in your head, you could hear your breathing echo in your ears yet in the state of exhaustion, you found it calming, melodic even. Miguel’s fingers that gave and tore your pleasure away now caressed the back of your head, gently as if you’ll break apart.

You could make out his chapped lips pressing kisses onto your temple as exhaustion won over your body, eyes falling shut with the melodic rhythm of his heartbeat lulled you to sleep.

[allbark-no-bite]

call it brotherhood (not love).

jake seresin x reader (wc: 6.2k)

summary: jake meets his match in a soldier rather than a sailor. you’re a bit more war torn than he expected, but it’s okay because maybe he is too

warnings: 18+ smut, * graphic descriptions of injuries and death ⚠️

* if you are uncomfortable with this, please don’t read

author’s note: spoiler alert, i know this isn’t the Jake fic that you’ve all been wanting but i swear that one is in the works. i’m about to go back to school and wanted to get this out there for y’all :) (ps i apologize for the lazy ending)

————————————————————————

"At ease, gentlemen —And woman," Admiral Simpson adds after a moment, shooting an uncharacteristically apprehensive look in Phoenix's direction. Payback snorts at his hasty correction, and Jake is surprised when the admiral doesn't fix him with a nasty look.

If the man's cursory show of inclusion perturbs the female pilot, she doesn't show it, and instead she takes a seat with all the rest of them. Jake turns back towards the front of the ready room, sinking down into his chair just a bit, toothpick clenched between his teeth as he waits for the admiral to address them.

However routine, this training meeting was a bit out of left field, especially for a Sunday afternoon. The Dagger squad typically had one weekly, but it was usually led by Maverick and much more informal. That wasn't to say that seeing Beau was surprising, but the man usually steered clear of the wayward captain and left him to his own devices when it came to training the Daggers.

Today the captain sits in the ready room beside the rest of the pilots. Jake watches as Bradley sends his godfather an inquisitive brow from across the room, to which the older man just shrugs. Interesting.

Cyclone clears his throat. "Good afternoon. I apologize for keeping you all, but I promise this will only take a minute of your time. As I'm sure you are all aware, the United States Department of Defense takes immense pride in maintaining one of the most well integrated military forces in the world. It's our job to work closely with other service members to ensure their safety and the safety of our nation." He pauses. "As experienced as you all are, your time here at Topgun has not reflected that."

Jake's brow furrows, his tongue worrying at the toothpick clenched between his teeth as he listens to the admiral go on. Javy shoots him a look but Jake stares ahead, waiting for Beau to continue.

"The permanent installment of your squad here at Miramar was to create a tightly knit group of elite fighter pilots who would be available at a moment's notice, and however successful that may have been, I cannot neglect the fact that comfort builds complacency. Later today, a squad of U.S. Army soldiers will be arriving to aide in your training for the next six weeks. The integration of mixed branch training units has been widely effective around the country, and it's about time we do the same here at Miramar."

With that, the screen positioned on the wall behind him lights up, displaying enlarged headshots of about eight soldiers. The first seven are males of varying ages, but none older than probably thirty. Jake quickly skims over their names and credentials, but when he gets to the last profile, his eyes stop.

The last solider is the only female projected on the screen, but even so she stands out as compared to all the other members of her squad. He can't quite put his finger on why though.

She's uncharacteristically pretty. And by that he means that to most, her appearance would be inherently off putting— even without the straight-mouthed scowl on her face. She's got a square, almost masculine like jawline that hardens her features considerably. Her hair is light, worn from spending too much time in the sun regardless of however dark it may have been naturally. The same goes for her skin, which is comparably bronze in contrast to the tan line on her forehead, he would assume from wearing a patrol cap out in the field.

Her eyes are wild.

And that's when it hits him.

She'd been all over the news just a few months ago. Something about a patrol gone wrong out in the Middle East, which ultimately turned into a high stakes rescue mission to extract the surviving soldiers. They went in hoping to bring back nine men and came out with one. Apparently they didn't even get to recover the bodies.

Jake can't imagine what that'll do to a person.

Before he can stare at her profile any longer, Cyclone quickly clicks off the projection and the image disappears. This time he appears almost nervous as he stares back at them. "These soldiers are recently returning from a deployment in the Middle East, so I trust that you all will do your best to make them feel welcome. If none of you have any questions, that is all. You're dismissed."

---

The following morning, the Jake receives word from Maverick that the Admiral wants to see him in his office. It's not a strange request but certainly raises Jake's attention as to why specifically he was needed.

Upon entering the room, Jake finds not only the Admiral but Maverick and another female that he's yet to have seen before. All heads turn towards him when he enters, as if he were interrupting something. Immediately, Jake snaps to attention, his heels clicking together and his fingers brushing his brow with a sharpness that would make the academy proud.

Cyclone nods in his direction, acknowledging Jake's customary greeting and dismissing him with the notion. "Lt. Seresin," he begins, gesturing to the female standing across the room. "This is Lt. (L/n). She's uh—a member of the squad that I briefed you on yesterday."

He hadn't noticed that she was wearing Army OCPs but he connects the dots as soon as the admiral mentions her name. He remembers reading it on the projector during the meeting.

Rather than introducing herself, the soldier stands rigidly across from him, her arms folded in front of her chest with a look on her face that Jake can only describe as fucking pissed. Unsure of what to do but aware from personal experience with Phoenix that he shouldn't try to cross any unknown boundaries, Jake settles for offering her a respectful nod. She glares back at him.

"You're two of our only service members with active combat experience," Cyclone continues, obviously ignoring the girl's crossed disposition. "I'm hoping that you and Lt. (L/n) can find some common ground. Perhaps it would do you both some good to—"

"Respectfully, sir, if I wanted to vent to someone about my feelings, I'd go see a shrink," the woman growls. "I recommend you do the same, Lt. Seresin." Her tone makes Jake's brow raise slightly in surprise. No one talks to an admiral like that, not even Pete Mitchell.

"Lt. (L/n)," Cyclone snaps. "That's quite enough."

This time, she rolls her eyes with a scoff. "You can't just—"

"Get out."

She clamps her jaw shut but doesn't budge from where her feet are planted in the ground.

"I said, Get. Out," Cyclone reiterates.

The eyes that had caught Jake's attention in the first place fix the admiral with a chilling stare. To Jake, there's something familiar in those eyes. Some sort of unmistakably justifiable rage that runs deeper than just being dismissed from the conversation. Jake watches, his breath stalled as she sets her jaw, unwilling to move, when it hits him. Identical jawlines and untwitching scowls mirror each other.

The illegitimate child of Admiral Beau Simpson stands before him.

He doesn't know how he didn't see it before, granted they don't share a last name, but Jake was aware that the Admiral was divorced, had been for a while. Allegedly he wasn't the marrying type. Jake isn't surprised by the statement. Beau Simpson is a hard man to deal with.

Jake watches in silence as the girl ultimately releases an irritated huff and storms out of the office, slamming the door behind her. He can hear the loud, petulant stomp of her boots as she retreats down the hall. Evidently her looks weren't the only thing that she got from her dad. She had a temper that rivaled even Bradshaw's.

The clearing of the Admiral's throat removes Jake's eyes from the door. "I hope you can forgive my daughter's behavior. Her return to the states has been...difficult."

"I'm sure difficult is the way she would describe you too sir," Maverick jokes.

Cyclone fixes him with a perturbed glare but decidedly ignores his comment in favor of addressing Jake. "Lt. (L/n)'s squadron was ambushed six months ago. Just about everything that could have gone wrong went wrong and she was the only survivor. As her father, I wanted her to accept the Purple Heart and retire." He gestures flippantly towards the door. "Obviously that's not what she did."

Jake speaks for the first time since he entered the room. "Respectfully, sir, I don't blame her. I'm taking this career to the grave. I'm sure both your daughter and Captain Mitchell can agree," he adds glancing over at his instructor.

Before Maverick can voice his agreement, the admiral cuts him off.

"As I'm sure Captain Mitchell can attest to, as her father, I'm just trying to look out for her."

With his preexisting connection to Rooster, the godson that he would risk his career to protect, Maverick has no room to disagree with the admiral. For once, the captain, who usually always has something to say, stands with his palms folded behind his back and keeps his mouth shut.

"As I was saying," Cyclone continues, taking a seat behind his desk and kicking back as if to signal that he's won the conversation. "It is my hope that given your own—" the admiral hesitates for just a moment too long for Jake's liking "—personal experience, you'll be able to get through to her."

Jake swallows and hopes that he doesn't look as uneasy as the insinuation makes him feel. He has to take a moment to reassure himself that the psych unit has repeatedly cleared him for duty and that no one's threatening to take his wings away.

The nights that he wakes up, drenched in sweat, with his fingers wrapped around imaginary joysticks hard enough to make his palms bleed are few and far in between these days. And even those he's gotten good enough at faking like they don't bother him because he hasn't failed a psych evaluation in months.

It doesn't mean he likes to talk about it or that he won't hear the fear in Rooster's voice if he does.

But he's more scared of not flying than anything, so all Jake does is nod and offer a dry, "I'll do my best, sir."

———

PTSD or modern day shell-shock is what they like to call it. You call it waiting on the other shoe to drop.

Because there is always another shoe.

The slam of a beer bottle down on the bar top lights your nerves up like nothing else. It sends your heart straight to your stomach and makes your palms sweat like when you miss a step on the stairs and for a split second, you think you're going to die. You never do of course, but your body is hard wired that way to keep you alive.

There's a flaw in your system that hasn't been right since the east.

You knew that a popular naval bar on a Friday night wasn't the best place for you these days but your nerves had been yearning for an ice cold beer and fuck all if you weren't going to get one. The alcohol would soothe your nerves anyhow.

But after thirty minutes of waiting on said beer, you were beginning to lose your patience. Normally you weren't bothered by that kind of thing. The place was obviously busy and the lone woman behind the bar was doing her best to satisfy the flock of servicemen that only seemed to accumulate with every beer that she handed out.

Just when you're about to give up and leave, a large hand covers your lower back, pressing you forwards through the crowd and toward the bar top.

"Two more on me, please, Penny."

The voice belongs to the tall man standing behind you. He's removed his firm, but respectfully placed palm from your back and is now leaning over you to accept the two dripping bottles of beer. It doesn't take you long to recognize the green of his eyes from a few days prior.

"My dad didn't put you up to this did he?" you ask, somewhat reluctantly taking the bottle that he offers you. It's finger numbing cold, just how you like it.

He kind of just slowly smiles and shakes his head.

Immediately you feel like a jerk. You sigh, dropping your shoulders and smile softly back. "Sorry. That was rude."

"No, ma'am, he didn't. Just had to find out if you smiled like that all the time."

The part of you that's a little bit of a bitch makes you clench your teeth together, tightening the smile that was once spread across your lips. "I'm not looking for that kind of thing right now," is all you say.

You want to tell him that you used to not be so mean.

At the realization that his words had the exact opposite effect of what he was going for, the guy graciously extends his hand. "Look I don't mean to bother you, I just wanted to say hi."

Despite not being keen on his advances, you aren't going to be rude so you accept his outstretched hand. You're surprised by his gentleness. It's not the rough, over-masculine shake you are expecting.

"Lieutenant (Y/n) (L/n)."

"I know your name," he admits with a light, almost embarrassed laugh. "I think everybody in here knows your name."

Your skin prickles. You stare at him stoney faced, bracing yourself for what's going to come out of his mouth. "Why's that?"

The guy—Lt. Seresin—you're remembering, shrugs. "I mean, you're quite the story back here in the states. A bit of a ghost story, I must say."

Ghost story is right. Because who survives that? How the fuck does a twenty-two year old girl survive an outnumbered ambush and not eight men with years of experience? Not someone who deserves to be called a hero, that's for sure.

You're trying your best to keep your cool with him. You know that you're in a public space and he's just being friendly. You used to be so good at this kind of thing, the flirting and small talk.

The thought occurs to you that maybe this is what you need. Maybe this will make you feel normal again. You need to feel normal again.

Maybe that is why you let him lean in closer, buy you another drink when yours runs dry, and another one after that. Maybe that is why you make an effort to laugh when he does, and you close your eyes when he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

You let out the breath that's been tightening your ribcage and do your best to smile. "Thank you for the beer. You didn't have to do that." You hope the words sound as genuine as they're intended to.

He smiles back like he's supposed to, all polite and inherently forgiving of your original attitude. You catch onto the way it doesn't quite reach his eyes. You're not sure why but it makes you think maybe he's just a bit sad too.

Maybe that is why he lets you wordlessly take his hand and lead him to the back of the bar. Maybe that is why he lets you sink to your knees on the cold, sticky tiles of the men's bathroom floor, his hands already fumbling to unbuckle his belt.

It smells like beer and piss, and you don't even wait for him to get fully hard before you take him in your mouth, your nose buried into his pelvis, where it smells like sweat. It's all wrong and right at the same time, and he won't ask you to stop. He just curls his fingers into a fistful of your hair, pinpricks stinging at your scalp the same way tears sting at your eyes.

He—Jake—he'd told you a while ago, has a pretty cock. At least as pretty as cocks go. Pink and ruddy at the tip, where it mushroomed beautifully. Almost dauntingly long but not grossly so with a throbbing vein on the underside. You run your tongue along it and he muffles a whimper, his fingers wrapping harder around your hair in an effort not to buck up into your mouth. At least he's a gentleman about it.

He's heavy and twitching in your mouth. You feel heavy. He is standing above you, a harsh line of a man against the buzzing bathroom light. You remind yourself to breathe through your nose and he punches himself further, the head of his cock skimming the back of your throat.

You swallow around him, trying to hold together what little is left of your remaining sense of self. It's been a while since you've been so careless as to place yourself in someone else's hands, rolled over and showed your belly to someone who could easily take advantage of you.

Your jaw aches, uncomfortable and familiar, like something you don't want to remember. Tears well up behind your eyes, the threat of an unwanted but unknown feeling looming just out of reach. Jake's hand in your hair hold your head firmly against his pelvis, hips rocking up into your mouth. He sighs like he can finally breathe.

You can't breathe.

You try to and something rasps inside of you, choking. The feeling that had been looming threateningly sparkles through you. Panic.

You know that he tries to settle you, does his best to wipe the tears leaking from your eyes with his thumbs and murmurs softly to you. "Breathe. It's okay, breathe for me."

You can't. You can't breathe.

Your head is pounding and suddenly you aren't kneeling on the bathroom floor of the bar. You're on the ground, crying, screaming like a wounded animal and no one is coming to help. You can almost feel the dirt under your knees, taste the blood in your mouth.

"Y/N, you have to breathe."

Someone's grabbing you, hauling your useless feet across the floor. Your chest hurts like you've been punched with a bowling ball.

"C'mon, let's get some air."

How you end up outside the bathroom is beside you. All you know is one minute you're dying on your knees back in the desert and the next you're being sat down on the back steps of the bar. 

The cool air of the San Diego evening brings you back. That and the press of a cup of ice water to your lips, the condensation dripping from the glass and rolling down your throat. You swallow, letting the cool liquid soothe your burning throat.

You're aware of Jake sitting down beside you, close enough to touch if he wanted to but still keeping his distance. You can feel his eyes on you, watching carefully for a moment before he turns to stare out at the not so distance shoreline.

Your stomach feels odd, like you might be sick.

He probably thinks you're insane. You would think the same. But if he's dying to ask what the hell that was, he's doing a good job of hiding it.

How do you tell him that sometimes you think that you should have died, that sometimes the memories almost kill you?

"I hid."

He looks up from peeling off the label around the neck of his bottle. "What?"

You swallow, trying to collect yourself before your words fail you.

"I hid. A—After I was shot, I didn't get back up. I crawled under the humvee and... and I just laid there. I laid there and I closed my eyes and I prayed. I prayed that they wouldn't notice me lying under there or that they if they did, they would think I was already dead."

A mixture of sweat and dust burns your eyes. When you blink, you can feel the sandy grit trapped between them. You squeeze them shut while trying to swallow back the dryness of your throat in an attempt to alleviate the discomfort, but it doesn't do much. An unwarranted tear escapes and runs down the track of your nose.

With your rifle held closely to your chest, you let it slide down and collect on the bow of your lip. It joins the puddle of sweat that has already accumulated there. Out here, the sun cooks you alive. You swear it's a constant one thousand degrees. The twenty pounds of kevlar doesn't help.

Dirt kicks up beside you and gravel showers your helmet as a round of bullets buries themselves into the ground a mere six inches from your face. You hardly flinch.

Somebody is screaming. The sound of machine gun fire is ringing in your ears. Somebody is screaming.

"(L/N), C'MON. LET'S MOVE."

It's Cain. He's grabbing the strap of your kevlar vest and yanking you to your feet. You scramble after him, desperate not to be left behind. Bullets explode at your feet the moment the two of you emerge from the concealment of the dirt mound. Fear makes you run faster.

You spot Manny crouched behind the tire of the SUV to your right. He's firing rounds into the brush. You can tell that he's bleeding from a wound to his arm and you're about to veer off to help him when his head jerks backwards, the scattered remains of his brain plastered onto the white side of the truck.

You stop running, the words caught in your throat.

"RUN," Cain screams. He'd backtracked a few paces and grabs hold of your vest once again to drag you behind a second SUV. You stumble over him, falling haphazardly onto your rear once he lets go of you. He immediately turns to fire over the hood of the truck, and the bullets hitting the truck stop momentarily.

Clawing at the gravel on the ground, you hurry to scramble to your feet. Your head is pounding, your mouth dry and gritty. Huffing, you glance between Cain, who is fumbling to reload his magazine, and the crumpled figure of Manny a few yards away. You can only hope Ronny is still out there somewhere.

Before you can even try to locate him or any other members of the squad, movement to your left springs your muscles into action. You slam your back into the side door of the SUV just as a round of bullets pelt the spot where you were standing just moments before. Automatically, you raise your gun, returning the fire. There are a few more shots fired in retaliation, but they stop a second later.

Once you're sure they're subdued, you lower your gun, breathing hard. There's so much smoke and debris in the air that you can hardly even see Cain ten feet away. He's shuffling towards you in a low crouch.

"Let's move, (L/n). They know where we are. We've got to find different cover."

You nod, your finger still pressed tightly to the trigger of your weapon. You drop into a crouch and follow behind him as he creeps towards the back of the truck. He pauses a moment, scanning the landscape before looking back at you. His blue eyes are a startling contrast to the dirt and sweat covering his tanned face. He lifts his gun in the direction of a flipped humvee about fifty yards away. His mouth moves in a silent command.

One.

Two.

Three.

The gunfire starts up as soon as the two of you spring from behind the vehicle. You can hear the whizzing of bullets as they just barely miss your head. All you can do is pray you don't trip as you struggle to keep up with Cain. Your lungs burn and your boots feel impossibly heavy.

The terrain is barren but the ground loose, and rocks threaten to upend your footing, slipping out from beneath your feet as the two of you flee towards the vehicle.

30 yards from the humvee, Cain tumbles to the ground with a broken cry. The bullet catches him in the thigh, stopping him mid stride. He hits the ground hard.

Without even thinking, you skid to a stop. Bullets spray the ground around you. Somehow you're more afraid of leaving him than being shot.

"Go!" he yells at you, already trying to shove you away. "Go, I'm coming!"

Already, there's a lake of blood beneath him. You step in it and the ground squelches under your boot. Crimson gushes from his left thigh, effectively saturating the fabric of his pants. His face is terrifyingly pale. The bullet must have hit his femoral artery.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Like hell," you snap at him, your pervious fear suddenly boiling into the purest form of anger you've ever felt. Angry for being in this situation in the first place. Angry that of all people, Cain is going to die.

It's terrifying how quickly the realization comes to you, how easily you accept it as the truth. There's already too much blood. Without a tourniquet, he'll bleed out in minutes and there's not quite time for that.

"Leaving him behind wasn't an option. It never even occurred to me that it was," you confess, as if saying it aloud will somehow explain away this title of heroism that everyone wants to pin on you. "Dead or alive, he was coming with me."

You shoulder your rifle and use both hands to grab onto the straps of his vest, hefting him backwards towards the truck.

He must clamp onto his bottom lip to stop the scream that threatens to escape because the noise that comes from his mouth is garbled.

You drag Cain about ten feet before you realize how just heavy he is. There's sweat leaking into your eyes and all you can see is the bloody lake that's left behind as you drag him through the dust. Cain's gone quiet, his head lulled to the side, eyes almost shut.

"C'mon, Cain. We're almost there."

His boot snags on a rock, and when you tug him free, he doesn't utter a word.

Something inside of you knows he's gone, was gone long before you started dragging him. You're still ten yards from the SUV.

POP. POP. POP.

You pause, your eyes fixed ahead of you. "Have you ever been shot before?"

Beside you, Jake shakes his head.

"It feels like someone has shot a bowling ball into your chest. Knocks the breath right out of you."

Pain explodes straight through your ribcage. Your vision clouds and you're vaguely aware of your knees buckling beneath you.

When you come to, all of the wind has been knocked out of you from hitting the ground so hard and your immediate reflex is to suck in a reviving breath. Instead all that comes out is a gurgle, the tell tale sign that your chest cavity is filling with blood.

You swallow, looking off at the dark shoreline of the beach, watching as the waves crash against the sand. "I knew that I wasn't dead yet—I did— I just—" Your throat constricts and when you speak again your voice is quieter. "He was already gone so maybe a part of me had already gone with him."

Jake nods slowly, as if putting together the pieces that you're laying down bit by bit. Somehow his green eyes have remained soft this entire time and maybe that's where you find the courage to continue.

Lifting your head, you crane your neck to see the damage, but the thick layer of kevlar strapped to your chest obstructs your view of the lower half of your body. Grunting in frustration, you reach blindly in the direction that the pain is radiating from. Numbly, your fingers find the gushing hole in your side. The bullet had buried itself in the exposed inch of your stomach between your belt and your vest.

There mustn't be an exit wound because there isn't a ton of blood surrounding you. If the wet cough you emit is anything to go by, it's probably pooling in your abdominal cavity instead.

You're going to die.

"I don't know how long I laid there," you admit. "I knew that the clock was ticking, had been since the moment I hit the ground. It was only a matter of time before I blacked out or bled out... I guess I was just waiting to see which one came first."

The scattered rounds hitting the ground around you become muffled background noise as the lull of unconsciousness begins to sweep over you, dulling the world as you know it. Through the haze of your fading senses, your eyes fall on Cain's motionless figure a few feet beside you.

He's lying face up, his desert tan uniform seeped a muddy crimson. You'd known he was dead a while ago. Still, you carried him. He'd have done the same for you. He was your brother, dead or alive.

Blood bubbles from your nose as you struggle to keep yourself breathing. The fact that you have to remind yourself to do that isn't a promising sign. Your body is shutting down, doing anything it can to keep your heart pumping, even if it means shutting down everything else.

Somewhere through the dullness, you hear Cain's voice. MOVE, (L/N).

You close your eyes, trying to picture his face from what had been just a few minutes ago. You remember the urgency in his blue eyes, the intensity of his fear overridden by adrenaline. How had that been only moments ago?

MOVE, (L/N).

"I—I heard his voice," you state, your tone not open for discussion. "Not the gun fire, not God, not anyone else's. I heard his voice."

So many people had tried to convince you otherwise, tried to tell you that it was because of the shock and your brain was shutting down, that you were hearing things. But you know what you heard.

"He saved my life, Jake."

You can see the gears turning in his head, the question carefully forming on his lips. "Were you two— I mean was he—"

It's the first time you have to suck back tears, your chest rattling with a longing emptiness as you fight the urge to cry. Memories of his wild blue eyes and wide smile that could only ever mean he was misbehaving flash through your mind.

You met Sergeant Anthony Cain not long after you commissioned as a Lieutenant. You were still a green officer when you were charged with your first platoon and given orders to deploy out East. You were scared as hell and Cain was your saving grace. He came in as if he'd always known you needed him and the rest was history.

There was never any question about intentions or commitment to each other. Cain was as honest as they came and you left it at that. You never imagined that's where your story would begin and end.

"I don't know, Jake. We didn't get that far."

Forcing your eyes open, you access the area around you. The sound of enemy fire has slowed but that doesn't mean movement won't trigger a return of bullets your way. Still, you know they'll be looking for survivors once the dust settles, and you don't want to be around when they do.

The humvee is only a little over ten yards away. You might would say it was crawling distance if it weren't for the fact that you were actively bleeding out. Even so, you don't really have any other option.

You take as deep of a breath as you can, your chest rasping as you do so, before lifting your right leg and using the weight of it to swing yourself over onto your stomach. Immediately, searing hot pain radiates through your chest and legs. You cry out, curling in on yourself, writhing on the ground like a wounded animal.

Sputtering, trying to breathe through the pain long enough so that you can move, you feel hot tears track down your face. They're tears of insurmountable pain and hopeless desperation.

"All I kept thinking was 'how does anyone survive this?' It was unimaginable, the pain. Looking back now, I don't know how I did it. I don't think I could do it again if I had to," you admit.

Softly, as not to scare you, you feel the gentle weight of Jake's palm on your knee. "You won't have to," he promises. "But you did it. You survived."

You stare down at his hand on your knee.

With a trembling, blood stained hand, you reach out in front of you and dig your fingers into the ground. Heaving, you draw yourself forward, your legs dragging limply through the dust. It takes an unimaginable amount of strength to pull yourself even six inches.

Sniffling back tears and out of breath, you curl your fingers into the ground and drag yourself forward again. This time, you probably only move half as far. You have to fight the urge to just lay your cheek against the ground and cry.

You do this again and again, keeping one hand pressed into the gushing wound at your side while the other drags you forward. Your lower half has become increasingly heavier with each passing minute, your legs nothing but dead weight to pull along. You don't think you could move them if you tried.

It takes you forty minutes to drag yourself to the humvee. By the time you get yourself fully under the abandoned vehicle, your fingers are torn and bleeding, the tips ripped open and embedded with bits of gravel.

Your muscles collapse the very second you give them the chance. Your forehead drops down to rest against the ground, and you finally have a moment to shudder out a sob. Your throat is dry and cracked, and dust coats the inside of your mouth. You're dimly aware that your breaths are dangerously shallow. You just know that you're miserably nauseous and each passing moment is more unbearable than the next.

You turn your own palm over, staring at the scars of your ruined finger tips, scars that tell a story of how you survived. They're ugly, and you wish you didn't have to look at the all of the time. At least your torso is mostly hidden. You've moved to a beach town and will never be able to put on a swimsuit.

Jake’s eyes follow yours and after a moment he flips his palm over, his fingers spread and inviting. His hands are large and calloused from years of flying. There are fingernail divots in his palm.

Almost shyly, his green eyes meet yours. You see a bit of that sadness you saw earlier. “I know it’s not my job to be your shrink or whatever,” he adds with a laugh and you can’t help but laugh with him. “But you’re not alone. We’re all a bit fucked up if you haven’t noticed.” He shrugs. “It comes with the job.”

You can’t help yourself. You trace a finger over the scarred palm of his hand. “My dad would disagree.”

Jake is fighting the urge to close his palm around yours, not wanting to overstep, and so he’s pleased when you intertwine your fingers with his.

“Family dinner must be interesting.”

Jake came from a military family himself and so he knows how deep the ties run. His old man was a sailor and so he knew better than to come home sporting anything other than his dress whites.

You laugh out loud because he’s not wrong at all. Jake squeezes your fingers in response. His hand feels good in yours. Safe and heavy in the way a padlock feels. Like he’s not going anywhere.

“It’s not all ‘Go Army, Beat Navy’ believe it or not. Don’t get me wrong, I was raised a Navy brat and I have a hell of a lot of respect for my old man, but at the end of the day, I had to choose myself. I couldn’t do that with him watching over my shoulder. The Army’s been both the greatest and the worst thing that could have happened to me,” you confess.

Jake hums, dare you say almost disbelievingly.

“What?”

“A few weeks here and you’ll change your mind. No one does it like the Navy does.”

It’s your turn to make a noise of disbelief.

“I guess you’ll just have to impress me, Flyboy.”

Jake squeezes your hand again. “Oh I plan to.”

[pen-and-umbra]

After some thought, it's probably best that SE gave Sephiroth a source of regret that influenced his future life. It is consistent with the events unfolding in Crisis Core and provides more insight into his state of mind following Genesis' desertion.

In Ever Crisis: First Soldier, Sephiroth was faced with a choice: either follow the request to kill someone or allow the people he had grown to care about to die. The decision resulted in a squabble with Glenn and a degree of estrangement. Later, EC Wutai segment shows that the event had left a lasting impact. Not only does Sephiroth appear to be more reluctant to resort to violence first thanks to Glenn, but he is implied to lament the fact that he couldn't save everyone (Rosen).

This contrast is evident in the inner conflict of being praised as a 'hero' (a manufactured image) versus the reality of being one. Sephiroth resolves to embody a true hero, striving to uphold strength and 'save everyone,' avoiding the difficult decisions of choosing who lives or dies as well as the burden of killing or witnessing death under his command. Sephiroth failed to convince Rosen and failed to find another way that brought about no casualties. Even ten years later, he pushes himself to clear a path for cornered grunts, fueled by his insecurity over past failures.

This insecurity also connects nicely to the events of Crisis Core. Sephiroth pushed those missions on Zack because he had a history of failing to persuade someone (Rosen) to change their minds, and the prospect of reliving the same situation while confronted with someone he cared about was unthinkable. It demonstrates that Rosen's case affected Sephiroth, leaving a lasting impression on his actions and decisions.

Even further, the desire to save and prevent casualties is evident in FFVII Rebirth, when the ShinRA squad, led by Zack and Sephiroth, is flung into the mountain stream after the rope bridge collapses. Sephiroth successfully grabs younger Tifa, but is unable to reach another grunt in time. The camera stays on the scene for a while, focusing on his slightly haunted expression.

Following the cut, Sephiroth spends hours looking for his washed-away squadmate. Allow it to sink. After two hours, the rest of the company was still recovering from a dip in a harsh stream, but he was up and about, scouting the cross-country area and going out of his way to find the missing rank-and-file. It's a testament to more than just physical endurance. It strikes a stark contrast to how the episode concluded in the original game, where Sephiroth chose not to search for the missing person, leaving them potentially stranded or deceased. In the remake, it was clear he disliked losing people.

And yet, despite the efforts, it just kept happening. He couldn't save Angeal, he couldn't sway Genesis. By the time he arrives at the Nibelheim reactor, his confidence in his ability to save the day must have plummeted.

It oddly echoes what Cloud goes through at the beginning of Advent Children. And, chillingly, an illusory Sephiroth in Sector 8 in the first part of the remake delivers a biting remark to Cloud:

“You are too weak to save anyone. Not even yourself”.

Which sounds almost projection-like in the context of a broader compilation.

@pen-and-umbra

[miniwheat77]

Taste. (Ghost x Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, Sex pollen, rough sex, unprotected p in v sex, Ghost manhandling you, (sorry if I missed any)

This was a request!

You’re listening to what your Captain is saying but your nerves are shot, you don’t get along too well with Ghost.

Not for any particular reason, aside from him being a stern man. He intimidates you and the idea of going on a smaller mission, completely alone with him. It’s scary. You’ve never been alone with him before, especially not working together. You’ve heard stories of him getting angry and yelling. You’ve seen him in battle before, how violent he is. It’s nerve racking.

But unfortunately, these are your orders. These are what instructions your Captain has given you, you have no other choice.

Loading everything up into the Humvee was stressful, making sure everything was there, that you hadn’t missed anything. The massive man checking over you to make sure you’d gotten everything. You weren’t excited for the ride to the compound. It was a small underground building not to far off from your base, which is why it needed to be looked over. Laswell said it didn’t seem like there was any movement. The ground around the building seemed undisturbed, like it had been empty for some time. The ride was quiet, the only sound you heard was the rattling of items inside the vehicle and the Humvee itself. Ghost insisted on driving, which you didn’t mind. You stopped a ways away from the building to scope it out. Setting up snipers and watching the building for some time.

It’s quiet. No movement, no vehicles. Nothing. Ghost explains that he wants to watch it for a while. See if anyone comes and goes.

To his surprise, no one ever does.

“Let’s move in. Looks clear.” He demands. You nod your head, he drives the Humvee all the way up to the front of the entrance, only a small dome pokes out of the ground. You get out of the Humvee, walking beside Ghost into the building. He pushes the door open, the both of you stepping into the large doorway. Unfortunately, neither of you noticed the pressure plates under your feet. As soon as your feet touch them, small holes open up on the door frame, exposing a hole. Darts come shooting out of the holes, hitting ghost in the shoulder, missing you by a few centimeters. He’s worried they’re tranquilizer darts, ripping it out of his shoulder in a panic. “Fuck-“ he gasps, stepping forward into the building. He needed to clear it out quickly. He rushes through the building, you following along with him. Once the building is clear, he feels better.

“What do you think that was?” You ask him. He shrugs, pushing passed you. The building is some kind of lab. A large vat of iridescent orange liquid sat in the center of the circular room. Ghost walks toward the door, leaning back. He steps on the pressure plate, another dart shooting out and sticking into the wall on the other side. He pulls it out, seeing the same orange liquid inside of it. “I don’t know what it is.”

“They’ve got to have some kind of information. Specimen information.” You set your gun down, looking through the paperwork on the table. When you don’t find anything there, you click into a computer. Luckily there’s no barrier and you’re in right away.

What you read, it’s pure filth. Going in depth about the mysterious liquid and what it’s meaning was for.

Breeding purposes for an army.

A sigh leaves your lips. “What?” He asks. “You might want to see this LT.” You breathe. Ghost makes his way over to you, eyes scanning across the screen. He scoffs. “Suppose that’s one way to get more members for a squad.” He sighs. He leans over you, muscles flexing as he rests his hands on the table. “Found the effects of the liquid.” He sighs.

- if a subject comes in contact with Specimen 0, arousal sets in after around 15 minutes. Body weight and volume of fluids injected may vary in timing. Symptoms may include

-Increased sex drive

-Increased desire for sex

-Unbearable arousal without sexual stimulation

-Heightened sexual senses

Subjects are at extreme risk of a heart attack without sexual stimulation.

Out of 147 subjects, 107 suffered heart attacks. 67 of which died. The remaining subjects that did not suffer heart attacks were stimulated sexually and used for reproductive reasoning. Specimen seems to affect women more than men.

You’re reading the page out loud. Heart starting to race from nervousness as you read the screen.

“That means.. 100% of the people that didn’t have some kind of relief had a heart attack, only a few survived.” You sigh. Ghost chews at his lip nervously behind his mask. This means one thing and one thing only. “Maybe it’s too old. Maybe the effects of it have been diluted.” He shrugs. “Maybe. So.. we wait. I’ll search for an antidote.” You look through the computer and the stack of papers for more.

As you both settle in, sitting down. You’re waiting patiently. You can’t seem to find any kind of antidote.

Ghost leans forward, it’s been about forty-five minutes. He’s shed a lot of his equipment, just wearing a shirt and pants with a belt holding his gun. He rests his elbows onto his knees, groaning out. You turn to look at him. “You okay?”

You turn toward him. “M’fine. Just hot.” You nod your head.

His eyes rake over your body from behind, desperate to touch you. His eyes are blurring, heart is thumping rapidly in his chest. If he doesn’t get relief soon, he’s fucked. “Fuck- Y/N.” He breathes. “My heart feels like it’s about to beat out of my chest.” He breathes. “You may have to leave me here alone so I can.. fix this.” He breathes. His eyes are on yours, he wants to devour you. You look up at him, catching his attention. When you make eye contact, it lights a fire inside of him. “Y/N.. you need to go.” His voice is deep and demanding. “No, not until you’re okay.”

“I can’t trust myself not to- not around you. Go-“ he growls. He grasps the hem of his mask, tugging it off. “No.” You plant your feet on the ground, his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide from desire. The primal need pumping through his veins is unbearable. He’s going to pounce you any minute. For your own safety, he needed you to go. He closes his eyes tightly, cock impossibly hard in his pants. “Y/N.. if you don’t go.” He groans out, hands clutching at the chair he’s in, the muscles in his arms clenching up. “I can’t promise I won’t hold you down and fuck you until you cry.” He seethes, muscles in his neck flexing and tensing up. The little vial of orange liquid sits next to you. You’re probably crazy for it. You’re eyeing it and he doesn’t understand what’s going through your mind. You pick up the vial, hearing him grunt in what sounds like the worst pain he’s ever gone through. You stab the vial into your thigh, his eyes widening as he watches the iridescent liquid seep into your bloodstream.

“What are you- doing?”

“Figure we can suffer together.” You pull your gear off, tugging your shirt of your head, skin already starting to feel hot. It did say it affects women more than men.

Ghost stands up from the chair he’s in, closing the distance between the both of you in just a few strides of his long legs. His hands glide along your hips, shoving you back into the desk. It’s all over.

He’s biting your neck, feeling your jugular vein pulsing as he glides his tongue over it. He pushes his nose into you, inhaling your scent. Arousal pools between your legs, you need him. “If I hurt you.. just know it’s not me.” He breathes. “I trust you to hurt me, Simon.” You pant. A deep guttural growl rumbles from him. He grasps the button on your pants, unbuttoning it and shoving them down your legs. Your panties slide with them and he swears he can smell you.

Heightened sexual senses.

His hands explore your exposed body, gliding down your sides before resting onto your hips. “Can fucking smell how wet you are.”

“Simon!“ you mewl, tilting your head back. “Want you-“ you gasp. “So fucking horny..” he grits his teeth, fingers gliding along your opening. Another mewl leaves your lips and he draws his hand back from you, your wetness coats his hands. When he spreads them apart, strings of your arousal part between his fingers. He slides them into his mouth, moaning at the taste of you. He returns his hand back to you, soaked with his saliva. He’s rubbing circles over your soaked opening and your legs are weakening, ready to buckle underneath you at his touch. He circles your clit with one hand, his other reaching for his waistband.

You’re ready to drool at the sight of him, you swear he’s teasing you by how slow he’s moving to unbutton his pants. He exposes his waistline and he admires the way you’re watching him so closely, desperate to see every single part of him. His heart is pounding in his chest, he needs your pussy, soon. He pushes his pants down his legs, grasping your thighs and lifting you up. He pushes you up against a wall, hiking your legs up higher on his waist. The tip of his cock nudges against your pussy and he doesn’t have to steady himself, your pussy swallows him right up. “Oh fuck-“ he gasps, resting his forehead against yours as he starts fucking himself into you. “Fuck.. always knew you’d get me in trouble.” He growls. “Walking around base, as sexy as you are. Can barely keep my fucking eyes off of you.” He grits his teeth, hammering his hips into yours. He’s fucking you as hard as he can.

You can’t form sentences, can’t even think straight as he plows into you. You’re clawing at his arms and back. “You looked at me before this?” You whimper. “Course I fucking did.” He moves his forehead from yours, lips right up against your ear. “You avoid my eyes because I intimidate you. Don’t you?” You nod your head. “Nothing to be intimidated by. But I like your little game, like a bunny and a wolf hm?” He smirks into you, your body still jolting up with every hard thrust he takes. You moan out, nearly crying on his cock. Just like he said you’d be. “You like that Bunny? So intimidated by me but so willing to take my cock.” He chuckles. “Good fucking girl- I’ll play your games.” His chuckle is deep and taunting. He pinches your nipple with one of his hands, a cry leaving your lips. He pushes you up further against the wall, arms resting at the bend of your knees. He’s pinning them to your front. Your arousal is soaking him, surely going to leave a mess on him. The thatch of hair at the base of his cock is sticky from you, pushing up against your clit, stimulating you with every sharp thrust he takes into you. You’re getting close already. “You can cum, Bunny. Feel how tight you are.” He smirks. “Not yet, not until you do.” You pant. You’re about to give him a taste of his own medicine.

“Do you like my pussy, Ghost?” The use of his nickname sends him reeling. “Fuck yes-“ he growls. “When you were eyeing me, I didn’t think it was because you wanted my pussy.” You smirk. It fades quickly as he pushes you close to your high with his cock. He attacks your neck with his teeth again, “can’t help myself.” He growls. Returning to mark you as his own. “So. Fucking. Tight.” He growls between thrusts. You can’t hang on any longer, he’s too much. One more nudge of the tip of his cock into your spongy spot sends you spiraling. “Fuck Simon!” You soak him with your orgasm, tilting your head back and grasping at him to hold onto him, squeezing him as he fucks you through your orgasm. He’s trying to keep himself together, knees ready to buckle with how hard he’s going to cum. He pulls you away from the wall, laying you down onto the cold, hard ground. Hammering his hips into yours. He’s desperate. You’re overstimulated, tears slipping from your eyes as he abuses your hole. “Fuck- I’m gonna cum-“ he growls, holding your hips tight against the ground. His hips are moving sloppily, he’s right on the edge. He pants hard as he chases after his high. With a groan, he reaches his peak. Filling you up with his cum before his hips come to a halt. He’s breathing heavily as he feels himself pulsing against your walls, feeling you clench down onto him. You’re throbbing around him, and he can’t help himself as he rocks his hips into yours one last time.

A gasp leaves your lips and you squirm away from him, hearing him laugh through harsh pants. “Fuck..” he breathes.

He slides out of you, watching his spunk spill back out of your hole.

He helps you up, blood still pumping the mysterious iridescent liquid through him. His cock is still hard, refusing to relax any time soon. His heart doesn’t feel like it’s about to beat out of his chest. “Im sorry if I was too rough on you.” He breathes. “I couldn’t control myself, I tried to warn you.” He sighs, looking down. You spin around, bottom half still exposed. He eyes the way his filth drips down your thighs. Reaching down to palm himself through his pants. “Maybe I didn’t want you to control yourself.” You smile. “You’re fucking crazy. Injecting yourself with that.” He chuckles. Avoiding your gaze. He didn’t understand, he didn’t get like this. He didn’t feel embarrassment. “Figured I’d be able to keep up with you better.” You smile. “Did it work?” He asks.

“Yeah I’d say so. Although I’m not sure I’m entirely satisfied.” You chew on your lip nervously. Playing with the hem of your shirt. His blood starts pumping through his veins again, the smell of your arousal filling the room. He needs you. Again.

“Still have another couple hours before we’re expected back.” He breathes.

It only takes another couple seconds before his lips are on yours again, cock seeping into your abused hole for relief once more.

[onlyswan]

summary: in which a shameless ex-lover makes your bad day worse and jungkook can’t help but to go wherever you are.

> fluff, dashes of angst / wc: 4k

> warnings: mention of blood bc oc gets scratched :( + is ready to throw hands at jk’s ex and then cries lol, taehyung cameo and mentions of yeontan :P + a line of jk reminds me of the orpheus drabble <3

note: last one for a while as i take a rest from writing and process jimin’s album <3 reblogs and feedback are always appreciated! it goes a long way :]

—

“jungkook, you’ve been in there for an hour! answer your phone!”

you click your tongue in annoyance, bouncing your thighs up and down as you fiddle with the controller and collect your kills with reckless tenacity. the ringing of the third phone call he’s receiving in the past ten minutes is overpowering the volume of the game, which you turned all the way down just enough so that you can faintly yet clearly hear it. well, right now, you can’t anymore. again.

“baby, you’re home?!” jungkook yells in surprise, and you spare him a glance.

half of his naked torso is peeking out of the bathroom door, and he looks like a maltese puppy who heedlessly jumped into a swimming pool, hair still dripping wet and pure excitement painted all over his face.

“who’s calling anyway? you can answer it for me!“

“can’t. i’m playing call of duty.”

“you’re what?!” he exclaims, but his voice enters your ear then escapes from the other as you remain deeply absorbed in the game. he disappears for a minute before emerging from the bathroom, half-naked with a striped white and khaki towel wrapped around his waist down to his knees.

you’re situated on the floor with your back leaning on the couch. he stands beside you with his hands on his waist, watching the television screen in sheer curiosity, which then morphs into astonishment. “wow, you’re actually playing it… i haven’t seen you touch your controller in months. but why are you sudden- yah! what is this? how are you doing so good?!”

the phone lying on the center table lights up once more. the incessant noise is seriously getting into your nerves and you’ve had enough of it, gritting your teeth as you snap. “i’m begging you. answer it. or i might break something.”

the irritation embedded in your voice makes him jut out his bottom lip sadly. more than that, your facial expression and body language evidently scream that you’re feeling on edge. you didn’t even bother to let him know that you’ve come home, and he’s uncertain if you nearly muted the volume because you don’t want to listen to the ear-shattering sounds of ammunition being fired or you don’t want him to hear them.

he picks up the phone per your request, eyebrows knitting in confusion when he fails to recognize the number flashing on the screen.

“it’s an unregistered number. i don’t know who- oopsie-” he scrunches his nose, chuckling because he accidentally ended the call when he muted the device. it vibrates with a new message from the same person not too long after.

“it’s my ex?” he blinks with a blank expression on his face. he intently reads the content of the text, tugging at the silver ring piercing the corner of his lower lip. “uhhh- she’s… asking me to put in a good word for her… because she applied to be an in-house choreographer at- at the company.”

on the other hand, you feel like a bucket of ice water was dunked over your head at the mention of your boyfriend’s ex-lover. your vigorous focus on the game wavers, but luckily, you’re already so close to finishing, and you still maintain half a mind to end the game in your own terms. the word ‘victory’ flashes on the giant screen, and you almost break down into tears because god knows you needed a fucking win today.

jungkook gasps in amazement, whipping out the camera app to capture a photo of your achievement. “did you just fucking win solo versus squads?”

the thing is… you’re not the biggest fan of these games. sure, you play occasionally (only using his accounts because you like how he already has most items unlocked and you can freely play around… you like to pretend that you’ve never been scolded for making him rank down before), but you prefer the relaxing types with adorable and colorful graphics. and just like he said, you haven’t touched your controller in months, which must be the reason why he’s pleasantly surprised. you won’t be shocked if you get bombarded by his gamer friends to play with them tomorrow, by the looks of your boyfriend proudly typing away at his keyboard while smiling from ear-to-ear.

“don’t move on too fast.” you breathe out a deep sigh before standing on your feet. “which ex? that bitch you broke up with because she kept on picking stupid fights with your friends? and now she wants to work with them?”

the combination of your harsh intonation and the recollection of dreadful memories make him wince. that relationship didn’t end on good terms, so this is confusing to him as well. it was a person he wholeheartedly liked, but they barely lasted six months because the way she treated those who are near and dear to him, unkind and discorteous, eventually turned him off and made him nothing but angry. she tried to convince him that she could change, but it was his decision that could no longer be changed.

does it even matter? he didn’t dwell on it too long, anyway. because then, he met you.

“yes,” he shortly answers, flipping his phone so the screen is facing you.

your brain chooses to not register any of the other characters used in the text except for those at the end: the flirty ‘Thanks babe! I miss u so much. See u around soon. Let’s catch up’ and winking emoji blowing a red heart next to it. you release yet another sigh, this time shaky and frustrated, and you gently move his hand aside to get the phone out of your sight. a headache is beginning to blossom at your temples, and you truly do not have the energy to deal with this bullshit right now.

“you must know how i feel about this, right?”

“i’m not sure-”

“like if she calls you ‘babe’ infront of my face i won’t hold back and i will claw her eyes ou-“

“okay, okay, baby, i got it!” he chuckles, taking a hold of your arms to pull you closer to him. he plants a sweet kiss to your lips, hoping that would aid in putting your mind at ease. “i won’t let her call me that again, hmm? or do anything that will make either of us uncomfortable for that matter.”

“good. i trust you. do whatever you want.” you speak softly, giving his rosy cheek light pats. he always looks a dash more attractive when fresh from the shower, so entrancingly hypnotic when bare-faced that it makes you want to fall on your knees and worship the stardust making up his existence.

unfortunately, your mind is too clouded and restless and you can’t stay to admire him some more. you withdraw from his hold, the cold drops of water from his hair sliding down to your forearm and you wipe them away on his towel.

“i’m going out for a bit. i need to buy something at the convenience store.”

you don’t wait for him to answer. you head straight to the bedroom to collect your essentials.

“wait for me. i’ll go with you!”

you return wearing a long purple jacket over your blue t-shirt and white sweatpants, also carrying your phone, wallet and pepper spray.

“i’ll be fine alone. i got this.” you wave the small bottle infront of him before stuffing it in the pocket of your sweatpants.

the front door rings as it opens and shuts, and jungkook despises the weight sitting on top of his chest— heavier and heavier with your absence. he still wanted to insist on tagging along, worried because it’s already late at night, but he gave up when he sensed that you really need to be left alone.

“shit, let me take care of this first.” he tilts his head to the side, and then the other, cracking his neck before he scrolls through his contact list to make an important call.

—

the soles of your sneakers scratch the rough asphalt as you lazily drag yourself to the convenience store. you’re having one of those kind of bad days- you woke up this morning mad at the world for a reason you couldn’t decipher, and it only got worse after you left the house for work. you brushed against someone while chasing the bus and the zipper of their bag scratched your arm that it bled uncontrollably. the nearest restaurant to your workplace was closed and you had to walk an extra kilometer. you didn’t have the time to text jungkook and complain about the shitty day you’ve been having. and you had to suffer the bus ride home beside an old teacher from high school who never ran out of uninteresting stories to tell.

oh! and how can you not mention that you were subjected to remembering that your boyfriend fell in love with other people before he knew you? the mere mental image of jungkook being emotionally and physically intimate with somebody else is a strong punch in the gut that makes you want to run in a corner and hurl.

and to rub salt on the wound, his ex-girlfriend, who is more than comfortable to reach out to him with an old term of endearment, wants to work at close proximity with him after saying ‘i miss you so much’… was the ‘so much’ necessary? was saying ‘i miss you’ necessary at all? you don’t know her intentions or if she even has any, and you don’t care if they’re good or bad. you simply cannot bear the idea of having to be constantly plagued by these vexatious musings.

maybe a good cry would help, but the tears won’t come out of your stinging eyes blinded by bright and flickering neon shop signs lined up beside the street. they’re saltwater in your lungs, making it difficult for you to breathe and to make sense of why you don’t feel like yourself today. it’s hormones. it’s always the hormones, you try telling yourself.

—

you’re sitting infront of the glass wall separating the sidewalk and the convenience store, watching the humans and the cars speeding past without much thought in your head… except for the hellish torture you’re inflicting on yourself. you sniffle loudly as you chew the spicy noodles in your mouth. your tongue is tingling and almost numb, but you lift up the flimsy wooden chopsticks to eat more of it because somehow, this is exactly what you needed. perhaps, it wasn’t accidental when you ended up pouring most of the buldak sauce.

however, your own little bubble gets popped by a tattooed hand you recognize all too well. it sets down a bottle of cold water infront of your cup of noodles.

“hi there.”

jungkook kisses the top of your head before occupying the stool on your left, which is the second seat farthest from the door that chimes every time a new customer walks in. he is very much not naked anymore, wearing a plain white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. his hair is still damp, bangs forming a perfect comma on his forehead, and the thin silver chain dangling from his delicate neck sparkles when the light grazes it.

“aigoo, why are you so messy?“

the doe eyes behind his glasses smile at you warmly as he wipes your swollen lips, the paper napkin you’ve been neglecting now stained with the dark red sauce.

“you’re here?” you ask dumbly, wanting to slap yourself right after the words escape your mouth because yes, what the fuck, he’s here. he’s touching you, and he’s real.

“of course, i’m here,” his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek before he answers, sounding upset. he removes his glasses and places it on top of the long white table. “i just wore the first things i saw then speedwalked here. i was sorting out the laundry and your handkerchief had blood all over it! care to explain?”

you guiltily avoid eye-contact, reverting your attention to the food as you poke and mix the noodles that have gone dry due to the cold air. “you didn’t have to. i already cleaned the wound twice- my left arm just got scratched.” you shrug your shoulders meekly. “i had a bad day, that’s all.”

“who do i have to fight, huh? who hurt you and ruined your day?” he takes your chin between his thumb and index finger, lifting it up to make you look at him. his sincere concern is written all over his widened round eyes and creased forehead. “tell me, baby. i’ll make them pay.”

“well,” you anxiously sink your teeth on your bottom lip, a hesitant effort to control yourself because the particular word tastes too sour on your tongue. “your ex was just my last straw, you know? i don’t even want to call you ‘babe’ anymore.” your voice gradually quiets down in exasperation.

“why not?!”

you roll your eyes with a huff, pushing his hand away. “you’ll just remember her every time i say it.”

you grab the bottle of water, twisting off the cap and hissing when its ridges scratch the heel of your palm. you take big gulps of the beverage, feeling refreshed after the burning onslaught that assaulted your mouth.

“oh, come here. you- i need you closer.”

you squeak when you feel the heavy metal chair moving closer towards jungkook’s direction, one hand flying to your mouth and the other gripping his shoulder in fear of falling. he jokingly copies you when you send him a sharp glare. he puts an arm around you to affectionately hold the curve of your waist, anchoring his elbow on the table to rest his face on the palm of his hand.

“i took care of that, alright? i asked the company and they told me they put her on the waitlist. pretty sure she knows, too- that she’s not getting the job.“ he raises his perfectly shaped eyebrows in jest, playfully sticking out his tongue. “i told her i can’t help her, and not to contact me again in the future because i’m in a committed relationship. with you.” he squeezes your hip to reiterate his words. “then i blocked her number. i thought i did it before, but i guess i forgot to? ah, i don’t know!”

a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips and he happily grins when he notices, deep dimples making an appearance. unable to resist the urge, he briefly draws closer to kiss your cheek.

“besides, i forgot she even existed. why would i think of her when my favorite person is right infront of me? that’s absurd.”

he was truthfully flabbergasted at the foggy memories that resurfaced when he read her name, had one of those ‘oh, that’s right, this happened,’ and ‘why the fuck did i like this person again?’ moments.

“you’re the only one i think of when i hear the word ‘babe’. and when i hear love songs, or breakup songs, because they make me imagine us breaking up and i get so fucking sad.” his expression crumples into a look of sheepishness after spitting out the unplanned confession.

it’s terrifying at times, how an imaginary breakup with you feels more painful than his past heartbreaks combined. he almost lost you once, and he won’t let that happen again. he removes his hand on your waist to tenderly caress your hair when you bury your face in your hands.

shaking your head, you giggle at the genuine distress lacing his voice when he said the last sentence. “what are you saying?”

and then it finally happens.

restrained sobs replace the carefree giggles racking your body. your hot tears soak the palm of your hands until they drip down to your wrists. your frail voice comes out trembling, shattered, and disgustingly vulnerable for a space scattered with prying eyes and ears.

“…i just- fuck, i don’t want to say this but- i don’t think you understand- that i’m selfish. and i want you all for myself. i can’t stand that everybody wants to have you. i hate it, jungkook.”

your name rolls off from his tongue with a soft sigh as he pulls you in for a tight embrace. the comfort of his love and warmth further breaks you down, and you almost make yourself bleed to keep your cries quiet. his silken lips brush against your temple before he puckers them for a kiss that lasts four, five, six… seconds. you begin wondering if he might just stay like this forever, not that you mind, until he detaches himself to speak and you hear the smooching sound that signals the end of it.

“shhh, trust me, baby. i do.” he rubs your shoulder to soothe your tensed up body. “but i don’t care about that. they can die trying because i only want to be yours.”

you swallow the lump in your throat as his reassuring words tug at your heartstrings. you wiggle out of his secure arms, wiping your tears with the paws of your jacket as you force a smile. “it’s embarrassing. i don’t want to cry here.”

“how about in there, then?” he teasingly undoes the third button of his shirt, exposing more of his honey skin to the cool air. it reveals the rest of his silver chain, and his defined pecs are also peeking out. you whine in protest of his scandalousness, pounding his chest lightly with your closed fist.

he chuckles, corners of her crinkling with mischief as he buttons himself up again. “i’m kidding, i’m kidding-” he cradles your face in his hands, gingerly wiping away the tears still rolling down your cheeks.

between the two of you, he admits that he’s the one who cries more easily. it takes a colossal build-up of emotions for your tears to be released, and today’s influx caused your sink to overflow at long last. seeing you weep, it feels like a direct stab to the heart— especially unbearable, twisting deeper, when he’s part reason why. even so, it’s a big relief when the weight you’re carrying is being unloaded. but he understands that you don’t want to do that here… not here.

“as if you’ll let someone steal me away from you, huh? i know you, you cunning minx.”

you feign innocence, batting your eyelashes. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“that’s exactly what i’m talking about.” he smirks before planting a chaste kiss on tip of your nose. “don’t cry anymore. i love you.”

“i love you, too. but-” you sniffle, frowning at him as you motion at the cup of noodles infront of you. “why did you have to go and make me feel better? i don’t feel like finishing this anymore. it’s too spicy.”

“yeah, i can tell. look at your face. oh-” he squeezes your puffy face in one hand. “you were already crying eating that, poor baby… i’ll just finish the rest, how about that?”

“please,” you smile sweetly, delighted with his preposition. “i’ll buy ice cream. do you want anything? beer?”

“beer-” his face lights up like a christmas tree when it dawns on him that you said the word simultaneously.

you beam proudly, recounting the time you’ve been well-acquainted with every nook and cranny of jungkook’s essence of being. “did i pass the test? i’m taking my master’s degree in kookology.”

—

after jungkook finished your spicy noodles, he claimed his appetite only treated it as an appetizer and it demanded to be served ramyeon for the main course. that brings you to this moment, your boyfriend applying bandaids on your arm while he waits for his food to be cooked. concurrently, you devour your cone of vanilla ice cream.

“babe, i think two is enough.“ you attempt to stop him from opening another one of the teddy bear patterned bandaids. he found them displayed by the counter when he paid for the ramyeon, and only then did he realize that he forgot why he ran to you in the first place.

“they’re not- it goes all the way down your elbow.”

and you can’t argue with him because he looks undoubtedly pissed off, his expression instantly darkening when he saw the damage that damn zipper did to your skin. if this happened to him, he would be in a terrible mood for the rest of the day, too.

he plants a healing kiss on top of each one and your heart flutters at the loving gestures, but you feel a little ridiculous walking around with three bandaids running across your arm. you decide to wear your jacket again in order to hide them, since you’re freezing beside the airconditioner anyway.

jungkook starts eating his second round of noodles, but not before boasting that he perfectly separated the wooden chopsticks unlike you. you roll your eyes at his cocky grin and tiny dance of celebration, taking another bite of the cone you’ve consumed halfway.

the two of you comically freeze at the same time when a familiar ringtone tickles your ears.

“who would be calling at this hour? it’s 1am!” jungkook puts down his chopsticks to fish out his phone from the depths of his pocket, his thick satoori accent slipping out as he chides the person on the other line. he shakes his head with a laugh when he sees the name written on the screen. “ey, of course, it’s him again. i knew it.”

you watch him with an amused smile, his reaction giving you an inkling of who it is.

he answers the video call and props up the phone on his tall can of beer, grabbing his chopsticks to resume eating. “hyung, did you just wake up again?”

judging by the background, taehyung is in his gaming room. the given keywords being messy hair and eyes as puffy as yours, you’re pretty sure the answer to your boyfriend’s question is yes.

his deep and rough voice rumbles through the speaker. “jungkook-ah, i just caught up to our gc. where’s ___?”

“with me. why?” jungkook answers, words muffled as he chews and bounces his legs with the pleasure of having his food craving beyond satisfied.

taehyung ignores his question for the second time, instead calling out your name to catch your attention.

“whyyy?” you mimic his sulky tone, slightly shifting the phone to the side to show him your face.

you snicker when he flashes you his famous boxy smile, almost choking on your ice cream when his following remarks cause jungkook to throw a fit.

“play with me. no one else is awake and i’m getting bored of jungkook. he doesn’t want to play new games.”

“yah! you know i can still hear you, right?!” he takes a break from chugging his beer to throw his retort.

“i know, i wanted you to.” taehyung blows a raspberry at his best friend.

you grimace, stealing the opportunity to butt in before their banter lengthens. “listen, i’ll play with you if you let me play with tannie again.”

he opens his mouth to answer, but he quickly closes it again to stare at you nonchalantly. you impatiently quirk an eyebrow at his silence. “soooo?”

“wait there. i’ll think about it.”

and then he ends the call.

jungkook throws his head back, bursting into vibrant laughter after witnessing the interaction, and your head drops on the table with a pitiful whimper.

with bam staying at the training center for the meantime, you awfully miss the rush of happy chemicals flooding your brain in the company of man’s best friend. it was two weeks ago when you and jungkook hung out at taehyung’s house. you spent some time with yeontan at the park after you complained about getting bored watching them play ‘i’m on observation duty’. and he wasn’t… very happy when his dog started flat-out ignoring him in favor of your presence ever since you came back from the walk. tannie was adamant on sitting on your lap during dinnertime, even almost following you past the front door when it was time for you to leave.

“aww, my baby.” jungkook strokes your back with faux sympathy. “he hasn’t moved on from it yet. give him some time… maybe, like, five more minutes?”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask / dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

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[local-new-kid-super]

Little things the Raccoon and Friends Squad do for a New Kid!Reader during and after a battle.

Raccoon:

☆ Shares food with you mid-battle, even his beloved honey-soaked sopapilla. He's pretty selfish on the field (as with everything else), so he doesn't share with anyone else. Expect the rest of the team to get pissy he's not sharing with them.

"Fatass, Captain Diabetes is literally collapsing, give him some fucking food!"

☆ Checks on you first after the battle, trying not to seem like he cares too much, but he's even willing to 'shed' his claws off for a moment because it's next to inpossible to bandage you up with them.

"The fuck?" He snaps, struggling to open up a band-aid pack with his sharp digits. "Fuckin' shitty Terrance and Phillip band-aids, these Canadians don't know anything about battle, New Kid."

Captain Diabetes:

☆ Stays right by your side, often in front of you. Most of his attacks are head-on, and he can take quite a few kid. Sweet Scott is more than willing to take a few hits for one of the few members of the franchise who are kind to him.

"Not to fear, new kid! No hits to tough for the power of diabetes!"

☆ Always asks for you to 'sidekick' for him. He loved being by your side when Cartman first had you partner up with him after joining the franchise. His desire to have a sidekick is a mix of it making him feel like a real, respected member of the franchise, and a slight fear if you hang out with the others, you'll realize he's kinda lame in comparison to guys like Raccoon, or heaven forbid you switch teams and meet Mysterion.

"New Kid, hey! Listen, if Raccoon assigns us partners today, will you be mine? I've even got some super snacks for us to share!"

Human Kite:

☆ Kite's always willing to provide aerial support, or pick you up to help you avoid an enemies attack. This of course pisses of Raccoon, who just gets laughed at when he takes a hit.

"Ey! Kite, you fucking traitor jew, save me! I'm the fucking leader!"

"Shut up, I couldn't lift your fatass if I wanted to! Hop on my back, New Kid."

"Ey!"

☆ He's got a bunch of little home remedies his mom gives him when he goes out to 'play', and even some packed food. After a battle, he's more than happy to plop down on the curb with you and laugh at Cartman crying post-battle.

"My mom made her special stew if you want some, it's cold as balls out here..."

Mosquito:

☆ To be honest, Mosquito can't do a whole lot to help himself, much less you, but he's gonna try and show off, just for you. Whether it means flying in and draining some enemy blood, or even taking a hit to the head because he's too busy flexing his barely visible arm muscles.

"Check it out, New Kid! I'm getting pretty ripped, bzz bzz!" He immediately gets clocked by an enemy, but please don't make fun of him crying 😥

☆ After battle, he's in charge of hydration, so he'll go around and hand out water bottles, and 'blood' for himself, which you've come to realize is kool-aid powder in sprite. He'll give you your water bottle, and hope you won't poke fun at his streaky tear marks and wobbling lip.

"H-heres a bottle, drink up for... for strength, bzz bzzzzzz." He's outright sobbing now.

Fastpass:

☆ Fastpass makes sure to crack extra jokes when you're hanging around, throwing away his respect for comedic timing to slip in a one-liner after every. Single. Hit.

"C-consider t-t-this ass-kicking e-expedited!"

"Did someone o-order t-this fist with s-s-same day delivery?"

☆ Fastpass is pretty much ready to take off after a successful fight, especially if it's the end of his patrol. Hop on his back, and he'll take you somewhere cooler than this storage facility you just whipped Prof. Chaos's ass in.

"L-lets go! I've g-got a coupon for City Wok, and I've got some post fight mu-mu-munchies!"

Super Craig:

☆ He's not really enthusiastic during battle, so if you get injured or knocked out, then he'll step in and fuck up the opposition. Otherwise, he's more than willing to ditch mid-battle and go doing something more interesting.

"This fucking sucks, new kid. Let's go get a slushy."

☆ He knows fighting can be pretty stressful from when he used to battle alongside Tweek, before the whole Freedom Pals incident, so he's happy to take you back to his house to distress with him and Stripe.

"Don't worry, Stripe. Me and the New Kid really showed those assholes not to mess with Raccoon and Friends. Now, give him a carrot new kid, he makes this real funny squeak..."

[hastalavistabyebye]

I've been thinking about it for quite some time (and it's a good thing my blog is so smol because a lotta people ain't going to like this) but we need to be honest for two seconds. Fox wouldn't be hated for killing Fives.

It's not the simple usual take on how Fox didn't fired right away and tried to calm Fives down first, how he was just doing his job. This is true but it goes deeper even.

The clones were taught how to deal with traitors.

We saw it with Rex when he met Cut Lawquane. He was faced with a deserter and his first reaction wasn't one of peaceful understanding at all, quite the contrary. Of course he let him go and live with his family in the end. (Interesting to note that there were no officer present too) But what's interesting is not the conclusion he made, but his instinctual, learned behavior : deserters = traitors = bad.

And during the Umbara arc, we saw that the clones also learned how to form a firing squad. They knew how to do that. Yes, in the end, again, they ended up letting their siblings live but there also was the aspect that they already doubt Krell's orders AND that this situation was clearly, stupidly unfair and wrong. And they didn't like nor trust the general himself already. So it was an easy order to go against. But then again what is interesting is that they knew how to do that.

The idea of the Vode not knowing or even being able to conceive shooting a brother, even less killing one, is very sweet but sadly not true. They are soldiers first, born and trained. They would not look kindly to traitors and deserters. They would also know how to court martial the formers, even (or maybe especially) if it's other clones.

All of this to say that Fox killing Fives after he tried to kill the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic ? The highest ranking person in the entire Republic ? And he was also armed, dangerous and out of control AND didn't listen to attempts at calming him. In all of those conditions, very little people would bat an eye to Fox taking those actions.

The only people that would hate Fox are the people close to Fives -Rex and Torrent, Cody and some of the 212th too maybe, by proxy, and Anakin. The Jedi would frown at this, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka maybe more than the rest and would be more affected, because they were close to Fives too.

But the rest of the GAR ? Well of course some won't see it with a kind eye because there's always people to tell you they would have done better, but globally they wouldn't mind so much. Because what Fox did was something they had been, in fact, trained for.

And even if there was a GAR/Guard divide, it wouldn't be this event that make everything goes from bad to worse. It might be one more critic on Fox, it might not be taken kindly. But in the end it would be more because it's Fox and they don't-like-Fox, more than the killing a brother part.

Okay this is longer than I thought it would be 😅 but my point still is : the Vode are soldiers first and foremost. They don't act under the same values and morals as us at all. They were trained to kill enemies of the Republic. If those enemies were among the Republic didn't change a thing. If those enemies were fellow clones didn't change a thing, they were trained to kill them too. So Fox only doing his job in that instant also means that a lot of other Clone Commanders would have done the very same as him. Maybe not all of them, sure (it can depend from their generals) (which Fox don't have from what we know). But maybe some of them wouldn't even have tried to resonate with Fives at all.

The point is : the GAR wouldn't have hate Fox for this. If they hated him, killing Fives wasn't the reason, nor even the starting point most likely.