#but he is the one who is most likely to stay on task

[moonstruckme]

HI MAE so i didnt send the shy remus x reader ask but i saw that u wanted ideas and i had one. what about reader who's very cocky and like confident and stuff and remus is intimidated by her usually but then theyre at a party or smth and shes all drunk and shes all over him telling him stuff like how shes got the biggest crush on him or like how hes genuinely one of the most attractive people shes ever met and shy remus is js like 😳 while also taking care of her bc shes so drunk and simultaneously trying not to combust

Hi my love, thank you so much for your request!

cw: alcohol

shy!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Really, it should be Sirius’ responsibility to look after you. It is his party, after all. But Sirius has a love for delegating unwanted tasks and also a love for meddling (which Remus theorizes he got at least partly from James). So, naturally, you’re in Remus’ lap. 

“You guys are so nice,” you croon, words strung together like cursive and fingers toying with a loose thread of Remus’ sweater. He’s resigned himself to letting you unravel the whole thing without complaint. “All of you, all your friends are the nicest…the warmest people I ever knew. How’d you do that?” 

Remus smiles down at you. “I think James has always been good at bringing out the best in people.” 

He’s not entirely sure how you came to be lying on your back on the couch, your head on Remus’ thigh and your hands reaching for the dangling thread above you like a cat enjoying some lazy play. If he asked you, Remus doesn’t think you’d know, either. It makes a lovely view for him, your eyes uptilted in his direction and features relaxed and unguarded as a result of the series of tequila shots Sirius had cajoled you into not realizing you’d already had a few drinks. Remus very much enjoys having you this close and being able to look at you so casually, even if your brassy, larger-than-life demeanor often terrifies as much as impresses him. Even if your head on his thigh makes his face feel like a fire hazard. 

“Don’t think he had to work very hard with you. You’re such a sweetheart already.” You say it so simply, an obvious truth, and Remus finds himself staying perfectly still like a rabbit in the woods that thinks it might yet escape your notice. His heartbeat pitters in everywhere from his cheeks to his fingertips. He worries he’s going to have to make a response, but your eyes widen suddenly. “Oh! Sit still.” 

No problems there. Remus moves only his eyes as you sit up from his lap, tucking your feet underneath you and reaching for him with your lip trapped between your teeth in concentration. You touch a fingertip to his cheek and smile victoriously. 

“Got it.” You turn your finger, showing him. “You had an eyelash.” You blow it off your fingertip and onto Sirius’ rug. Remus marvels at the unthinking loveliness of you. “Have I talked to you about your eyes before?” you ask conversationally. 

Remus blinks, ceasing his tracking of the eyelash to look at you. “I don’t think so,” he ventures, though he knows you haven’t. He remembers most exchanges you’ve had, and he definitely would have remembered that. 

“Oh.” Your brows purse softly. “Must’ve been with someone else,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “Anyway, it’s important to me that you know, they’re really beautiful.” 

Remus startles, partly at the compliment but mostly at the touch you lay on his cheek, your fingers cool and gentle, like you’re steadying his face for your perusal. You look into his eyes attentively. 

“They’re brown,” Remus says in a soft voice. 

Your lips tilt like he’s said something funny. “Nobody’s eyes are just brown, Remus. There are so many different kinds.” Your index finger draws a short line across his cheekbone. Remus can’t tell you mean for it to or not. “Yours are sort of like a…like a gradient. They get lighter farther down.” 

Remus decides to study your eyes as you study his, and he sees what you mean. The shadow of your lashes makes your irises look darker at the tops. It’s difficult to tell, though, with your pupils eclipsing so much of them. 

“They’re, like, a warmish brown,” you’re saying, gaze unwavering. “Like the color you want your tea to be. You know, there’s some fact or study or something that says brown eyes make people feel safe. Did you know that?” 

“I didn’t,” Remus says. The weight of your attention is taking its toll on him, his body aching to sink into the couch cushions. He wants to ask if brown eyes have that effect on you, but he doesn’t have the nerve. “Is that so?” he asks instead.

You shrug. “I dunno. Works on me.” 

The breath stalls in Remus’ lungs. You’re looking at him like you haven’t said anything out of the ordinary, expression wide open and somewhat unfocused. 

You yawn, removing your hand from his face to half cover your mouth. It’s an awfully endearing show, and over too fast. “I guess that’s probably why—” You cut yourself off with a hiccup. Your eyes flare like you weren’t expecting it, hand jumping back up in front of your mouth. Remus grins before he can stop himself. 

“Oh.” Your smile is an afterthought, a response to his. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” Remus isn’t even certain what you’re apologizing for. 

Your eyes have that sweet, attentive look again. “I really like when you smile.” 

Remus feels heat spread up to the tips of his ears. It’s official. He’s got more in common with a live flame than a human anymore. “What were you saying?” he prompts. 

You bite your lip as though you’ve forgotten. “Oh!” Your eyes light. “Just, I guess that’s probably why I have such a giant crush on you.” 

Remus’ heart thuds. He breathes, “What?” 

“Yeah.” You roll your eyes, grinning at yourself. “It’s relentless.” Hiccup. “Super embarrassing. But—but you’ve got those eyes, and your freckles, and that sweetheart face…” You shrug again, helpless. Ride out another hiccup. “What am I supposed to do?” 

Remus stares at you. It seems impossible. You have a crush on him? It’s out of the natural order. The world’s gone to chaos. It’s supposed to be the other way around! Remus pines silently after you, you eventually find some big, cocksure bloke who can match you, and Remus continues to pine whilst you go on with your brilliant, dazzling life. That’s the way it’s meant to be. 

“I would…” Remus finds his mouth forming around words he doesn’t recognize until they come out. “I’d know a thing or two about a crush like that.” 

Your lips part, but you don’t look offended. “Well, yeah. I’d hope you knew I fancied you, I’ve only been seeking you out ever since we met.” 

Not what he meant. Remus did not, in fact, know that. 

“I didn’t notice you were,” he admits. 

Your head tilts. “Really?” There’s an obvious follow up question—then what did you mean just now?—but for one reason or another, you don’t ask it. You only lean onto his shoulder, your head slipping a few inches down his arm.

Remus channels all his bravery into an arm around your waist to keep you from slumping further. He vows to himself to tell you tomorrow.

[goblin-jr]

And then i go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like i love you. 

Part 7 of 12

Synopsis: Kissing butt and moving forward

Pairing: unrequited JJ x Reader, Eventual Rafe x Reader

Warnings: sleazy old men being creepy, mild mentions of SA

Before you start this chapter, please listen to this song, this is pivotal to understanding y/n’s thoughts during the last scene. https://open.spotify.com/track/4zXuYQNDmw3dlauyc8q3Kd?si=646c78b4897948b6 

masterlist

—------

The country club was alive with the usual hum of polished interactions: the soft clinking of glasses, the shuffle of wait staff in black and white uniforms, and the low murmur of conversation filling the grand, gilded ballroom. Y/N moved through the space, her tray steady in her hands as she refilled water glasses and delivered drinks with practiced ease. Her eyes darted from task to task, trying to stay focused, but something gnawed at her.

She could feel the weight of JJ’s breath on her lips, the sting of his casual response when she’d told him how she felt. The memory of his pity-kiss made her stomach turn even now. It was hard to escape the feeling that something had irrevocably shifted between them. She didn’t want to think about it—not today. Today, she wanted answers, or at least a sign that things hadn’t fallen apart entirely.

She caught sight of him across the room, missing the usual smirk as he wiped down a table, leaning over to clear away dirty glasses. She walked toward him with a steadiness she didn’t feel. A few steps from his table, she hesitated, unsure what to say, but the chance to confront him felt too important to waste. Her heart was already racing before she even spoke his name.

"JJ."

He looked up, his blue eyes meeting hers for the briefest moment, but something in his expression shifted immediately. There was no warmth, no recognition of the awkwardness between them. He glanced over her shoulder, then back at her. “Not now, Y/N. I’m busy.”

The dismissal was swift, practiced. He didn’t even try to hide the way his gaze flitted away, settling on the next table with a customer’s request. As if she wasn’t there at all.

Y/N stood still for a moment, her breath caught in her throat. His back was already turned before she could say anything more. She swallowed hard, forcing her feet to move, the space between them suddenly feeling vast.

Before she could retreat further into herself, her manager appeared in her line of sight, his face set in the familiar, detached mask he wore when he had work for her.

“Y/N,” he called sharply, already holding out a clipboard. “You’re on for the private event tonight. Bikini server.”

The words hit her like a punch in the gut. She didn’t need to hear anything else. She knew exactly what that meant. A private party—one of those parties. The kind that everyone whispered about in the break room, and which most staff avoided at all costs. But there was no avoiding it when it was assigned.

Her stomach sank, and her mouth went dry as she reached for the clipboard without a word.

“Get dressed and head to the back. The event’s starting soon.”

She nodded mechanically, but inside, her pulse was already hammering. She had never done this before, however she heard about it from the other servers. the uncomfortable leers, the condescending smiles, the silent assessment of her in a bikini by a room full of men who didn’t care who she was as long as she was serving drinks. It was part of the job. She didn’t have a choice.

As the manager walked away, a memory crept into her mind. The last time she’d been assigned to a private event like this, JJ had intervened. She remembered him, laughing loudly and knocking over a tray of glasses in a clumsy but deliberate mess. His excuse to their boss had been thin, but it had worked—he’d saved her from being part of that atmosphere.

“If it ever happens again, just call me,” his words echoed in her mind. “I’ll have your back.”

She was grateful then. Grateful for the distraction, the sudden sense of safety, the way he’d made sure she didn’t have to endure the sleazy men and their eyes. But now, as she stood in the hallway, her phone gripped tightly in her hand, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was on her own this time.

Y/N’s fingers trembled as she pulled out her phone and unlocked it. She scrolled through her contacts until JJ’s name appeared. The hope that maybe—just maybe—he would come through for her again flashed in her chest. He promised she thought, swallowing hard.

She hit the call button, and the phone rang once. Then again.

With every passing second, her heart beat harder against her chest. The ringing seemed to stretch on forever, her breath quickening as the screen flashed with each new ring.

"Come on, JJ," she whispered, tapping the phone to her ear again.

The voicemail kicked in before she could brace herself. The robotic voice was the final blow.

She let out a shaky breath, her thumb hovering over the screen. Then, without thinking, she recorded a message, her voice quieter than she meant it to be.

“Hey, JJ… it’s Y/N. I, uh, I just wanted to remind you of what you said last time. You know, if something like this happens again, you’d have my back? Well, I’m going to that party tonight. And I could really use you here. But, you know, whatever. If you’re busy...”

Her voice cracked as she tried to finish, but the words stopped. She felt ridiculous, desperate. It wasn’t supposed to sound like this.

She cleared her throat and ended the message, but the silence afterward felt deafening. She hit “send” and stared at the screen, willing him to call her back.

When it went to voicemail, she just stood there for a moment, her heart sinking deeper. Her thumb hovered over the phone, but she didn’t press anything.

He's not coming.

She shoved the phone back into her pocket, the weight of it dragging her down. A last, fleeting sense of hope ebbed away, and she squared her shoulders. She wasn’t going to let it stop her. She couldn’t.

Her mind whirled, her thoughts a whirlwind of frustration and disappointment. She stuffed the phone into her pocket, straightened her shoulders, and forced her feet to move.

She passed by the staff locker rooms, the faint chatter of colleagues filtering out as they prepped for their own assignments. She moved past them with her head down, barely noticing the stares, her mind consumed by the scene ahead.

The ballroom loomed before her, its golden chandeliers gleaming in the dim light, the sound of clinking glasses and muted conversations pressing against her. She could already feel it—the weight of the men’s eyes, the way they would look at her like she was nothing more than the drinks she was about to serve.

But she kept walking, one foot in front of the other. It was just another job. She had to do this.

She could almost feel the eyes on her as she entered the ballroom. The air felt thick, heavy with expectation. She could already imagine the looks she would get, the comments they would make, the way her stomach would twist every time a man would glance at her with that knowing look.

Just get through it, she told herself. Just get through it.

–

The sound of clinking glasses and low conversation buzzed around Y/N as she awkwardly navigated through the crowd of older men in dark suits, her tray trembling slightly in her hands. She hated the smell of expensive cologne mixing with the stale air of the country club’s ballroom, and even more, she hated the way they looked at her—like she was nothing more than a decoration in a bikini, a piece of scenery for their business deals.

Y/N had been coerced into working this private event by her boss, who couldn’t care less that she was underage and shouldn't be serving drinks to these men. It was a way to make quick cash, and as usual, she had little choice. The job wasn’t worth the pit in her stomach, though. She could feel the eyes on her, too many stares lingering longer than they should. The glances from the men made her skin crawl.

Then, a hand gripped her wrist.

Y/N’s head snapped around to see a man, probably in his sixties, staring at her with a smug grin. The warmth of his hand made her skin crawl as he tugged her closer. 

"Hey, sweetheart," he slurred, his breath smelling of whiskey. "Can I get another drink over here?" His eyes lingered too long, the leer obvious.

She tried to pull away, her heart racing. "Please, let go," she said firmly, but he didn’t budge. 

The man’s grip tightened as his eyes roved over her body. "You don’t need to be shy, darling."

Without warning, he slapped her hard—his hand making a sickening smack as it landed on her bare skin. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as the shock rippled through her, and she stumbled back, barely managing to steady herself. A sting bloomed across her backside, where his hand had landed.

She couldn’t stop the hot wave of humiliation that flooded over her. Her mind screamed for escape, and she bolted, running away from the man and the crowd of leering faces. 

Y/N didn’t even know where she was going until she found herself outside, standing in the dark, hands shaking. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she wiped them away quickly. She needed to get out. 

"Hey!" A voice called out from behind her, and she turned, startled.

Rafe Cameron stood in the doorway, looking out of place in his designer clothes amidst the worn-out, sea-washed buildings of the country club’s back lot. He must’ve been checking out his yacht nearby. His eyes softened when they landed on her, and it was the first time she noticed how different he looked, how much the usually cocky and aloof guy seemed almost… concerned.

"What happened?" Rafe asked, his voice low and serious, and it took her a moment to realize he wasn’t mocking her.

Y/N’s heart pounded. "I’m fine. Just—just go back inside." She tried to sound confident, but it came out more like a plea.

Rafe stepped closer, his gaze flicking over her. "Don’t bullshit me. You’re not fine." His eyes flickered to her side, where the imprint of the slap was already beginning to show a bruise that would likely darken by morning.

Without thinking, Rafe reached out, his thumb brushing over the mark. His touch was gentle, almost tender, and the contrast between his usual arrogant demeanor and this softness caught her off guard. He leaned down slowly, pressing a kiss to the bruise—just the slightest brush of his lips against her skin.

It wasn’t anything like what the men had done. It was nothing like the way they touched her.

Y/N froze. It wasn’t just the kiss. It was the kindness, the way he seemed to care, the way he wasn’t treating her like an object. For the first time in forever, she felt like someone actually saw her.

Rafe pulled back, his eyes searching hers. There was a moment of silence where neither of them knew quite what to say. His eyes softened, but then, Y/N’s voice cracked the tension in the air.

“You kissed my butt.” Y/N blinked, her brows knitting in confusion as she looked at him.

“I—I kissed your bruise. Not your—your butt!” Rafe stammered, his face flushing an almost comical shade of red. “Look, it was an accident, okay? I just saw the bruise, and I wanted to… you know, I don’t know… make it better?”

She fought a smile as she crossed her arms, feeling a mix of disbelief and amusement. “You kissed my butt.”

“No! I—well, I didn’t—okay, I did, but it wasn’t like that,” Rafe blurted out, his hands flying up in a panic as if he could somehow reverse the ridiculousness of the situation. “It was just a reflex, alright? You looked like you were in pain, and I—ugh, God, this is coming out so wrong.”

Y/N couldn’t help it. A laugh bubbled up, escaping before she could even stop it. The sheer awkwardness of the moment was too much, and she felt the tension break in a way she hadn’t expected.

“You kissed my butt,” she said again, this time with a grin that reached her eyes.

Rafe groaned, his hands rubbing his face in frustration. “Please, don’t tell anyone about this. I swear, I’ve never been this embarrassed in my life.”

But Y/N wasn’t listening to his rambling. She was still laughing, and somehow, it made her feel lighter, like the weight of the world inside her chest wasn’t so suffocating anymore.

Rafe stood there, frozen and awkward, clearly unsure if he should laugh along or hide from the humiliation. But as the moment stretched on, his gaze softened. He stepped closer, his fingers brushing against hers.

"You’re not alone, Y/N," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, his usual bravado gone for a second. “I’ve got you.”

Y/N looked at him, really looked at him. She didn’t feel like a piece of the scenery anymore, didn’t feel like she was something to be discarded or objectified. Rafe had done something stupid, sure, but it was more than that. He hadn’t treated her like a thing; he’d treated her like a person. And despite the chaos, despite the awkward kiss on her backside, for the first time in a long while, she felt seen.

And in that quiet, vulnerable moment, she didn’t hold back. Her heart thumped in her chest as she reached up, pulling him toward her and pressing her lips to his. It was desperate and unguarded, the kind of kiss that said everything they hadn’t said yet.

Rafe’s hands found her waist instantly, his grip firm but gentle, pulling her closer. It wasn’t about the kiss anymore. It wasn’t about the confusion or the embarrassment. For once, Y/N didn’t feel like she was something to be pitied or tolerated. She felt wanted. She felt enough.

When they finally pulled apart, the world felt different, as if everything had shifted on its axis.

Rafe was still watching her, his gaze full of something she couldn’t quite place. But there was one thing she knew for sure now.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered again, his voice soft but sure.

And in that moment, she knew she wasn’t alone anymore.

---

Bonus

---

A week passed, and life seemed to go back to normal—sort of. Y/N tried to bury the memory of the country club party, but it lingered in the back of her mind, along with Rafe’s unexpected tenderness. The days since have been nothing but amazing. It wasn’t just the kiss—it was everything he’d done. It was like he saw her, really saw her, for the first time.

She was walking to the market when she passed by the country club, feeling the familiar weight of the place she had hoped to forget. Her steps faltered when she saw the manager standing outside, suitcase in hand, looking disgraced.

She blinked, then did a double take. The manager was leaving. Wasn’t he supposed to be working tonight? And wasn’t it just a few days ago that she’d overheard him muttering about having another event to handle?

Curiosity gnawed at her. She approached one of the other servers, trying to sound casual. "Hey, what happened to the manager? He looks... well, he looks like he’s not coming back."

The server looked around nervously before shrugging. “You didn’t hear? He got fired, like, out of nowhere. No one knows why. They said it’s something to do with his behavior at the last event. Real bad stuff.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She felt the adrenaline start to pump through her veins as the pieces began to click together.

---

That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and Rafe showed up at her house unannounced, she felt the need to ask. They were sitting on the porch, sharing a silence that felt strangely comfortable, the air still warm from the day’s heat.

She finally broke the quiet. “Rafe… about the manager at the country club.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into that cocky grin that always made her stomach flip. “Yeah?”

Y/N hesitated, watching him closely. “Did you have anything to do with him getting fired?”

Rafe didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look at her, just took a slow sip of his drink, exhaling with a lazy grin, fully relaxed. “What, you think I got him fired?”

Y/N studied him, her pulse quickening. She could read him well enough now—he was hiding something, but whether it was guilt or pride, she couldn’t tell. “Did you?”

Rafe's eyes locked onto hers, the usual playful spark in his gaze replaced with something deeper. He shrugged like he was too cool to care, but there was a quiet intensity in his gaze. “Maybe. Maybe not. Doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Y/N’s stomach did a flip. There was no regret in his voice—just that casual, confident air that made her feel both at ease and a little... nervous. But it wasn’t just the words; it was the way he said them. Rafe didn’t do things by half-measures, especially not when it came to her.

“I don’t want to be your charity case, Rafe,” she said, her voice steady despite the tightening in her chest. “I don’t want you doing things like that for me.”

Rafe leaned back in his chair, the air around him thick with the kind of confidence that made everything else fade into the background. His eyes never left hers. “You’re not a charity case, Y/N.” He set his drink down slowly, his voice dropping an octave, and she felt it in her bones. “I’m not doing anything for you that I wouldn’t do for anyone I care about. But if you think this is me doing you some big favor, you’ve got it all wrong, it's just how I handle things.”

He let the words hang there for a moment, like he was giving her space to process, but the message was clear. He wasn’t some guy looking for recognition, and he wasn’t going to apologize for taking care of things in his own way.

“You’re not weak,” he continued, his voice dropping lower, more serious. “You don’t need anyone to fix things for you, but that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna sit back and let people treat you like shit.”

His gaze softened, his tone just a little more intense, and Y/N felt a rush of something—relief? Gratitude? Maybe a little something else she wasn’t ready to admit.

Rafe wasn’t looking for credit. He wasn’t trying to be her knight in shining armor. He was just doing what came naturally to him: protecting the people he cared about, even if it meant taking down someone who’d crossed the line.

He didn’t say more, but the quiet confidence in his words was enough to make Y/N realize that he had her back—whether she liked it or not. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

-----

Next up: happy times

-----

Taglist:

@hockeybabe87 , @idiotussupremus , @certifiedhaters , @oatmealisweird, @sluggmuffin , @maybankslover , @ren-ni, @wh0reforbucknasty

-----

a/n :)

[firequeenofficial]

Grabbing this with both hands and running with it. (Wild Life spoilers to follow)

Scar never left Secret Life. All the other winners died at the end of their series: Grian jumped, Scott got Watchered, Pearl got exploded, Martyn ran out of time, Cleo got creepered. All died and were taken out. But not Scar.

No, Scar was left behind. Why might that be? What possible reasons might the Watchers havre of punishing Scar like this? What would cause them to keep the man Grian would choose over all others trapped like this? Are they really punishing Scar? Or is it perhaps someone else that they're mad at? Someone who's felt less and less Watcher-y as the seasons went on. Someone who's been more human each season. Someone who had far less involvement in Secret Life's mechanics than in the other seasons.

Maybe Grian tried to leave the Watchers. Maybe he tried to defy them. Maybe he was slowly, subtly, shedding the Watcher part of himself like an old skin, hoping they wouldn't notice. But they did.

They noticed, all right. But they couldn't punish Grian directly. No, that wasn't nearly cruel enough. They had to target the ones he loves, instead.

So on top of putting the Secret Keeper in Secret Life to keep an eye on Grian and the others, they also turned the whole server against Scar. They gave him tasks that make him the villain, that ruin his relationships and leave him alone and scared. And they make sure he wins and that he stays alone and scared. No way out, no way for anyone else to get in. No visitors but the occasional Watcher who comes to snack on his despair and make sure he's still there.

And they make sure Grian knows. They make sure he knows what's happening, and that it's his fault. If he'd just complied, if he'd just stuck to the plan, if he'd just embraced this intrinsic part of him, this never would have happened. Scar would be free. And then they tell him the next part: they would keep trapping the people Grian loves until he has no one left, or until he rejoins them fully.

It's no choice at all, really. Because Grian is far too human, and far too attached to his friends. He can't risk anything more happening to them. He can't lose any more of them.

After a brief negotiation, Grian concedes.

He spends a year designing the next game, determined to get it right, to prove to the Watchers that he's one of them, that he's not holding back. It's intricate, and fragile, and detailed, and awful, but he can't stop. He can't let the Watchers think he's trying to protect his friends from them, or from himself.

When they get antsy, he releases a small game, one that doesn't take any effort, one that doesn't last long. He's the first to die.

Finally, the game is ready. The Watchers are eager and curious: He's been working on it for a full year, and dropping hints for months now. The game starts, and Grian's friends can tell he's different. Mumbo hears something *other* in his giggles. Jimmy notices a gleam of purple in his eyes. Scar can't help but feel he's being especially distant and hostile towards him. None of them comment on it.

The first wildcard hits, and Etho is taken aback by how blatantly Grian mentions that he knows what it is, by how desperate Grian seems to be for Etho to figure out what it is and how it works. He's different, Etho thinks, and spots the barely visible eyes surrounding Grian. He says nothing.

People start dying, and it's all Grian can do to contain his gleeful giggles, the fear and confusion fueling him. By the time session 3 rolls around, his friends have given him so much power simply by panicking that the snails are almost no effort at all.

And this is when the deal he struck with the Watchers after Secret Life comes into action. He'd had only one condition - or at least, only one he could get them to agree to: the people he loves most couldn't win. They couldn't even come close. Pearl had been dropping steadily, but session 3 was what made all the difference. Jimmy, Scar and Mumbo started losing lives so fast that Grian worried the Watchers were taking them out right then and there (Jimmy was never a worry in terms of winning: the Watchers were furious at him for breaking free from the Canary Curse in Secret Life, and would never let it happen again). Pearl died plenty more too, ensuring her protection. When Mumbo asked for a life, he refused. That would only raise the danger.

The one people Grian was worried about were Gem and Joel. He'd known, from the moment they teamed, that it would be an issue. Alone, both were formidable opponents and more-than-competent survivors. Together, they'd be unstoppable. He had a sneaking suspicion Joel would start taking himself out soon, but Gem... she simply wouldn't die. When the snails didn't get either of them, Grian set the reds and yellows on them. Using underhanded methods Grian refused to admit he was proud of, Jimmy managed to take Joel out, but not one of them managed to get Gem.

He needed her to die. He needed her to stay away from the Watchers' grip, to stay safe. He needed her gone. He didn't care what he had to do, what he had to sacrifice. Fully under the Watchers' influence, he didn't care what happened to him; they were his games, these were his pawns. Nothing could touch him, and when they did, he saw it coming. All he could think about was getting Gem and Joel out of his series. But no matter what he or anyone else tried, Gem was still alive.

He had to be sneaky about this. He had to put her at the ultimate disadvantage.

So he gathered Mumbo and Skizz together in the open and, under the guise of trying to get them an extra life, he explained a plan to him. He didn't know if it would work, and he didn't particularly care. That wasn't his real plan, anyway. His real plan involved the others all around him. The reds and yellows that weren't his teammates, that were just as hungry for death as he was. Without saying a word to them, he got almost the entire server interested.

They all went to Gem and Joel's base. Surely, with so many, she couldn't possibly get away.

And yet, again and again, the attempts on Gem's life failed. Mumbo died. Skizz lost a valuable weapon. And still, Gem wouldn't die.

Until she did.

It was Martyn, Martyn of all people, who managed it. Technically, the kill went to Ren, but it was Martyn who masterminded it, who set it up.

And yet, it was Gem who decided she would die now. Gem died, not because the others were good enough, but because they weren't, and she felt bad for them. She was on the track to winning, Grian's deal notwithstanding, and she felt bad about it.

And Grian hated it. Because it wasn't supposed to go like this. She was supposed to be safe! She was supposed to be left alone! And yet, the Watchers were protecting her, carrying her to victory in the complete opposite way they carried Scar.

And there was nothing he could do. He couldn't risk defying the Watchers again, and he couldn't risk warning her or Joel or anyone else. The only person who had an inkling of what was happening was Martyn, who knew almost as much about the Watchers as Grian himself did. But the Watchers hated Martyn: Grian couldn't be seen being friendly with him!

Grian returned to his base with Mumbo and Skizz, hating the way the day had gone, even though every single person had died at least once by now. The only purely good thing that had happened was Jimmy and Scar giving him an excuse to take them out of the game as soon as possible, and he was itching to take that excuse. If he couldn't protect Gem and Joel, he would do what it took and sacrifice what he needed to protect Jimmy and Scar. Pearl would sort herself out, he was sure of that.

His friends would be safe. He didn't know what he'd do otherwise.

Did grian feel more watcher-like this season to anyone else? Sure he controls what the wildcards are and all that... but did you notice him being more overconfident.

Both his deaths this session was due to him being careless... like he wouldn't be killed. Like he feels invulnerable. (Who else is popularly portrayed as arrogant? The watchers!)

And the canary's curse. He told jimmy he would make sure it comes true. ( Who made the canary's curse? The watchers!)

I feel like the watchers have regained some influence on him. Something gave the watchers more influence on him this season... maybe something in the last life series. Who won the last life series? Scar...

[ceratedfish24]

I just saw someone say that Scott has a hard time saying that he loves his teammates. I- have you watched Scott? Scott “‘We don’t need [ender]pearls, we already have the best Pearl’ right to Pearl’s face” Major? Scott “saying ‘I love you’ isn’t going to be a hard task for me cause that’s normal behavior for me” Major? Scott ‘“‘the sweetheart’ as deemed by Skizz, Impulse, and Grian” Major? Scott “‘I love you, say it back’” Major?????????? Scott the most loving person on the server other than maybe Skizz?????????????

“Scott is manipulative. He makes himself look good to protect his teammates.” “Manipulative” implies that Scott is lying. Scott stays true to his word. He’s one of the most earnest people on the server. If he isn’t going to defend someone, he tells them that he’s not going to defend them. If he says he’s going to do something for you, he’s going to get it done, which is why a lot of people value him as an ally. It might blow your mind, but Scott’s openness and honesty is what makes people trust him.

“Scott makes himself look strong.” Scott is strong. He wiped the floor with Impulse. He has escaped being chased so many times. He succeeded at a legendary and remarkably underrated bucket clutch. You think Scar’s bucket clutch was good? It was, but he was expecting to fall and onto flat land. Scott was knocked off of a tower onto a hillside. Nobody talks about that. He’s really good at PvP, and people know that. Additionally, Scott has never made himself look strong. He’s a very passive person. He doesn’t like starting fights. Bdubs is terrified of Scott, and Scott has only ever tried to be friendly to Bdubs. Bdubs just knows Scott’s reputation. Martyn is scared of Scott. Martyn has fought Scott first hand and won, and yet he did not want to make an enemy of Scott after Limited Life. Skizz picks a direct fight with a LOT of people, but he never picks a direct fight with Scott. He knows way too well how that fight’s going to go. Skizz will take on Lizzie and Scar and Tango, but he’ll never target Scott if he can avoid it. Scott knows that he’s strong. His MCC rankings are pretty solid proof. You can’t fault him for having genuine confidence in his PvP skills but not actually wanting to fight if he can avoid it. If he loses, that sucks. If he wins, he’s angered a team.

You’re calling him “manipulative” because his enemies are afraid of him and his allies trust him. That is what happens when an honest person is powerful. Most people who have had any experience with Scott know that Scott is not someone to mess with. After fighting Scott in Limited Life and being on his team in Secret Life, Impulse got WAY bolder on Scott’s team, because he trusts Scott to have his back, and Scott does have Impulse’s back. He’s constantly apologizing for Impulse and was very upset when he was asked to keep a trap secret from Impulse. Scott works so hard to be honest in a game where honesty is not always rewarded, and he does not deserve to be slandered like this, especially when nobody else is being treated like this.

Scott never makes himself out to be anything other than what he is. Lying doesn’t go well for him. He is just a guy trying to keep the fighting away from his teammates, and lying isn’t the best way to prevent that when so many people in this game are so clever or so quick to assume you’re lying anyway. Social games don’t have to be about control. Social games can be about building a reputation of integrity by having integrity.

This excludes Joel because Joel is too close to Scott in real life and will attack him because it’s funny to see your friend get irritated with you.

You know who will never say “I love you” in the life series?? Grian.

You know who was “manipulative” last session? Pearl knew there was a trap, promised not to tell her teammates, knew that Scott knew about the trap, and told him “why are we whispering? why are we crouching? there’s nothing there. you’re being paranoid”. Nobody says ANYTHING about that.

You know who likes to look strong? Bdubs, Jimmy, Ren, Impulse, and Skizz. Those are the ones who make themselves out to be bigger than they are, which is a normal strategy in a competitive situation. Bdubs loves to be LOUD and aggressive. Jimmy loves to puff his chest up and make threats, but he backs off the moment someone hits him back. Ren loves to take the lead (3rd Life, Double Life, and now Wild Life). Impulse loves to get aggressive and petty, and his confidence is often his end. Skizz LOVES to be overly aggressive once he’s allowed to kill, but he’s really bad at backing people into enough of a corner to keep them in a fight. Scott is quiet, because he doesn’t like the attention. Scott likes being distanced from the other Wild Life teams, because he likes being out of the way, but he went with the others anyway.

[empressofthewind]

Rating Reactions to Seeing Shinigami for the First Time

A comprehensive (and probably biased) list :-)

~~~

Chapter 1 - Light

Falls on the floor and screams, then recomposes himself and very unconvincingly pretends he expected this. This is the first we get to see of Light's Perfectly Normal And Chill Guy persona and I have to say it's not a strong introduction to his acting skills. He gets points for entertainment value though, and also for managing to scream without attracting the attention of his family???

Rating: 8/10

~~~

Chapter 7 - Kiichiro Osoreda

This is the guy who performs the bus-jacking that forces Raye to show his ID. It's a very entertaining scene, but he's being controlled and his reaction is therefore inauthentic, which makes it difficult to give him an accurate rating.

Rating: 0/10

~~~

Chapter 26 - L

This one doesn't technically count because L is merely hearing about Shinigami rather than seeing one, but it's too good not to include. He silently falls off his chair while actively solving a murder case in which the main cause of death has been heart attacks. Naturally the entire task force panics and thinks he's dying, and he does nothing to assuage these concerns. Absolutely iconic of him. Also makes for brilliant foreshadowing.

Rating: 10/10

~~~

Chapter 46 - Misa

We don't get to see Misa's very first reaction to meeting Rem, but we DO see their reunion during the Yotsuba arc, and she is horrified. She screams just like Light and L did, and her fear persists as long as Rem's hand is covering her mouth. She reacts pretty much how I would expect the average person to.

Rating: 5/10

~~~

Chapter 53 - Soichiro

Another pretty standard reaction. Falls backwards, screams and immediately reaches for his gun. Nothing remarkable about it.

Rating: 3/10

~~~

Chapter 53 - Aizawa

Exact same reaction as Soichiro, but he gets extra points because this panel of them both panting on the floor is utterly delightful. The eyes?? The pose???? They look like a pair of petrified crabs. I'm obsessed.

Rating: 8/10

~~~

Chapter 53 - L (again)

L has heard that Shinigami exist and already knows that there's a "monster" attached to the notebook, so he's not surprised at all by the time he actually sees Rem. Instead, he starts having such an intense and paralysing epiphany that he doesn't even notice Light taking the Death Note from him. The least dramatic reaction so far but incredibly on-brand for him in every way.

Rating: 6/10

~~~

Chapter 70 - Rod Ross

Freaks out once he actually sees Sidoh, but he's incredibly relaxed about the notebook flying beforehand. His line "I wouldn't be surprised if it's alive" is hilariously ironic given that the notebook does turn out to have a living component to it, and this does, in fact, surprise him.

Rating: 7/10

~~~

Chapter 70 - Kal Snydar

One of my favourite reactions purely for the implication that Rod might have recruited an 8-foot-tall man in a monster costume. Perfectly reasonable assumption to make.

Rating: 9/10

~~~

Chapter 70 - Mello

Much like L, everyone around him is panicking, but he stays impressively nonchalant. Immediately starts plotting ways to manipulate the demon creature for his own gain. This is essentially L's reaction if he was 90% more unhinged.

Rating: 10/10

~~~

Chapter 101 - Near

Only character to look genuinely happy about seeing the Shinigami which is an instant 10 for me. He gets an extra point for having the most precious smile ever <3

Rating: 11/10

[jojotichakorn]

i started penning a post about how i always find it narratively unsatisfying when an arc ends with a conclusion the following arc breaks, regardless of how realistic the repetition of the same mistake might be, which is still true, but i actually want to talk about something else right now.

i feel like, at least at this stage, jack is in a position that is both generally unrealistic and untrue to the specific events of the series. 'jack and joker' has a clear focus on poverty and money and class issues, but it seems to treat jack in a very special way. he somehow manages to stand on the moral high ground above other characters. specifically, other poor characters. which is, first of all, a little ridiculous, since he was indeed a debt collector and, in fact, almost became the boss's son. and, second of all, is generally Not Great, because it does idolise the idea that if you "just try hard enough", you won't "allow" yourself to be backed into a corner and therefore won't have to do bad things.

now, don't get me wrong, i am not saying that our characters who have made mistakes are completely blameless. tattoo did shitty things (and hoy followed suit), safe did shitty things, hope frankly admitted to enjoying doing shitty things. however, if we zoom out a little, we will see that all these characters are in a situation that is inherently unfair to them. we have all of these poor people in immense amounts of debt and then we have this disgusting rich motherfucker whose entire wealth is literally based on making their lives as miserable and unfair as they are. and i think that, in this particular case, the series would have actually benefited from a dichotomy. don't get me wrong, i'm usually absolutely brimming with nuance and also asking "what lies outside of it?" but this shall be my exception. (though you could say that joke already brings some nuance to it - he is initially from a well-off family and he actively makes choices to the benefit of poor people, despite it resulting in him being ostracised from said family and its riches).

jack walks the line of being poor and managing not to do anything "too bad" like he is a fucking circus performer on a wire. and, don't get me wrong, he is genuinely a selfless character. he makes choices that a lot of other characters in the same circumstances wouldn't make. he remains in debt and continues working for the boss because he keeps trying to help people and pay off their debts first - that is admirable. however, he himself was already set up for more success than others. sure, being forced to become a debt collector isn't a walk in the park, but most other debtors didn't even have that choice. jack has to work for the boss in order to stay afloat - that is an undeniably hard task. the other people the boss collects debts from, however, have to come up with a lot of money out of thin air - that is not simply a hard task, that is an impossible one that is designed to trap them in the cycle of doing this impossible task forever. that being said, ultimately, jack is still poor. his own hamster wheel should be somewhere around the corner, that's always the case. this idea is where i wish they would have taken jack's arc.

from the moment when he refused to marry rose, there was no escape for him. finally, much like our other poor characters, he found himself stuck between a rock and a hard place. (and i think that it's very thematically appropriate for jack's particular "i can't do this anymore, i deserve to live a full life" sentiment to be connected to love, since he is, after all, a lead of a romance drama). he made the decision to say "no" and from that point on, he was completely and utterly fucked. because, realistically, that conversation that he had with the boss after refusing rose was insane. i don't know what he would have done to jack exactly, if that was a genuine conversation and there was no exchange of jack's freedom for the ring, but it would not have been anything good.

so i wish jack had to make the actual tough call there, instead of having joke save him all on his own (and later take the fall for it). and if it was, at least in some capacity, jack's decision to steal that ring, he would finally be placed in a situation where every other poor character already inevitably found themselves in. because the entire system is rigged against all of them and they are eventually always forced to do things that they should have never even had to consider in the first place. but they deserve better than living a life set up for them by evil rich people who literally live off of their suffering and they are allowed - no, at some point they simply have no choice but to - fight for a better life.

this, in my opinion, would have been a much more powerful message and - not to circle back to my personal preferences - would have also not left us with joke making the very same mistake that we decided we should never make again at the end of the previous arc.

[allpiesforourown]

okay getting back to this:

shen yuan and binghe are tasked with getting rid of this shapeshifting demon that's been causing mayhem. they arrive at its hideout and binghe tells shen yuan to stay outside so they don't have to worry about getting mixed up - they also have a secret code they set up beforehand.

binghe wanders in and runs into a beautiful woman and goes yeah nice try and immediately tries to chop the demon in half. the demon panics and then takes the shape of this cultivator's companion who he saw earlier before they seperated

shapeshifter: shizun wouldn't hurt his disciple would he!?

binghe: *freezing in place*

shapeshifter: oh. ohhhh :)

binghe's heart racing as 'shen yuan' removes his layers and steps closer with a seductive smile. binghe obviously knows it's not his a-yuan but ... he cant make himself swing his sword on shen yuan's sweet face...

the shapeshifter is LEAGUES below binghe, it's extremely weak compared to the heavenly demon. but binghe can't even push it away when it presses its bare chest against his body and whines "shizun is bullying this disciple..."

(For a split second binghe actually considers it. Shen Yuan is outside, he won't see-)

Binghe just runs away and finds shen yuan at the entrance where he left him. His disciple is fretting over him, wondering why the protagonist is so freaked out??

Shen Yuan: I'll go and fight it instead-

binghe, imagining shen yuan seeing his own image half naked and realizing his shizun got so flustered because he's in love with his disciple: NO! let's return. cang qiong can send someone else...

*cang qiong sends others*

liu qingge: you need to send someone else

yue qingyuan: you need to send someone else

the shapeshifter demon: damn i hit the jackpot by using this body, literally no one can try to hurt me when i look like this- who are you

shang qinghua readying his sword: FINALLY I CAN HIT CUCUMBER BRO BACK WITHOUT THE PROTAG KILLING ME!

everyones in shock because how did the an ding peak head disciple prove himself the most capable!?

WHY DIDNT I POST THIS ONE I WAS COOKING...

[redislazy]

Deadly Attachments, Chapter 05

<< Chapter 04

[EVENTUAL SMUT] - Minors DNI > ao3 <

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x female!Reader

Word Count: 7,318

-

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

-

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

⫘���⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

"Do you know who the leader of Aegis is?” Price asks, his voice low and direct.

You're seated with Task Force 141 in the main room of your makeshift base, the air thick with the smell of strong coffee and tactical gear. Maps and intel reports are strewn across the table, the faint rustling of papers filling the silence. Price leans forward, a serious glint in his eyes as he waits for your response.

You shake your head, feeling a pang of frustration resurface. “No one really does. The leader’s kept their identity hidden, even from most of their own people. Only a few high-ranking lackeys know anything, and they’re the ones who dish out orders to the mercs under them. It’s… compartmentalized.”

Price exhales sharply, leaning back in his chair as he considers this. “Figures. Bastard’s running a whole operation from the shadows.”

Soap’s brows knit together as he glances around at the team. “So what? We take down a few agents, and they just keep popping up like cockroaches. We’d be at this forever.”

Gaz nods in agreement. “The only way to cut them off for good is to go after the one running the show. Take out the leader, and Aegis would crumble from the top down.”

A heavy silence falls over the room as the reality of it sets in. Ghost’s eyes flicker toward you, his gaze unreadable. “You’re saying we need to hit the head of the snake,” he says, tone even but grim. “Find whoever’s pullin’ the strings and make sure they stop for good.”

You swallow, feeling the weight of their words. They make it sound simple, but the truth gnaws at you. Aegis’s leader is more than just a face or a name—they’re a shadow, always out of reach. Tracking them down would be like chasing smoke through the dark, nearly impossible. But it’s what you’ll have to do if you want the target on your back to disappear, if you ever want a chance at being a free, independent mercenary again.

You sigh quietly, thinking over the task ahead. “It won’t be easy. They’ve built their whole operation on staying hidden, letting others take the heat and make the moves.”

Price’s gaze softens, a rare moment of understanding. “We’re not saying it’ll be easy. But you’ve got an advantage the rest of us don’t—you’ve been inside their system, seen how they work. You might be our best chance at getting close enough to flush ‘em out.”

You nod slowly, feeling both the pressure and the strange, growing sense of resolve. This mission was more than personal survival now; it was a matter of closing a chapter that’d haunted you, taking down the very organization that once counted you as their own. It would be hard, maybe harder than anything you’d done—but the path ahead is clearer, and for the first time in a long while, you have a sense of purpose.

“So,” Price says, a determined look passing over him as he glances around at the team, “we go all in. Aegis’s leader is our endgame. Let’s find this threat hiding in the shadows.”

Gaz clears his throat, breaking the determined silence that’s settled over everyone. He leans forward, eyebrows knit together in a frown. “Alright, but where do we even begin with this?” He looks to Price, then over to you. “If she worked with Aegis for ten years and still doesn’t know who’s running the show… it’s like we’re chasing a ghost.”

Price crosses his arms, his gaze fixed on the wall for a moment as he thinks. “You’re right—it won’t be easy. But every organization, no matter how secretive, has a trail. It’s just a matter of finding the cracks, the weak spots in their setup.” He glances over to you, his expression firm but steady. “And you might know where to start looking.”

You shift uncomfortably, feeling the weight of their eyes on you. “They’ve always kept the hierarchy vague, even for those working in it for years. Only the most trusted agents deal directly with whoever’s at the top. Orders trickle down through a few of those loyal yes men, but they don’t leave much of a trail.”

Ghost’s voice cuts through, calm but edged with skepticism. “So we’re sifting through shadows. Fine. But if we know who their high-ranking lackeys are, maybe we can press them hard enough to get to the top.”

“Problem is,” you reply, feeling the familiar frustration at Aegis’s elusive nature, “even their lieutenants aren’t easy to track down. They’re careful, and most of them use proxies or intermediaries. Aegis is designed to protect the leader’s anonymity at all costs.”

Price nods, absorbing the information. “Then we take it one layer at a time. Start with any connections we can find. Places Aegis is active, recurring contacts, anything that can get us closer."

Gaz sighs, running a hand over his face. “Even with that, it could take months, years even, to get anything solid. And if they know she’s working with us against them, they’ll close ranks tighter than ever.”

You clench your jaw, knowing he’s right. Aegis’s leader wasn’t just running an organization—they’d crafted a fortress of secrecy, one that you never even questioned back when you were part of it. The odds feel almost impossible. Yet, a part of you feels a strange, stubborn determination settling in.

“If we want to dismantle Aegis for good,” you say slowly, meeting each of their eyes, “we’ll have to be as relentless as they are. I know it’s hard to track them down, and I know it seems hopeless. But if there’s one thing I learned in all those years, it’s that they get comfortable in their own secrecy. And that… that’s where we’ll find them. Somewhere they think we’ll never look.”

Soap grins slightly, trying to lighten the mood. “So what you’re saying is, we go on the world’s hardest game of hide and seek?”

Ghost rolls his eyes, but there’s a spark of agreement there. “Something like that,” he mutters. Then, to you, he adds, “Just don’t think you’re going at this alone.”

You nod, taking a steadying breath. For the first time, you have allies—ones willing to dig as deep as it takes to uncover Aegis’s secrets. You’d spent a year running from them, dreading the target on your back. Now, with Task Force 141, it’s different. Now, you’re not just trying to escape—you’re going to hunt them down, piece by piece, until there’s nowhere left for their leader to hide.

Captain Price looks around at each of you, a steady resolve in his gaze. “We may be staring at a pile of scrambled intel right now, but HQ’s got the resources and expertise to make sense of that damned hard drive. Once they break through these files, we’ll have a clearer picture of what Aegis is planning and where they’re vulnerable. This hard drive’s our way in, so we sit tight, let them do their part, and be ready to move the second we have actionable intel. We’ve got the edge now, so let’s use it.”

A quiet determination settles over the team, and you feel a renewed sense of purpose, knowing the next step is coming into focus.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A week after the intense mission in Istanbul, everyone gathers in the briefing room, pouring over the latest intel reports the team itself has gathered while waiting for HQ's findings. The progress is disappointing—Aegis has gone quiet. Their network seems to have retracted, pulling resources and high-ranking members out of sight. It’s almost as if their encounter with Task Force 141 spooked them into hunkering down.

Price studies the map in front of him, a frown etched deeply into his face. “Looks like Aegis is trying to play it safe. They’ve pulled back any valuable assets. Istanbul’s gone cold.”

Soap leans back in his chair, letting out a low whistle. “Almost like they’re on to us, yeah? As if they know we’re here sniffin’ around.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Ghost says, crossing his arms. “They’ve always been good at keeping just out of reach.”

Price nods slowly, looking at each of you in turn. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. We’ve scoured every lead we had in Istanbul, but if Aegis is keeping low, we’re just spinning our wheels here.”

“So we pull out?” Gaz asks, sounding a little reluctant.

Price’s jaw tightens before he lets out a resigned sigh. “Aye. We regroup back at the main HQ, review the intel, and see what we can dig up once we’re back on our own turf. If Aegis resurfaces, we’ll be ready.”

You feel a mix of relief and frustration. On one hand, the thought of leaving Istanbul without a clear victory is disheartening; on the other, the relentless days and nights have worn you thin. You catch Ghost watching you from the corner of his eye, and you know he hasn’t forgotten your exhausted misstep on the last mission. Maybe pulling back isn’t the worst idea.

Price stands, dismissing the team. “Pack it up. We're flying in two hours.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Back on British soil, the familiar surroundings of the main base bring a strange sense of comfort. The hallways are quieter than the bustling streets of Istanbul, and the air feels less charged with tension. Still, the unresolved mystery of Aegis hangs over you all like a dark cloud.

You spend most of your first day back debriefing and sifting through what intel you gathered in Istanbul. While the team disperses to their respective quarters that evening, Price calls you into a conference room where Ghost is already waiting.

“We’re going to regroup, assess what we’ve got,” Price begins, looking between the two of you. “But while we’re back here, I want you both digging into anything that could link to Aegis. Old contacts, forgotten leads, even whispers you’ve heard from your past. We can’t let them slip through our fingers just because they’ve gone quiet.”

Ghost nods, his gaze focused and unreadable as ever. You feel his presence beside you, a constant reminder of the grudging partnership you’re both locked into. He’s quiet as Price outlines the plan, but you can sense the intensity beneath his stoic exterior.

When Price finally dismisses you, Ghost falls into step beside you in the hallway.

“You know what this means,” he says, his voice low and measured.

You glance up at him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“No more running on empty.” His tone is pointed, and you feel the weight of his earlier frustration still lingering in his words. “If we’re going after Aegis, I need you sharp, not half-dead from a lack of sleep.”

You open your mouth to argue, but his stare holds steady, and for once, you’re out of comebacks. Maybe he’s right. Istanbul was close, too close. If you’re going to face down Aegis, you need to be ready, fully prepared.

With a resigned sigh, you nod. “Fine. I’ll be ready.”

Ghost’s eyes linger on you for a beat longer than necessary, as if assessing whether you’re being sincere. He gives a curt nod, satisfied. “Good. Then let’s get to work.”

The hunt isn’t over yet—far from it. But with Task Force 141 at your side, and your resolve steeled, you feel a strange flicker of confidence. Aegis can try to hide, but they can’t run forever.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When you’re shown to your quarters, a small, amused smile tugs at your lips. It’s the same room you were kept in last year, back when Kozlov’s case threw you headfirst into the chaos of the SAS and Task Force 141. Back then, this room had been a cage, a place where they held you in custody as both a suspect and a temporary asset, neither trusting you nor willing to let you walk away.

But now, stepping inside, the feeling is… different. It’s strange how much can change in a year. You’re still an outsider, technically speaking—still a mercenary with your own agenda and your own grudges to bear. But here, under the weight of the memories of that tense alliance with the SAS, you feel the difference. You’re no longer here out of necessity or suspicion. You’re here because you’re needed, a part of something that, in its own way, feels like it might actually have your back.

You drop your bag on the bed and scan the room, a flood of memories filling the empty space. The walls feel less confining now, less like they’re pressing in to remind you of every questionable choice that brought you here. There’s a strange warmth in knowing you’re trusted enough to roam freely this time, not a captive but an ally.

Leaning against the doorframe, you let out a quiet laugh. If someone had told you a year ago that you’d be willingly working with Task Force 141 again—especially Ghost, of all people—you’d have called them insane. But here you are, and even though the threat of Aegis looms just as dark and dangerous as before, you feel a sense of resolve settling in your bones. For the first time, the title “ally” doesn’t feel like a chain; it feels like a choice.

With that, you toss yourself onto the bed, letting yourself sink into the familiarity of it, not as an outsider or a prisoner but as someone who has fought with them, earned her place beside them—even if, at times, it feels like you’ve only just managed to keep up.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Days slip by in a steady rhythm, quiet and uneventful—a rare stretch of calm that you hadn’t anticipated but can’t help appreciating. There’s no immediate mission, no dire orders waiting in the wings. You almost don’t know what to do with yourself without the constant pressure of survival and strategy weighing on your shoulders.

It’s a welcome change, really. For once, you have time to simply exist in one place without fear of attack or the ever-present anxiety that Aegis might be around the corner. Here, in the heart of the SAS base, you know they won’t get to you. Not with the layers of security, the trained eyes watching every corner, and the presence of Task Force 141 keeping things in check. You hadn’t realized just how exhausting it was to live with that constant threat on your back—how much it had worn you down until now, when you could finally breathe a little easier.

And the days of rest are doing their work. The wound on your shoulder, a stinging reminder of that reckless call during the last mission, is healing steadily. At first, the pain had flared up with every movement, a sharp reminder of the risk you’d taken for Ghost. Now, though, the ache is dulling, settling into a faint throb that only bothers you when you forget it’s there. You’ve been able to patch it up, tend to it properly, and let your body rest—something you haven’t allowed yourself in far too long.

In a way, it’s ironic that the safest you’ve felt in years is here, surrounded by soldiers who were once ready to interrogate you, in a base that was once meant to hold you captive. Yet, with each day that passes, you feel yourself easing into this strange routine, letting down your guard little by little. The thought of Aegis creeping closer doesn’t linger as it once did; for now, you know you’re out of their reach. As long as you’re here, protected and hidden within these walls, they can’t touch you.

Every so often, you catch yourself almost… enjoying it, this sense of quiet security. It’s unfamiliar, this feeling of not having to look over your shoulder or map out an escape plan. For once, you can simply heal, both in body and mind, without the shadow of Aegis looming close. And as strange as it feels, you allow yourself to embrace it, even if it’s only for a little while.

You’re making your way through the base, aimlessly wandering to pass the time, when the low thud of weights and the soft hum of grunts from the training area catches your attention. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you follow the sounds, your steps quieter as you approach.

And there, across the room, is Ghost—his focus entirely on the barbell in front of him as he lifts it with practiced strength. He’s shirtless, a rarity you’ve never quite had the opportunity to witness, and for a second, you’re almost stunned into place. The soft sheen of sweat glistens on his skin, tracing the defined lines of his muscles as he moves, each lift accentuating the raw strength in his arms, chest, and shoulders. He’s a fortress of a man, each muscle honed and cut, but it’s not just the sheer size of him—it’s the quiet, unwavering power in the way he works, every motion controlled, almost methodical.

Your gaze trails from his shoulders down to the faint scars that mar his skin, stories etched into his body that you know only hint at what he’s seen. His biceps flex with each lift, veins standing out against his forearms, and you can’t help but let your eyes linger. There’s a pull to him, this silent allure that makes it hard to look away. You’re drawn in by the way he moves, powerful yet careful, as though he’s attuned to every shift in his muscles, every beat of his own strength.

And the mask—he’s still wearing it, a reminder that even here, stripped of nearly everything else, he still keeps part of himself hidden. There’s something strangely endearing about it, almost funny in a way, that he’s still clinging to this one piece of armor. But it adds to the enigma of him, this contrast of being both revealed and guarded, and the sight makes your stomach flutter in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

Your eyes wander over the expanse of his shoulders, tracing the lines of his tattoos that weave across his skin. They’re intricate, dark swirls of ink that curl over his biceps and up along his forearms, striking against his skin in a way that only adds to his mystique. You can’t help but feel a sense of awe at how the designs accentuate the muscle beneath, each tattoo seeming to carry its own story—a past he never talks about but is forever etched into him.

The ink follows the contours of his arms, slipping beneath the mask of sweat and shadow as he moves, and you realize how each mark, each line, only amplifies that unapproachable air he carries. The tattoos make him look even more dangerous, more untamed, yet there’s an undeniable allure to them, a kind of dark art that keeps you captivated. You’re struck by how fitting they seem on him, how seamlessly they blend with the person he is—enigmatic, guarded, and quietly powerful.

As he lowers the barbell and finally catches sight of you, you feel yourself snap back to reality, heat rising in your cheeks when you realize just how openly you were staring. He tilts his head slightly, and you catch the faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes, half hidden behind the shadows of his mask.

“Somethin’ interestin’?” he asks, his tone low but edged with a challenge.

Your heart skips a beat, but you somehow manage to keep your cool, shrugging as casually as you can. “Just admiring the…artwork,” you reply, unable to stop the hint of a grin from tugging at your lips.

He huffs softly, grabbing a towel and running it over his arms, brushing over those very tattoos you were just admiring. “Didn’t peg you for a fan,” he mutters, but there’s a spark in his eyes, as if he finds it amusing that you’re drawn in by something so personal to him.

You feel a flicker of nerves as you meet his gaze, aware of the way he’s watching you now, the barest suggestion of a smirk pulling at his lips. It’s like he knows exactly the effect he’s having on you, and there’s something undeniably thrilling about it.

Caught off guard by your own thoughts, you can’t help but let out a soft chuckle under your breath at the absurdity of it. Here you are, shamelessly ogling the one person who’s probably lectured you the hardest about staying sharp. And yet, there’s something about seeing him like this, so intensely alive and real, that makes it hard to think about anything else.

You raise an eyebrow, recovering just enough to give a smirk. “Didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Always do,” he replies, a faint challenge in his eyes. He grabs a towel, running it over his arms and chest before casually throwing it around his shoulders. His gaze stays on you, unreadable, and you feel a pang of nerves twist in your stomach.

“Well, I’d hate to disturb your… intense routine,” you manage, trying for a light tone even as your pulse quickens.

He only grunts, but there’s a slight twitch in the corner of his mouth that suggests a smile. “Could use a spotter next time,” he says, deadpan, though his eyes hold a hint of mischief.

It’s a simple moment, laced with more tension than you’d expected, but there’s something unmistakable in the way he looks at you—something that leaves your heart thudding a bit faster as you return his gaze.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Later in the day, you and Ghost are in the operations room, pouring over files and databases, the air thick with tension. Hours have passed, and the list of potential Aegis operatives and higher-ups sprawls across the screen. You’re deep in focus, building a list of names when Ghost leans over your shoulder, his usual presence looming a little closer than necessary.

“Gonna check the background on each name?” he remarks, voice laced with skepticism. “Doesn’t do us much good if they’re not active in the field anymore.”

You close your eyes for a moment, suppressing the urge to sigh. “Yes, Ghost, I know what I’m doing. This is just a preliminary list. I’ll get to backgrounds in a second.”

“Preliminary doesn’t mean sloppy,” he mutters, and you swear he’s leaning even closer. “Miss one detail, and we’re back at square one. We can’t afford any mistakes.”

You turn to glare at him, trying to ignore how close he is. “I’m not being sloppy. I’m gathering leads. You could always give me five minutes to breathe without hovering.”

He raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms with that infuriatingly stoic expression. “Not hovering. Just making sure we don’t waste time on mistakes. Aegis doesn’t let anything slip, so neither should we.”

“Oh, I get it.” You sit back, crossing your arms with a smirk. “You’re just this nitpicky with everyone, yeah?”

Ghost’s gaze narrows. “If you’re looking for me to tell you ‘good job’ for half-finished work, you’re gonna be disappointed.”

You roll your eyes, leaning in with a playful, challenging grin. “You know, you’re awfully invested in how I do my job. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were just trying to spend more time with me.”

For a second, he looks taken aback—just for a split second before he schools his expression. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself to focus, go right ahead.” He steps back, but his eyes are still fixed on you with that intense, unyielding look. “This isn’t about me, it’s about doing it right.”

You let out a small laugh, tilting your head at him. “Uh-huh. So you’re hovering because you don’t want to spend time with me. Got it. This is about quality control, not about you caring so much about what I’m doing that you can’t stay away. Makes sense.”

He doesn’t reply at first, just lets out a low, exasperated sigh, but you catch the hint of a smirk tugging at the edge of his mask. “Believe what you want, but if you screw this up, I’m not pulling you out of the mess.”

“Because you’d just hate to see me fail, wouldn’t you?” you tease, leaning back in your chair with a challenging grin.

“Failing’s not your issue,” he replies, his tone smooth. “Getting distracted is.”

“Oh, really?” You mirror his expression with a raised brow. “Last time I checked, you’re the one causing the distraction.”

Ghost huffs, crossing his arms, and his gaze is unwavering. “If you spent as much time working as you do trying to rile me up, you might actually get something done.”

“Maybe I just work best under pressure,” you reply, shrugging with mock innocence.

“Then consider this a performance review.” He pauses, his voice softer but still with an edge. “For the record, I’ll be watching.”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes but feeling the lingering warmth of his gaze. For all the back-and-forth, the tension between you doesn’t feel quite as sharp. It’s there, but lighter, laced with something almost fun, a reminder that even amidst the mission, you’re not just rivals but two people with a shared drive.

Just as the tension between you and Ghost reaches a lull, Soap bursts into the room, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Oi, lovebirds, wrap it up!” he announces, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “We’re headin’ out tonight. Pub in town. Price gave the go-ahead, so consider it an order to blow off some steam.”

You blink in surprise, barely processing Soap’s words before he adds, “Come on, we’re all going—no excuses.”

“Pub night, huh?” Ghost’s voice has a rare note of interest, and he actually seems…enthusiastic? His gaze flickers to you, the edge in his expression softening. “Been a while since we had a proper night out.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to picture him in a more casual setting. “Didn’t peg you for someone who’d enjoy a pub crawl, Ghost.”

He shrugs, crossing his arms. “I don’t mind a pint every now and then. Especially after dealing with you.”

A smirk tugs at your lips. “Well, the feeling’s mutual,” you retort, but there’s a warmth to it. Maybe it’s the idea of seeing a different side of him outside the usual grind.

Soap grins, nodding approvingly. “That’s what I like to hear. Now go on—get yourselves outta those uniforms and into something halfway decent. We’re out the door in an hour.”

As he leaves, you catch a flicker of amusement in Ghost’s eyes. “Guess we better not keep them waiting,” he says, his tone almost teasing.

You tilt your head, still a bit surprised by his openness to the idea. “Guess I’ll have to see what ‘relaxed Ghost’ looks like.”

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound. “Don’t get your hopes up. But maybe you’ll see me a bit more…human.”

It’s a surprising statement from him, one that lingers as he gives you a nod and heads off to get ready, leaving you with a sense of anticipation you hadn’t expected.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The pub is warm and bustling, a far cry from the quiet and regimented SAS base. The dim lights, hum of chatter, and scent of wood polish mixed with spilled beer create an atmosphere of easygoing revelry. You’re seated with the team at a table near the corner, where Ghost and Price lean back in their seats, both relaxed yet observant. You glance at Ghost, surprised by how much more at ease he seems here. There’s still an edge to him, but he doesn’t look like he’s on guard in the same way.

Soap, on the other hand, has made it his mission to kick off the evening with as many pints as he can get his hands on. He slams his drink down on the table, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Right, here’s a thought for you lot,” he says, his Scottish accent thickening with each drink. “If a merc like you could get Ghost to crack a smile, that’d be somethin’ of a miracle.”

Gaz raises an eyebrow, grinning. “I’d say we’ve got better odds of winning the lottery.”

You smirk, nudging Soap’s shoulder. “Please, I think I’ve done that already. He’s just hiding it under that mask of his.”

Ghost narrows his eyes, though there’s a hint of intrigue. “Careful what you wish for. Smiling from me might send you running.”

Soap grins mischievously, leaning in as if he’s about to share a grand secret. “You know, mate, I reckon you’d look downright charming if you let loose a little. Flash those pearly whites, give the ladies a thrill.”

Ghost shakes his head, deadpan. “The day I take advice on charm from you, Johnny, is the day hell freezes over.”

Price chuckles, raising his glass. “Don’t think there’s anyone here who’d survive if Ghost suddenly turned on the charm.”

Soap raises his glass in agreement, a wicked glint in his eye as he points it at you. “Oi, what about our resident mercenary? Bet you’ve got a right bloody wild side we haven’t seen yet, eh? All that time sneakin’ around with Aegis—you must have some stories.”

You roll your eyes, pretending to think. “Wouldn’t you like to know?"

Gaz smirks, chiming in. “What, afraid to tell us? Must be some top-secret stuff. C’mon, give us a little taste.”

You shrug with a mischievous smile. “Only if Ghost spills his secrets first.”

All eyes turn to Ghost, who gives the barest shake of his head, clearly unimpressed. “Secrets? You lot wouldn’t last a minute with half of ‘em.”

Soap snorts. “Oh, big man’s too mysterious for us, is he?”

Ghost glances over, voice low but steady. “If you’re keen to learn, there’s plenty I could teach. But somehow I don’t think you’ve got the spine for it, Johnny.”

The table erupts into laughter, and Soap throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Easy, Ghost! I’ll pass on the torture sessions, thanks.”

Grinning, you look over at Ghost, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t know, Ghost. You think he could handle it?”

Ghost meets your gaze with that intense stare, and there’s the faintest flicker of mirth behind it. “Not a chance.”

Price chuckles, taking a sip of his drink. “Here’s what I’m curious about,” he says, looking at you. “You keep trading barbs with Ghost like it’s second nature. Takes a special kind of person to keep up with him.”

You tilt your head, a playful glint in your eye. “What can I say? I like a challenge.”

Soap cackles, slapping the table. “Oh-ho! Listen to that, Ghost. She’s got your number.”

“Is that right?” Ghost replies, his tone dry.

You lean in, unphased. “You can try and intimidate me all you want, but I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Ghost looks at you, one corner of his mouth tugging up in the faintest hint of a smirk. “For now.”

Gaz laughs, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “See, I knew it! We’ve got ourselves a real daredevil here.”

“Right,” Soap says, raising his glass high. “Here’s to this mad lot—ain’t a soul here with sense, and thank God for it.”

Everyone raises their glasses, and even Ghost gives a small nod of approval as he lifts his drink. You clink glasses, the laughter and ribbing reminding you that, somehow, you’ve found a place among this group of misfits.

As the night goes on, the drinks flow and the banter gets bolder. At one point, you lean back with a mischievous glint in your eye, glancing over at Ghost. “Alright, I’ve got a question for you. Be honest—is Ghost really your name? Or is it just to keep everyone guessing?”

There’s a pause as the whole table goes quiet. Soap nearly chokes on his drink, barely containing his laughter as he looks between you and Ghost. “Oh, aye, that’s a good one!” he says, slapping the table. “Imagine his ma callin’ him Ghost. ‘Time for supper, Ghostie boy!’”

Gaz bites back a grin, chiming in. “That's sounds a little bit too accurate, no?"

Price chuckles but keeps his face straight. “You’re barking up the wrong tree there,” he says in a low, amused tone, glancing knowingly at Ghost.

Ghost just stares back at you, his expression as closed-off as ever, though you could swear you see the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You’re asking all the wrong questions,” he replies coolly. “Keep dreaming, though. Might even let you think you’re getting close.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back in your seat with a half-smile. “Fine, keep your mystery,” you say, as if you’re letting him win the round. “But one day, I’ll get it out of you.”

The table erupts in laughter, and Soap shakes his head, giving you a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Good luck, lass. Took me years to even learn his favorite color.”

You laugh along with the others, but as the night settles, it hits you: they know things about Ghost that you’re nowhere close to finding out. If you want to be someone he trusts, someone he’d share even the smallest parts of himself with, it’s going to be a long journey.

But, sitting here with the team, sharing laughs and drinks, you think maybe, just maybe, that’s a road you’re willing to travel.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The walk back to base is quiet, the night air crisp and cool after the warmth of the pub. The team trails off one by one to their respective quarters, with Ghost hanging back to make sure you make it to yours. You’re a bit buzzed, not quite unsteady, but everything’s a touch softer at the edges, and you can’t help but notice how large his presence feels next to you as he walks silently, hands in his pockets.

When you finally stop at your door, you fumble a little with your keycard, squinting as you try to slide it into the card reader. You can feel Ghost watching, arms crossed, probably waiting for you to admit defeat and hand him the keycard, but you’re determined to manage it on your own.

Of course, in your tipsy state, your balance betrays you. You stumble, and before you even realize it, Ghost’s hands are on your shoulders, steadying you as you fall back against him. His touch is firm and unyielding, but there’s something… soft in the way he keeps you close, ensuring you don’t lose your footing completely. You blink, surprised by the solidness of him, and he doesn’t step away immediately. His expression is unreadable, eyes shadowed beneath his mask, but his hands don’t move from your shoulders.

Without thinking, you tilt your head back, squinting up at him. “Oh, look at you, all grumpy as usual.”

“Grumpy, huh?” he replies, one brow arched beneath the mask, his tone teasing but laced with something else.

“Yeah, always brooding, always scowling. What’s your deal?” You poke lightly at his mask, as if you were trying to pry something out of him. “You’re always hiding something, aren’t you?”

His hand moves to your face, cupping your cheek gently, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. His gaze drops to your eyes, studying you more intently now, like he’s taking in how badly you’re buzzed, how off-kilter your thoughts are. His fingers linger there for a moment longer than you expect, his touch gentle yet possessive. For a heartbeat, it feels like the world has shrunk to just the two of you, his presence overwhelming and solid, his mask hiding everything but the emotion in his eyes. It’s an unspoken understanding, but it also feels like something more.

You don’t pull away. Instead, your eyes stay fixed on his, and the alcohol loosens your tongue even further. “Why do you always look so grumpy?” you murmur, half-joking. “You really think you’re that scary, huh?”

He chuckles, low and rough, breaking the tension. “Maybe it’s just how I look,” he answers, but there’s an amused gleam in his eyes now, something different from earlier.

You shake your head, not letting him off the hook so easily. “No, you look like you’re hiding something. But you don’t need to, you know?”

There’s another long pause between you, his thumb still brushing against your cheek, and the closeness has your breath catching in your chest. You can’t quite place what it is, but something shifts in the air, something that makes your heart race faster.

Leaning in just a little, you murmur, “You know… you’re actually really handsome, Ghost.”

His eyes widen just the slightest bit, the expression behind his mask shifting into something unreadable, but it doesn’t stop him from holding you there, his hand still cupping your face. “Is that so?” he murmurs, voice deeper now, amused and almost… pleased?

“Yeah, you’ve got that whole mysterious, dark vibe going for you,” you say, your gaze drifting down to his chest as you sway slightly on your feet. “Don’t let it go to your head, though,” you add with a half-smile, trying to lighten the moment, “but it’s true.”

There aren’t many moments you’ve seen Ghost without his mask—just enough for you to count with your fingers. Mostly, it’s been during meals, those rare occasions when he’s forced to shed the barrier between him and the world. You can’t help but notice each time he does; how could you not?

The first time you saw him without the mask, you felt a jolt of surprise. His face was striking in ways that you hadn’t expected—strong, sharp features that seemed carved from stone. His jawline was all hard angles, his eyes intense and deeper than they seemed when half-shaded by the mask. But what drew your gaze more than anything was the scar on his left cheek, a thin, pale line running down just shy of his jaw. It looked like a relic from some old battle, faded but unmissable, giving his face a harsher, almost haunted edge.

And yet, that scar softened something too. It hinted at a history, at moments he’s endured that you could only guess at. You’ve never asked him about it—he’d probably shut down if you tried—but each time you’ve seen his face, you’ve memorized it just a little more. His gaze always flickers away when he catches you looking, but you can’t help noticing the smallest details: the faint crease between his brows when he’s deep in thought, the way his mouth barely tilts when someone cracks a joke he finds halfway amusing. He always brings the mask back up quickly, as if remembering the distance he needs to maintain.

Each time he lifts that mask, you feel as if you’re glimpsing something guarded, something that only a rare few have ever seen. And even though he never lets you linger on it for long, the memory of his face—scar, guarded eyes, the subtle but undeniable humanity there—lingers with you.

His fingers tighten just a fraction, his grip still gentle but more assertive now, like he’s grounding you in this moment. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he replies, the playful edge to his voice now tinged with something else. Something closer to appreciation, or maybe… curiosity?

Before you can say anything else, his thumb drifts slowly, tracing the line of your cheekbone, then gliding downward until it rests just at the corner of your mouth. You feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric of the glove, so close you can almost imagine his bare touch, imagine the weight and warmth without the barrier.

He studies you with an intensity that makes your pulse race, his gaze drifting from your eyes to where his thumb hovers over your lips. His gloved hand is careful but certain, as if he's savoring each detail. Slowly, his thumb meets your bottom lip, light enough to make you shiver, but there’s a sense of restraint in the gesture, like he’s letting himself test boundaries. He brushes along the edge of your bottom lip in a slow, careful sweep, almost as if he’s mapping it out, savoring the softness beneath his touch. He’s close enough that you can see the way his gaze darkens, focused entirely on you, on the way his thumb drags so gently across your lip. Each pass is deliberate, his touch achingly slow, as if he’s caught somewhere between curiosity and something deeper—something he won’t admit, not out loud.

His fingers trace down your jaw, but his thumb stays at your mouth, brushing with a gentleness that makes your heart pound, your breath catching just slightly at each delicate movement. You feel his eyes watching the way your lips part under his touch, as though he’s fascinated, as if each soft curve and line of your mouth is something he’s committing to memory.

The air between you is thick with the weight of things unspoken, a tension you can’t ignore. His touch remains tender but holds a barely restrained intensity, his thumb finally pausing at the center of your lip, resting there like he’s weighing his next move. His gaze is fixed there, as if you’re some intriguing mystery he can’t help but explore. You stand frozen, unable to process the moment. Nobody has ever touched you like this, like you’re an enigma trying to be deciphered. Nobody ever bothered to.

You close your eyes, accepting the strange intimacy of his touch. Your heart beats fast, your hands almost clammy, but you don’t want to pull away. Almost instinctively, you let your lips press softly against his thumb, giving it a light, chaste peck.

You slowly open your eyes, searching his face for a reaction. Did that small gesture bother him? Make him angry? Maybe you went too far. But the moment your gaze locks with his, your doubts crumble. His eyes are dark, intense, almost... possessive. Longing. This isn’t the Ghost you know—the one who watches you with cold, calculating eyes, ready to nitpick your every move, sometimes even with a hint of regret, as if he thinks bringing you back here was a mistake.

Right now, he’s looking at you differently. He’s looking at you like you’re somebody. Like you mean something. Like you’re not just a piece on this chessboard that everyone else is playing.

He’s seeing you.

And it terrifies you.

As if snapping yourself from a dream, you take a quick step back, chuckling awkwardly to break the tension. “Remind me never to drink with you lot again.”

Ghost seems to snap back to reality at the same moment you do, but there’s a flicker of frustration in his eyes, a strain in how his jaw clenches. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you. Instead, you take a slow breath, grounding yourself as best you can, then slide the keycard through the reader with a soft beep.

Before you step inside, you glance over your shoulder at him, catching that dark, unreadable look he wears all too well. “Thanks… for walking me to my room,” you murmur, trying to sound casual, like nothing strange just happened.

He nods, barely a movement, but there’s something in his silence that feels heavier than usual, as if he’s holding something back. He lingers for a split second before turning, walking back down the hallway, his steps fading into the distance.

Once the door shuts behind you, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. You lean back against the door, then slowly sink down to the floor, pulling your knees up and resting your forehead against them. Your face is practically burning. Just a few simple touches, a look, and yet here you are, feeling like everything you thought you knew has shifted. It’s hard to explain what exactly happened, even to yourself. But whatever it was, it’s left your heart pounding and your mind spinning with thoughts you can’t quite put into words.

A soft, bewildered smile plays on your lips as you sit there, alone in the quiet, feeling both terrified and somehow… happy.

[itacats]

Operation 141: The Family Business

FT: TF141 x gn!reader - Mafia AU

Warnings: mafia themes, please let me know if anything else should be here!🙏

A/N: In a world marked by chaos, HQ stood as a fortress of new beginnings. Here, amidst laughter and shared purpose, you found more than just shelter; you discovered a family in the 141 Mafia, one that welcomed you into a life filled with warmth and connection.

Read Part 1 Read Part 2 Read Part 3 Read Part 4 Read Part 5 Read Part 6 Read Part 7 Read Part 8 Read Part 10

Part 9: A New Home

HQ wasn’t just a building. It was a fortress of concrete and steel, standing tall against the storms of a world that had been nothing but unforgiving, furnished with the luxuries you only dreamed of having yourself. Moving into HQ was like stepping into a new life—a life far removed from the quiet chaos you had once known. The old world, with its relentless grind of bartending shifts and unpaid bills, felt like a distant memory now, cast in the shadows of the life you were building within these walls.

From the moment you arrived, everything felt different. This wasn’t just a temporary shelter, a place to crash until you got back on your feet. It was something more—a home. The members of the 141 Mafia, who had once just been regular patrons in the periphery of your job, had become your family. And with that family came new responsibilities, new roles that allowed you to grow in ways you never expected.

You found your place among them quickly, slipping into the rhythm of HQ like a missing puzzle piece finally falling into place to complete the picture. The mornings were filled with reports and operational planning, tasks that might have felt mundane or tedious to anyone else, but to you, they were something more. They were a way to contribute, a way to stay grounded and involved. Every document you organized, every briefing you prepared, felt like a small victory, a way to reclaim the control that had once been stripped from your life.

Price had given you these tasks initially as a way to ease you into this new world, but it quickly became apparent that you were thriving in a way none of them had anticipated. Your meticulous nature, your attention to detail, made the team run smoother. Reports that had once been a chore for the others became a well-oiled machine under your watch. But more than that, you brought a sense of warmth, a sense of belonging that had been missing from the cold, mission-driven atmosphere of HQ.

You could feel the change in the air as the days passed. The bonds within the team grew stronger, more palpable, like an invisible thread connecting each of you in ways that went beyond the professional. You weren’t just another cog in the machine; you were the glue holding it all together, in ways both big and small.

Ghost, the most enigmatic of them all, was the first to let his guard down. His silent, stoic presence had always commanded the room, but you saw the cracks beneath the surface. Late at night, when the halls of HQ were quiet and the weight of the world felt distant, Ghost would sit with you, his mask still in place, but his voice soft and unguarded. He began to confide in you in ways he had never confided in anyone else, sharing fragments of nightmares that haunted him, memories he had buried deep. It wasn’t just the act of confiding—it was trust. A trust that ran deeper than words.

And in return, you gave him something he hadn’t realized he needed—laughter. Your sharp, snappy jokes, the ones that came so easily to you, began to melt the icy walls Ghost had built around himself. There were moments, fleeting but precious, when you would catch the faintest glimmer of a smile beneath his mask, a rare flicker of light in his otherwise shadowed existence. The laughter wasn’t forced; it was real, genuine, something that came naturally between the two of you.

Soap, on the other hand, had always been the loud one, the joker, the heart of the team. But even he had his limits, and you found yourself breaking through them without even trying. With you around, Soap found a new kind of ease—a lightness that hadn’t been there before. Your quick wit matched his perfectly, and soon, his laughter became a constant presence in the halls of HQ. It was infectious, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was still room for joy. Soap often teased you, calling you his “partner in crime,” but there was something deeper behind the playful banter. He had found someone who could meet him on his level, and that bond only grew stronger with time.

Gaz, ever the meticulous and thoughtful one, appreciated your attention to detail more than anyone else. He admired the way you approached every task with precision, every operation with a sharp eye for detail. You had a way of anticipating what needed to be done before anyone else even thought about it. It didn’t go unnoticed, especially by Gaz, who often found himself relying on you more than he’d like to admit. But it wasn’t just about efficiency—it was about the quiet understanding you shared. He respected you, not just for what you did, but for who you were, and that respect grew into a friendship built on mutual admiration.

Then there was Price. The leader, the one who carried the weight of the world on his broad shoulders. For Price, HQ had always been a place of work, of missions, of responsibilities. But with you there, it became something more. You brought a sense of family, a warmth that had been missing for far too long. Price, who had spent his life leading, found comfort in your presence. You made the daily grind feel less like a mission and more like a purpose, a reason to keep going beyond the next objective. There was a quiet bond between you, an unspoken understanding that didn’t need words. In your presence, Price found a sense of peace, a reminder that even in a life filled with danger, there were moments of calm, moments of connection.

Each member of the team grew fonder of you in their own way. You weren’t just a part of the team—you were the heart of it. You were the steady presence that kept them grounded, the laughter that broke through the tension, the meticulous hand that ensured everything ran smoothly. And in return, they became the family you never had before.

HQ, once a place of missions and briefings, had become something more—a home. The walls that had once felt cold now held the warmth of shared meals, late-night conversations, and quiet moments of understanding. The halls, once filled with the echo of footsteps, now echoed with laughter, with camaraderie, with life.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you belonged. You weren’t just surviving—you were thriving, building a new life within the walls of HQ. A life filled with purpose, with friendship, with family. A life where each day felt like a mission accomplished, not because of the tasks completed, but because of the bonds you had forged.

This was your new home. And you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Read Part 10

As the day faded into night, you reflected on your journey within HQ. No longer an outsider, you had become part of a family that thrived on trust and laughter. The walls that once felt cold were now alive with memories and bonds that made you feel at home. For the first time, you were not just surviving—you were truly living, ready to embrace whatever came next together.

Tag List:

@strawberryrnilk

@rafaelacallinybbay

@stormy-stardust

Let me know if you would like to be added to the list lovely!

Here's the current post schedule with some upcoming stories to look forward to!

[simpforsolas]

thoughts on how veilguard could've improved rook's and solas's character arcs

So I've been thinking about Veilguard nonstop since I finished it last night. I want to preface this with the fact that I liked many things about it a lot. While I do have my criticisms, it was probably the most fun I had actually playing a Dragon Age game. They made a lot of improvements in a lot of ways. But while I enjoyed (for the most part) what was there in the game, the entire time I just had the feeling that it was missing something (or maybe more accurately, a lot of things). This post won't go into all of those things, but I want to really delve into the biggest missed opportunity in the game: Rook's character arc and how it could have impacted Solas.

I found that Rook’s character arc was somewhat overtaken by the companions. But there was great potential for a phenomenal arc for them: what kind of hero will you be? From the beginning, Rook was set up to be a mirror to Solas. They remind Solas of who he was when he first started his rebellion: passionate, idealistic, wanting to make the world a better place. Basically, the quintessential hero. But Solas didn't stay that way. In pursuit of his noble goals, he made so many sacrifices and caused so much destruction that he accidentally became the villain. So if Rook is Solas's mirror, the logical conclusion is that Rook should've had the opportunity to reflect BOTH sides of Solas with two different paths: the "pure" hero path, or the "dark" villain path. Allowing two different paths for a protagonist in a game like this is tough, so I understand why it doesn't usually happen, but in this case, I think it would work because "pure" or "dark" path, Rook's ultimate goal would remain the same: stop the gods. The only thing that would change would be the way they go about pursuing that goal.

How would this work in practice?

For the pure path, Rook would err on the side of protecting people. Examples of this could include: giving characters like the mayor and Illario a second chance instead of killing them, making the choice in an either/or scenario to save lives instead of going after the gods, refusing to make deals with demons for more power to help them in their fight. Pure Rook is basically what we got in the game so I don't need to go further on this, but Solas watching a pure Rook would be moved by what he sees. In Rook, he would see a reflection of what he could've been if he hadn't been corrupted and trapped by his own overwhelming guilt.

For the dark path, Rook would be willing to get their hands dirty and make questionable choices if it helped their ultimate cause of defeating the gods. Examples of this could include the opposite of above: killing Illario and the mayor, choosing to sacrifice people (such as the Dalish hostages) in order to not lose an opportunity to go after the gods, and making deals with the demons in Hossberg in exchange for power to help the fight. The motivation behind each of these decisions wouldn't be selfishness, it would be pragmatism. Making the choice that would give us the best chance against the gods, no matter the cost. Solas watching this Rook would feel validated in the choices he made. Rook reflects Solas's own downward spiral of a journey, in seeing yourself become the villain as you try to be the hero. He would see that when tasked with the near impossible task of stopping tyranny, Rook was willing to get their hands dirty, just like he was.

Giving Rook the agency to choose what kind of hero they want to be would tie in with themes the game already started, but didn't exactly deliver on. Solas asks the question "what will they call you, when this over?" and by the end of the game it's like, "well they'll probably call me that one nice dude who saved the world through friendship." But if they had the chance to become sort of Dread Wolfy themself, then that line would carry a lot more weight.

Now that we've established what a two-path Rook could've looked like, I want to explore a little more how that could've impacted Solas. I, personally, wasn't the biggest fan of Solas changing his mind only being made possible by Mythal releasing him from her service. For a few reasons, but what I'm going to focus on here is that it made his redemption into this one-event thing, instead of an overarching journey that could've taken place over the course of the game. What I think should've happened is that depending on Rook's path, Solas is either a) shown a new path that he could've taken or b) validated in the path that he took. Additionally, through conversations with Solas, you could challenge his worldview, or you could reinforce it. If you did a pure path Rook, Solas would basically be prepped to ultimately be receptive to the inquisitor/Mythal's attempts to appeal to him and get him to change his mind, while dark path Rook would reinforce Solas’s worldview so strongly that no one would be able to get through to him, and his mind couldn’t be changed. This way, his outcome would feel more like a culmination of choices instead of a one moment thing, you'd have more of a chance to see the gradual shift of his attitude, and Rook would have a more interesting character arc.

[pinkystyro]

The small talk. - Satoru Gojo. ִֶָ࣪☾.

꩜ STORY CONTEXT: You are the boss of a bakery where Gojo works as a waiter, but lately he hasn't been doing his job properly, so you call him to your office to have a talk with him, which ends in a very different way than you expected.

꩜ WHAT INCLUDES : Satoru Gojoxfem(reader), 3rd person, smut, OneShot dirty names, spanking, cum out, submissive reader, dominant Satoru Gojo, fingering, moaning, teasing, NSFW!!

Enjoy pookies!

₊˚ෆ I WOULD REALLY APPRECIATE A LIKE AND A REBLOG !

You wake up on another morning, wash your face as usual and have your delicious coffee with milk and your usual toast. You get dressed and get ready to go to work, combing your hair delicately and applying makeup to your eyelashes carefully and perfectly, you moisturize and give shine to your lips with a pink balm that leaves a slight color on them.

Getting into your car you head to your office, you are the boss of a large food chain business, specifically a bakery.

You thought with determination trying to remember the pending tasks you had for that day “›Fix bathroom door…check warehouse…and something related to Gojo…shit…now I don’t remember well what it was about!!’’

Gojo was a waiter with white hair, pale skin and bright blue eyes who had been working in the bakery for a few months. He was quite attractive, you couldn’t deny feeling attracted to him…it was something inevitable!

You arrived at your shop, you greeted everyone except Gojo, why? Because he wasn't there, he was late AGAIN..

You let out an exhausted sigh and asked listlessly “What happened to Gojo this time?” Everyone looked at you with a face of having no idea why Gojo was late.

You entered your office and left your things on your desk, sitting down in your chair and turning on your computer to check your daily tasks. One of them was to have a chat with Mr. Gojo, since lately his performance had been declining and inefficient, you wanted to know if everything was okay, and there was even the idea of ​​firing him, because not only was he late and often didn’t even show up, but sometimes he fell asleep at work, he spent time distracted, either with his cell phone or showing off with clients… For these reasons, it was necessary to have a professional chat with him about his behavior. So you set about doing the other pending tasks you had while you waited for Gojo to show up.

“..Replenish strawberry frosting..done, call the plumber, done! I only have to talk to Gojo..I’ll go see if he’s arrived yet..” You left your office to find the boy sitting on a stool using his cell phone..

“Satoru Gojo!! To my office immediately!!” You said a little upset and after giving the announcement you turned around, entering your office and taking a seat in your desk chair.

Gojo immediately stood up, following you to your office and closing the door behind him. He stood in front of you and your desk. “Tell me Miss Y/N...what can I do for you?” Gojo said, looking at you somewhat nervously, his eyes scanning your body and your hands that had your fingers intertwined, trying to stay calm.

“Take a seat, this is going to take time..” You said looking at the files on your computer and returning your gaze to the boy once you had opened the file called -Satoru Gojo.- While you skimmed what the file said, you let out a sigh as your eyes met the boy's “I feel disappointed Gojo..” You said in a calm tone, without breaking eye contact. “Your performance at work has dropped, your good behavior and discipline…what happened?” You said as a rhetorical question as you stood up and leaned on the table in front of Gojo. “You’re on your phone every time I look in your direction, your waffles burn, your coffee overflows…and most importantly, you flirt too much with the customers…”

Satoru Gojo looked at you in astonishment and with a satisfied smile, raising an eyebrow he said “You’re right, I haven’t been the best worker, but I think you’re jealous, heh!” He said with a superior air as he bit his lower lip with a mischievous smile.

“Excuse me? Jealous? Could you argue that please?” You said formally, trying to maintain patience and composure, as you couldn’t believe what he had said, although he was partly right, seeing him flirt with the customers caused a kind of annoyance in you that you couldn’t explain.

“You say that the most important reason for all this is the fact that I flirt with female clients… that means you are jealous, isn’t it?” The young man said, getting up from his seat, standing in front of you with his arms crossed while licking his lips that formed a smile on his face. “Don’t worry Boss, you are much more beautiful than any of our clients.” He said, getting closer to you, resting his hands on the desk while looking into your eyes with a flirtatious smile.

“No.. I meant it that way.. you misunderstood me.. I eh..” You wanted to speak but you were so nervous.. his eyes met yours, your cheeks blushed and your nerves made you bite your lip.. shit.

“No? So you're saying that if I come closer to kiss you right now, you'd reject the kiss?” Gojo placed his thumb and index fingers on your chin as he raised it slightly to bring his lips closer to yours and make you maintain eye contact even more with his eyes.

“Well...I...” The young man left you completely speechless, you didn't know how to react, you didn't know what to say, you stood completely frozen in front of his lips, wishing they would finally meet yours.. “No...I wouldn't deny you the kiss..”

Gojo's lips formed a mischievous smile and then he said “That's what I wanted to hear.” he said in a seductive tone before joining his lips with yours in a kiss full of passion. Your lips returned his kiss without any resistance.

His hands moved to your waist, having a strong grip on it to intensify the kiss that soon became a wet one, with your tongues coming together, he bit your lip playfully as he brought you closer to his body. Your breasts pressed against his torso, your hands running down his neck, down his collarbone to his shoulders.

His hands went down to your hip where he slightly raised you to rest your butt on the table and continue kissing you. Your fingers intertwined in his hair as you kissed him intensely. His hands ran over every curve of your body, admiring how submissive you had become to his touch.

His hands rose to the buttons of your shirt, unbuttoning them one by one, thus revealing your bra that Gojo quickly unbuttoned and threw to the floor, leaving your breasts exposed to his eyes. He grabbed one of them with one hand and began to move his kisses down your neck, towards your collarbone, while squeezing your nipple with his fingers, to finally begin to kiss the birth of your breasts and move towards the nipple, which soon ended up being licked and bitten by the boy.

Your body was shaking at his actions on you, legs shaking, your private part wet, sighs of pleasure that you let out... god, you were in heaven...

Gojo finally took off your shirt, still playing with your breasts... You slid your hands inside his shirt, taking it off too, caressing his shoulders and shoulder blades while he devoured your breasts desperately...

One of his hands that was holding one of your breasts slid up your thigh, taking off your underwear while you bit your lip from the embarrassment you felt from being so wet...

His hand slid down, pressing his middle finger against your clit while with the other hand he pinched your nipple and kissed you intensely.

His finger began to rub your clitoris lightly, while he slowly increased the speed, making you feel an indescribable pleasure..

Between kisses, you let out soft moans of pleasure..His hand rubbed intensely while the one that squeezed your nipple moved towards your face, positioning it on your cheek while he kissed you more passionately..

His fingers proceeded to insert themselves inside you, immersing you in immense pleasure..body trembling, moans coming out of your mouth, blushing cheeks..this was perfect..

You stretched your arm as best you could to unbuckle his belt and then his pants..thus removing his pants and underwear..revealing a large member that was hard as a rock from seeing you so excited.

“I want to hear you beg me to put it inside your pussy, show me your dark side boss..” Gojo said in a deep voice, as he bent his fingers to touch your G-spot..

Your back arched at that movement, losing complete control of your moans and your dignity.. In a soft and embarrassed tone you said “..please..I need you to put it inside me..now..”

Those words were enough for Gojo to take his fingers out of you and turn you around, pressing your face against the desk, lifting your skirt and revealing your ass, which for him was beautiful..

He spanked you and then placed the tip of his member aligned with the entrance of your pussy..holding you by the hips, he introduced his large member inside you, which made you let out a loud moan and then cover your mouth in shame.

He started to make movements back and forth, sliding his member inside your wet pussy, fucking you hard against the desk..

You couldn't stop your body from shaking, your moans flooded the room completely, Gojo's member hit hard inside you while sighs of pleasure came out of his lips.. “Y/n..your pussy feels incredible.” Gojo said in a hot tone, without stopping the constant movements inside you..

“oh god..Gojo..I'm going to..I'm about to..oh god..I'm going to cum..I can't take it anymore..” you said with your legs shaking, noticing how your pussy shuddered around his cock..

“Do it..make my cock wetter..let everyone know that I'm the one who fucks your pussy the best..” Gojo said, increasing the speed of his thrusts, noticing how your pussy shuddered more and more around his big cock..

You couldn't take it anymore and you came..leaving the office floor and young Satoru Gojo's cock completely soaked..”God..I'm going to cum anyway..” Gojo said before taking his cock out of you to shoot his cum all over your ass.

You both remained catching your breath for a few seconds before Gojo opened his mouth and said “Well..I hope this settles the matter, Boss.” He said pulling up his pants and then putting on his shirt to go back to work “I'm going back to work..if you need to fix anything else, let me know.” he said before giving you one last kiss while grabbing your buttocks tightly.

After that, the boy walked out of your office door, closing it behind him, leaving you completely satisfied and with the clear idea that you were not going to fire Satoru Gojo... in fact, you would need more talks like that with him.

[sevikashairbrush]

SEVIKA X F!READER

-no warnings just pure fluff

“YOU MAKE ME FEEL… AT HOME.”

The bar was lively that night, packed with regulars and a few unfamiliar faces, filling the place with laughter and the occasional clash of tankards. Y/n moved between tables, a gentle smile gracing her lips as she poured drinks and listened to customers’ stories. Her soft demeanor and kind eyes were a quiet contrast to the roughness of the bar’s usual patrons.

Sevika stepped in, her presence immediately drawing attention. She was used to commanding the room, but tonight, her eyes drifted past the crowds, drawn to the bartender in the corner—Y/n. Sevika had heard rumors about her, a quiet girl with a heart of gold, and she’d laughed them off. Love wasn’t something she ever had time for. But the moment she saw Y/n, her heart stumbled.

As she made her way to the bar, Sevika watched Y/n work, the gentleness in her movements, the shy glances she gave her customers, her soft “thank yous” and nods. She found herself, for once, a little nervous.

Y/n approached, giving her a warm smile. “What can I get for you?”

Sevika cleared her throat, trying to keep her cool. “Just a whiskey,” she replied, unable to take her eyes off her.

As Y/n poured the drink, a group of drunk men seated nearby noticed her and started making noises—whistles, crude comments, laughing too loudly. Y/n glanced over nervously, her face turning a shade of pink, but she kept her focus on the task, setting the whiskey in front of Sevika with a quiet, “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” Sevika muttered, throwing a quick glare toward the men, who were now staring at Y/n with obvious intentions. Sevika took a slow sip of her drink, fighting the urge to interfere.

One of the men staggered over, leaning too close. “Hey, sweetheart,” he slurred, “why don’t you come over here and give us a little company, hmm?”

Y/n’s cheeks reddened as she took a step back. “I… I’m just working,” she replied, voice barely above a whisper.

Sevika watched the man with a hardened stare. “I think she’s fine where she is,” she growled, her voice carrying a warning.

The man glanced over, catching sight of Sevika’s glare and the mechanical arm resting on the bar. He muttered something under his breath and retreated, going back to his table with his friends.

Y/n looked up at Sevika, gratitude shining in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Sevika shrugged, trying to act casual. “Can’t have idiots like that bothering you. Besides,” she added with a smirk, “I’ve got my own reasons to want your attention.”

Y/n’s face turned pink, and she looked down, fiddling with her apron nervously. “Well, um… what… what kind of reasons?” she managed to ask, her shyness making Sevika’s heart beat a little faster.

“You’re a good listener,” Sevika replied, leaning in closer, her gaze softening. “A little quiet, but… I like that. Makes me feel like I don’t have to be all tough around you.”

Y/n gave a shy smile, her fingers brushing her hair back. “Most people don’t like the quiet,” she admitted. “They think it’s boring.”

“Boring?” Sevika scoffed, her voice low. “I think it’s… calming. And I don’t know what it is about you, but you make me feel…” She hesitated, almost embarrassed to admit it. “…at home.”

Y/n’s smile grew, and she reached out, resting her hand on Sevika’s. Her touch was gentle, tentative, but Sevika felt warmth spreading through her chest. “That’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Y/n murmured.

Sevika chuckled, feeling a rare shyness herself. “Guess I should come around here more often.”

Y/n bit her lip, her gaze meeting Sevika’s. “I… I wouldn’t mind that,” she whispered, her voice full of sincerity.

The night passed, and Sevika stayed, letting herself relax, talking and laughing with Y/n between orders. The world outside the bar seemed to disappear.

HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS!!

[noperopesaredope]

Donnie has book smarts

Leo has strategic smarts (and a bit of street smarts and maybe people smarts?)

Mikey has emotional intelligence

And Raph has common sense, something the others barely seem to have

"all of rise share one braincell and most of the time donnie has the braincell" wrong it's raph and it's raph by a lot

sure raph may be a little sillay sometimes and Does First Asks Later but donnie has repeatedly eaten harmful substances, started rapping in a library knowing that getting caught would put him in Baby Jail, and got screamed at by raph to stop destroying manhattan and his reaction was just wow these graphics are amazing . raph had genuine reason to believe that donnie (along with leo and mikey) did not know what a week was. donnie is very tech-savvy but he lacks reason and has to be repeatedly reigned in or prevented by raph from doing stupid or maniacal shit . anyways now onto my essay about why this makes brains and brawn the funniest fucking dynamic in the show

[new-haven-psych-ward]

i am plagued by visions. enjoy some geats sponsor-rider swaps

[padfootastic]

i think—after writing saudade, my dislike for remus has become much more…clearer?

like, it’s definitely not the fact that he didn’t do anything to help sirius that bothers me. it’s pretty clear he had no power or resources to do anything about the fact, especially if even dumbledore didn’t do anything.

but the fact that he believed sirius to be at fault? or atleast, capable of betraying james? that he supposedly didn’t make any attempts to say, go see him in azkaban? that he acted exactly the same as everyone else in the WW who either didn’t know these two or only barely did? kinda terrible, tbh.

(and like, not to make it transactional or anything, but j&s did *so much* for remus; went above and beyond for him and…this is what he’s like in return? yikes)

[yzzart]

౨ৎ⊹. BOYFRIEND!KENJI HEADCANONS!

── content warnings: F!reader, mention of Emiko, Emi and Mina, Ultraman form, Kenji being a little needy (once again), fluff, a little something to warm our hearts and minds so dreamy.

── word count: 683!

⭑.ᐟ Underneath, and sometimes over, tight-fitting t-shirts and extremely expensive fabrics, wear a necklace; however, there is something special there. — His promise ring hangs on the gold chain; like a talisman, something that surrounds he with luck and passion. — Staying attached and close to you, even with a small object.

⤷ If he needs to think or try to decide something dramatically important and you're not around, Sato will take his fingers to the necklace and hold the ring; looking for guidance. — Oh, and waking up, before him, and contemplating that shiny and significant piece, which rests on his broad chest, is angelic.

⭑.ᐟ It's not uncommon to feel, in the middle of the night, Kenji's face trying, persistently, on your neck; readily, wanting to harness the huge and strong body between your. — He doesn't care about the grotesque difference in size, just at that moment, and he doesn't give up.

“Kenji, be careful…!” — Your voice, fully, drunk with sleep and maintaining stillness, murmured between the boy's black and shiny locks; who only responded with a snore, more like a purr and clinging even tighter to you.

⭑.ᐟ Sato can't keep his hands off you, no matter what's going on, what you're doing or what simple task you're performing; hands on your waist, kisses on every exposed and revealed part of your body, thin and wide fingers catching on some part of your clothes. — Don't be upset with him, this poor man is in love with you.

⤷ One day, Mina compared him to a sloth and obviously got a frown of disapproval and the adorable Emi observes how her “father” remains so attached to her “mother”. — Even laughing and grunting when he saw a completely sleepy and desperate Ken crawling towards you.

⭑.ᐟ Please, we have, we need to talk about all the times Kenji and Emi train together, most of the time, being just leisure moments, you sit in the stands, virtually, scheduled and cheer for them; accompanied by Mina. — The feeling of nostalgia, remembering an incredible part of his life, is exposed in Ken's chest; remembering his mother.

⭑.ᐟ I can easily imagine Ken pressing his nose against your cheek or neck wanting your attention; also, when he wants to show you the way Emi is sleeping, enjoying the baby's sweetness. — And, together, pressing his forehead against yours during countless moments of the day and night, when you get home after confronting some creature and every time he want to say "i love you" to you.

⭑.ᐟ This man knows you like the back of his hand; no one can disagree or dispute this fact. — Kenji pays attention to your gestures, noticing your body language and, for a matter of seconds, he knows that something is bothering you; and, there he is, dedicating himself, with all his attention, to doing his girl well.

⭑.ᐟ Funny situations, for Ken, between you and his Ultraman form are included in your lives. — Once, while chasing Aboras, he ended up finding you on the street, wanting to go home, and clearly he was distracted by wanting to cause a provocation. — Mina gave the boy a long, and rightly so, scolding.

“Go back to the house, young lady.” — The robotic voice filled a part of the city's environment, wanting to convey an authoritarian image. — “You know…” — He pointed one of his gigantic fingers in your direction, then towards the place he was. — “The streets have been very dangerous lately.” — Oh, you stopped yourself from answering him like you really wanted to.

“Thank you, so much, for the advice, Ultraman.”

⭑.ᐟ There are nights — many, many nights — that Ken spends watching, contemplating you sleeping, peacefully; your face remained full, without signs of tiredness, exquisite and messy locks spread out, this was adored by the player's eyes. — Between seconds of fascination, Kenji longed, dreamed, deeply and painfully, of his mother meeting you; this way, she would have the chance to know the light that raised her dear son.

⤷ Kenji prospers, sometimes praying, that one day his mother will return, safe and sound, and be able to achieve what he wants so much in his life.