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ceilidho · 16 hours ago

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fear of god

There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 7 masterlist

And now that the permafrost has thawed, the carcasses buried below have started to warm and the anthrax spores in their ribs have begun to twitch.

To say that you are on edge would be an understatement. Your muscles ache from being tensed for so long in the supine position, but you remain that way until the day cycle returns and the ship hums back to life, the thought of sleep unfathomable. Synapses firing in your brain keep you from sleeping soundly. Or at all, for that matter. By morning, you’re exhausted, eyes burning from lack of sleep and head pounding something fierce.

Old questions are compounded by new ones. Ones such as, is what you’re experiencing real? Can you trust what’s in front of your eyes? Are your senses lying to you? How can you be sure of anything happening to you right now? What can you use as a yardstick to measure reality?

The most worrying question being: did you make a mistake?

You review the evidence again, starting from the top. A man suspended in the middle of space with no other spaceship for millions of miles nearby. You didn’t imagine that. Unless your mind has deteriorated to such an extent that you now reside entirely within a made up universe where a stranger—seen and acknowledged by your colleagues—boarded and took residence on your ship, which is a thought too horrified to contemplate for very long, then you have to believe that nothing you experienced over the last several days was just in your head.

Which means that over the period of a week, a man hovered in space right outside the still moving ship, somehow following its flight trajectory, and no one other than you noticed his presence. Conspicuously absent from all perimeter scans and observational points. Disappearing from sight, in fact, when another crew member tried looking for him.

Everything points to him being a figment of your imagination, but what does it say now that the people around you are able to see him as well? And what does it say that they seem completely unconcerned with having found him at all?

Your stomach rumbles and you climb out of bed.

You creep tentatively down the hall towards the mess, sensitive in a whole new way to your surroundings. The corridor remains empty and quiet save for your trembling breaths. A deep, thrumming hum follows you through the ship.

Nikolai’s already there when you enter the mess, and you catch him in a good mood, which is like saying you caught Rickettsia where typhus was found present. Which is to say, unsurprising.

“Morning, doctor,” he booms from across the mess. “Sleep well?”

You hum instead of giving a straight answer. “You?”

“Best sleep in months. We should rescue people more often. Makes life more interesting, yeah?”

Again you hum instead of responding verbally.

It makes life more interesting or it makes life a tragic crawl to oblivion. This doesn’t feel like some Greek tragedy, but then again the people in it are never privy to their genre. You don’t have the luxury of knowing what’ll happen next until it happens, until the moment is already beyond you and you’re forced to stare back in horror at all the goosestepping you did to reach this point.

You shake your head to dispel those thoughts.

Breakfast is another mundane affair. Some days you miss buttered toast so bad that you teeter on the edge of bursting into tears. A deep yearning for the familiar, for home. It sneaks up on you when you least and most expect it, waiting for you to let your guard down.

Your whole body tenses up when the mess door slides open with a gentle hiss and you hear Gaz’s voice. Again, a wave of nostalgia washes over you, an ache felt deep in your pelvic bone like staring out of a fogged up window and watching the world pass you by.

Real coffee in real cafes; sitting at the back of the bus on a cold day, tucked into an oversized scarf and drifting off, head bouncing with every little bump; the crunchy-cream spoonful of a crème brûlée; running your fingers over glaucous leaves in the garden behind your late professor’s house, the waxy coating rubbing off onto the pads of your fingers; and then a man’s rich, deep laughter again—

Your fingers slip under the table to pinch your outer thigh and the spell breaks, the pain grounding you.

“Morning, little castaway,” Nikolai booms, leaning back in his chair and raising a hand in greeting. “Finally rested after your journey?”

“Can’t complain,” Gaz says while making himself a coffee with the instant crystals.

When the coffee is finally ready, Gaz wanders casually over to the table, stopping when he reaches your side. You put off looking up at him until the tension in the room reaches critical mass.

Then you finally look up in acknowledgement and find him smiling placidly down at you. He looks rested, no sign of stress or bags under his eyes or so much as a hair out of place. You’d never suspect that he just spent the last several days stranded in the middle of space.

“Good morning, doctor,” he greets.

What is it about the cadence of his voice that scratches the ear just so? There’s something to it, a layering behind his words that you can’t make out.

“Morning,” you reply, voice cracking after the first syllable. You cough and clear your throat.

He joins the two of you at the communal table, pulling out a chair to sit right next to you, humming and nodding when Nikolai lets him know where to find the ration packets for breakfast. He doesn’t make a move to go grab something to eat.

“Not a breakfast person?” Nikolai asks.

A smile. “I need to work up more of an appetite.”

His words fill you with such cold dread that you can’t even look over at him. Frozen in place, spoon buried in your bowl of oatmeal in front of you. Then embarrassment washes over you when you play his words back in your head and realize how normal they sound.

“What’s on the docket for today?” you ask to change the subject.

“Same shit as always,” Nikolai sighs, resting both elbows on the table and sinking his head into his palms. He dips his head forward enough to run his hands through his hair before straightening up again. “Farah has some ideas for how to approach the situation, but…I have my doubts. Not worth boring you all with details. Either problem will be resolved or not. Same shit, different day.”

“I’m sorry, but is something on the ship broken? Is there a problem?” Gaz’s concern seems so genuine that for a second you allow yourself to get swept up in the illusion that he has no idea what’s wrong with the ship.

“Autonomous navigation is broken,” Nikolai explains, rolling his eyes, frustration oozing from his pores. “It was on the fritz when we passed Mars, but now it’s dead. Kaputt. Thought at first that maybe it was inertial measurement unit that was malfunctioning, but fixing that changed nothing. Then we thought: maybe something is wrong with star tracker, but code looks good, so can’t be that. Lots of time wasted and still nothing is working; it’s a very troubling problem.”

“Do you mind if I take a look at it?” Gaz asks. “I was the technical engineer on my previous ship. It might help to have someone come at it with fresh eyes.”

Nikolai studies him, the moment of scrutiny breaking his usual jocularity. Then he shrugs. “Why not? But if you break anything, I will personally toss you out of the airlock.”

Gaz smiles wide. “Sounds fair. ”

‘Technical engineer’ indeed. You scoff in your head, unsure of your own scepticism but committed to it because everything about the situation just feels all too convenient.

Much bites when it feels threatened; you know this and you have to choose not to act on it.

Oatmeal mostly done, you scoot your chair back and get up, eager to head to your station.

“See you guys in an hour for morning briefing,” you say to the two of them, tossing your bowl haphazardly into the dishwasher.

“Mind if I walk with you?” Gaz asks, also rising to his feet.

Your heart jumps. “Why?”

Something in your tone must give you away because even Nikolai glances up, furry brows pulling together concernedly. Careful now. You give yourself away when you speak without thinking first.

Gaz smiles with all his teeth. “It’s on my way. The commander wanted me to pass by after breakfast.”

Too much time passes for you to cover up your faux pas with an excuse. Better just to swallow your pride instead.

“Sure.”

You’re so stiff on the walk to the medical unit that your low back aches, the nerves likely inflamed. An old injury flaring up from stress. You’ll have to remember to roll out your yoga mat and stretch later, some cat and cow to loosen up your back.

“It’s bigger than I thought,” Gaz observes casually. “From outside, you don’t get the same perspective, but even for an old ship, there’s quite a bit to it.”

Hearing him speak so frankly about watching the ship from the outside sends a chill down your spine.

What’s the use in telling you this? You can only speculate. Though his tone remains unambiguously light, eyes scanning the paneled interior walls and the incandescent light strips overhead running parallel to the floor, there’s a veiled weight there. Something almost taunting.

“Is it?” you whisper, compelled to answer for reasons beyond you. “Is that…is that something you thought about a lot?”

“No,” he answers, quite simply. “I knew I’d get to see for myself eventually.”

Sometimes, in the privacy of your mind, you think about how some of the Earth's oldest trees are kept secret from the rest of civilization. You crave that kind of furtiveness now, wish you could burrow that far deep and remain hidden.

You wish you weren’t plagued by the knowledge that a static body in space couldn’t possibly keep up with a spacecraft in constant motion for several days on end. You want to go back to not knowing anything at all.

But before you are precious hours of solitude, so you hold your tongue until you reach the midway point in the ship where the corridors split and your paths diverge.

Just as you’re about to part, Gaz stops and looks down at you. “By the way, doctor, you haven’t evaluated me yet. When should I come by?”

“Evaluate?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Make sure I’m not sick or infected with anything. Isn’t that part of your job?”

It’s said in earnest but it feels like a barb. A sharp thorn in your side pricking you again, telling you that you’re not pulling your weight. That you’re taking up space and not contributing to the mission.

“Maybe, um…” You clear your throat. “Whenever you have time. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Gaz repeats, eyelids narrowing with his smile until just the darks of his eyes are visible, the cornea all but gone. “Sounds like a plan.”

Again, you can feel it calling you to him. Whatever it is. Thoughts laggardly filling your head, sticky like sap or syrup. His face is nice to gaze on, they say, nicer still to touch. Your hands itch to reach up and cup his cheeks though a louder voice in your head reminds you of how improper that would be.

You take a step back and the urge falls away like rain.

And then he’s gone, continuing down the corridor towards the front of the ship without another word.

You wonder if there’s something wrong with you for not insisting on examining Gaz in the medbay as soon as possible. Even if you were to take him at face value and ignore all the other red flags warning you away from him, you’d be remiss not to check his vitals and bloodwork.

Tomorrow you will. You’ll be braver tomorrow.

The second the door slides open and you take a step forward, you can tell that someone was in the medbay earlier. Your nose twitches, like a smell you know but can’t name. Right on the tip of your tongue; hungering for the word that eludes you for so long that you wonder whether it even exists or if your brain has tricked you into remembering something you’ve never encountered before. Presque vu; the wallflower step-sister of epiphany.

You take another step into the room and start when the door slides shut behind you automatically. When you look around the room, nothing looks taken or moved. Even your microscope is still out on the table from the day before.

A deep inhale just leaves you more frustrated. The only smell in the room is that of formaldehyde and antiseptic, but still the feeling impresses itself upon you, despite the lack of evidence. Someone was here. You’re sure of it. It’s an uncanny feeling, like knowing that someone’s eyes are on you.

You’ve heard of conditions causing one to detect smells that aren’t really present—phantosmia, sometimes caused by nasal polyps or strokes, but neither of those fit your circumstances. Nothing your mind conjures up as a probable cause fits right.

Pinching your nose works to an extent, but it’s not a sustainable solution; you can’t go hours on end with one hand clamped over your face. It cuts the strange effect the scent has on your mind though, concrete evidence that what you’ve been experiencing is in large part an olfactory phenomenon.

In the en-suite bathroom, you riffle through the medicine cabinet one-handed, wincing when you knock over a bottle of cough medicine and send it tumbling to the floor. You rummage around until you find what you’re looking for in a little blue container still nestled under the cinching straps lining the back of the medicine cabinet.

Unscrew and uncap to a waxy, off-white jelly. You slather a thick layer of petroleum jelly under your nose, so thick that a glob lodges in your left nostril and you nearly sneeze it out. It does the trick though. Mutes the scent somehow; turns the dial all the way back down to zero so you can breathe with ease again. Think clearly again.

You step back into the main room. When you look back around the medical unit, again you notice that not a single thing looks out of place. If someone had been here before you, there would be signs—things misplaced or forgotten out on one of the tables or on the exam bed in the middle of the room. This is the only room on the ship entirely under your supervision and dominion; you know where each piece of equipment is stored and how every inch of the room should look after you’ve put everything away.

But the room looks fine. Untouched.

Your better judgment tells you to just let it go.

Touching your palms to your pants, you find them drenched in sweat. The body knows when there's something amiss.

You observe and take note.

#ceil writing #cod x reader #gaz x reader #gaz x you #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick x you #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x you #gaz/reader

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tatsumessy · 2 days ago

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that’s pretty - itoshi sae

sometimes sae feels like he doesn’t know his girlfriend. like he just doesn’t understand what’s going on through her mind sometimes and that frustrates him sometimes. “that’s pretty.” you say looking at a necklace in the window of a jewelry store, you two were currently walking around the mall shopping for some gifts for friends. “then get it if it’s pretty.” sae responds looking at you like your an idiots for not going in and buying it.

“nahhh. i don’t want it.” you respond curtly while window shopping at other stores and such. he gives you a confused look before rolling his eyes and following behind you. you run into a clothing store that had some merch and stuff in it, walking around you found a whole section dedicated to sae. “hahaha now this is would buy. it’s your U20 uniform.” “i literally have that at home y/n why would you waste your money on that knock off crap.” you sigh at his comment and hold up the jersey.

“sae it’s not about it being a knock off- it’s just about the feeling you know? if we weren’t together and having the actual jersey at my disposal wasn’t an option this would be like a dream. Itoshi Sae merchandise sells fast because you’re a hot commodity babe.” he just rolls his eyes at your comment scoffing and looking around the store. “you like this?” he says holding up a silver soccer ball key chain. “it’s nice. you want it?” “no. you want it?” he responds holding it out for me. you give him a confused expression. “sae no- is shopping too much for you?”

he looks at you offended. “no it’s not! i’m just- i’m frustrated.” sighing you fold the jersey back up set it back down on the table. “come on im hungry let’s go get some food.” you grab his hand interlocking your fingers together as you both walked to the food court. you get a box of pizza and find a seat in a secluded area. “so…what are you frustrated about?” he doesn’t respond and takes a bite out his pizza. “sae communication is key in every relationship.” you reach over pushing some of his hair out his face and gently hold his cheek.

“talk to me what’s wrong. is it something I did?” he set the pizza down and wiped his hand on a napkin before leaning back in his chair. he holds your hand no even looking at you. “i don’t know…i feel like our relationship meshes more when im busy you know? it’s like now that im in open season i don’t understand you at all. i missed your birthday and life been trying to figure out what to get you as a gift for christmas but im stuck. this is so stupid.” you cover your mouth trying to stop yourself from laughing. “sae- seriously. you feel like we don’t connect anymore? that’s only because we were used to our schedule. and i told you not to worry about a christmas gift- Im just glad to actually have you here this year.” you respond gripping his hand. “don’t think that i need some gift to be happy. im happy where im at.” you say smiling softly at him.

“what’s this sae?” you ask holding a small gift wrapped box in your hand. it wasn’t too small but it wasn’t too big either so the only logical conclusion was that it was a ring. “don’t get any funny ideas idiot. just open it.” he says, this christmas we decided to do something simple which was christmas morning we spent with each other then in the evening we spend it with our respective families. we were sitting in bed wearing matching ugly pajamas with warm cups of hot cocoa on our bedside dressers. you slowly unwrapped the horrible wrapping paper the slowly opened the velvet box, it was a silver ring with a light pink flower on top. “it’s one of those fidgeting rings i saw online. i know you have problems with your anxiety and i remember you saying the other day you wanted to find a better habit than chewing on your nails.” he explained while pulling the ring out and placing it on your right ring finger. he then used his index finger to demonstrate how the flower spun once you barely pushed it. you smiled blushing at how thoughtful the gift was.

“sae- im going to cry…this is literally the sweetest thing ever.” you said with tears in your eyes as you reached over wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. he kissed back trying to hide the light dusted pink on his cheeks. he was proud of his gift through he didn’t want to show it. “okay now open your gift…” he grabs the box that’s been sitting on his lap for the past ten minutes. he pulls off the wrapping tossing the trash off the side of the bed then opens the box. he held it up and it was a keychain, a silver soccer ball keychain. the same one from the mall a couple weeks ago, he looked a bit confused m.

“before you start complaining open it…” you say holding onto his arm, your chin resting on his shoulder watching him open the locket. it was the very first picture you ever took together, especially when sae was still rocking those ugly diagonal bangs he loved. “oh god i look horrible” he mumbles staring at the picture. you watch his thumb trace over the small image of your smile before looking at you. he lens down and kisses your cheek. “i love it. ‘s nice” he say still staring at the picture while leaning into you. “im glad you like it. now stop pouting thinking you don’t know me because this gift just proves home much you know about me and more.”

comments and reblogs are very appreciated my lovelies

#blue lock sae #blue lock x you #blue lock x reader #blue lock #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae x y/n #itoshi sae #sae itoshi #sae blue lock #itoshi sae blue lock

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earthtooz · 1 day ago

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x : DREAMS OF US :*+ﾟ

in which: you bring a little faith in promises back to itoshi rin.

warnings: 600+ wc, fluff, talks of moving in together, gn!reader who is in uni, rin is a pro (?) soccer player.

a/n: PHEWWW when was my last itoshi rin fic? been a while :> i have another rin (but it might turn into a reo fic tbh) fic and a sae fic in the works <3 this is my new year gift to you all. returning to our blue lock era for 2025!

Itoshi Rin doesn’t believe in shared goals, shared ambitions, shared dreams.

He did, at some point, and it came crashing down on him like a snowstorm. He still remembers the snow, the frost permeating his bones as his older brother left him behind in a cold field, a once-treasured dream now in pieces.

Since then, he hasn’t really wanted to accomplish anything with anyone else.

“It’s snowing.”

Your voice brings him out of his thoughts. Rin looks up from the cup of coffee he was stirring, thoroughly dissolving the spoon of sugar he just added. His teal eyes find you sitting at his kitchen bench, laptop and papers forgotten so you can admire the tiny snowflakes beginning to fall with a fascinated gleam in your eyes.

It warms him. You ignite a part of him he thought was snuffed out years ago.

“It is,” he says, rounding around the kitchen counter to give you your mug of coffee, made exactly to your tastes.

“Thank you,” you smile up at him. He leans down to kiss your temple, pressing his lips firmly against your skin so you can’t forget the depths of his adoration.

The professional soccer player only then notices what you were looking at on your laptop.

“Two bedroom apartments in Tokyo?” Rin reads out loud, even squinting at your screen to make sure that his eyes weren’t deceiving him. “Are you moving out?”

You’re not meeting his eyes, shrinking into the comfortable fabric of Rin’s hoodie and he suddenly gets the impression that he saw something he wasn’t supposed to. “Something like that,” you murmur into the mug.

“Two bedrooms? Are you going to move in with someone?”

There’s a tight knot in Rin’s chest. Why couldn’t you just move in with him?

“I, uh, was supposed to ask you this later but… would you like to move in with me?”

His eyes widen, mouth falling slightly agape as he stares down at you, and now you get the feeling that you’ve asked something you weren’t supposed to. Maybe almost two years of dating wasn’t enough time for the question to be asked, and now you just feel like an idiot-

Rin shakes his head, the smallest smile tugging at his lips. “Dumbass, you basically live here.”

You straighten your spine, a telltale sign that you’re about to rebut whatever he’s just said.

“Whatever! You were talking about finding a new apartment closer to central Tokyo, I thought this was the perfect opportunity for us,” you defend. “It is a bit expensive, though.”

“I earn enough. We can find a place close to the train station, you can get to work and university easier,” he suggests, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you against his torso. “Why are you looking at two bedrooms?”

“We can have a dedicated study. I can’t sleep sometimes when you’re watching your recorded matches in bed, y’know.”

Rin snorts. “Right. Can’t sleep so you drool on me.”

You punch his shoulder, and he doesn’t even react, eyes trained on your laptop screen as he scrolls through potential housing options. From where your face is pressed against his sternum, you murmur, “I like your current apartment, though, I like the wide windows, I can see the snow.”

“You can enjoy it until my lease is done. We can hunt for an apartment with wide windows until then so you don’t miss the snowfall.”

“‘Kay,” you murmur contentedly. “This can be our shared dream, then.”

And it’s funny, because Rin hasn’t heard that term in a long time. Every dream of his, he’s done alone. He hasn’t ‘shared’ a dream with anyone since Sae, and that came crumbling down in the blink of an eye. If he can’t trust his older brother to keep his word, then who can he trust?

However, you’re snug in his arms, in his hoodie, in his apartment, and a silent promise hangs in the air, and he realises now that with every dream of his, he has always imagined you to be a part of it.

#earthtooz: blue lock !!#i believe that itoshi rin is the kind of person who loves harder #and because he loved his dream with sae harder the fall hurt even more #i will spread this agenda #itoshi rin x reader #rin x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #itoshi rin fluff #blue lock fluff

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not-neverland06 · 2 days ago

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𝙰 𝚆𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚂𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

Summary: Your husband was supposed to be dead. It's what bastards like him deserve after abandoning their wives in the middle of a blizzard. But he's here, haunting you even when you finally thought you were rid of him. No one can know.

Despite how sobering seeing your husband felt, it didn’t miraculously purge the whiskey running through your veins. You stumble towards the stairs of the saloon and stumble on the first step. “Damn,” you curse, blaming a loosened floorboard that doesn’t exist. Your fists clenches around the banister, relying on it to keep you standing.

With each step, the warm air from the upstairs presses down against you. Your head spins with the effort it takes to keep moving forward. The heat of grinding bodies from the bedrooms seeps through the cracks of the doors. Sweat beads along your temple as you make it up the last few steps and you fight against the urge to pass out.

Just as you pull yourself onto the landing, you manage to spot your husband’s form turning down the hall opposite of you. He and the whore disappear from view, “Shit,” you mutter, pushing yourself forward faster. Your legs pump as quickly as they can but the booze has numbed them. You feel nothing more than an almost pleasant tingle as you try and get them moving.

A man stumbles towards you, grinning like a drunken fool. You don’t manage the grace to avoid bumping into him and his hands immediately rove your body, mistaking you for a working woman. You grunt nonsense at him, swatting his arms away and paying no heed to the insult he hurls at you. Your only focus now is the spot where your husband disappeared. You’ve nearly caught up with him when you feel your stomach roll unpleasantly. You latch onto the banister and curl over it, trying to keep your booze down.

You suck in a sharp breath through your nose, clenching your eyes shut as you force the bile down before it can rush up your throat. You clamp a clammy palm over your mouth and turn your eyes toward the balcony on your right.

Only an orange glow, fading against the horizon, remains of the day. The sun has long since disappeared from the sky. You were wondering why you felt so horrible. You’d drank the entire day away without realizing it. Not only that, but you’d been on your own all day. The cogs in your head are slow to turn through the sluggish mush that has become your brain. You know you had someone waiting on you, or you were waiting on them. You can’t seem to remember which.

But there was something else you were doing, besides trying to remember why you were so drunk and in a saloon all alone. You push off the banister, stumbling back a few steps, and think as hard as you can. Your gaze drifts to your left ring finger, to the pale line of a missing ring. “Husband,” you whisper, “no good husband that’s supposed to be dead.”

A man shoots you a worried look as you pass by him but you just send him a watery smile. He shakes his head with a sigh, “Never should’ve started lettin’ women in here.”

You roll your eyes but the motion just makes you dizzy and you have to lean on a wall for a moment to get your bearings back. By the time you do, the man is gone and you’re all alone on the second floor.

You have to use the wall to keep yourself balanced, but you do eventually manage to make your way towards the bedrooms. You’re not sure how you’ll know which one your husband is in. There’s always the option of simply busting down the doors until you find him, but that will draw too much attention.

With your ear pressed to the walls like some kind of pervert, you pass by three bedrooms before you think you’ve found the right one. Slightly ajar, the door lets lamplight seep out into the hallway. Whoever is in there had been in a rush and hadn’t bothered taking the proper, mannerly, precautions. It seems like something your husband would do.

With as light feet as you can manage drunk, you make your way towards the door. You hover in front of it, listening for a moment to soft sighs and creaking bedsprings before you peer inside. You only see the back of the woman at first, red curls falling over her shoulders, dress hastily pushed beneath her breasts. She’s bouncing atop a man who's wearing a pair of boots that look far too familiar to you.

Reaching forward, you press the door open just the slightest bit more. Her grinding motions no longer block the man she’s with. Your throat tightens, heart souring, as you see your husband’s face turned up in glee. He lays below her, grinning like a fool, hands caressing her hips in ways he’d never done with you. She couldn’t look more tired of him, gaze constantly drifting towards the crumpled-up cash on the table beside them.

You feel something white hot and angry strike through you. It’s callous, and unrestrained as you slip your hand across the revolver on your hip. You slide through the door with more grace than you should be currently capable of. You keep your eyes solely on the woman. You recognize the glazed look of your husband’s eyes, he’s too drunk to realize a gun’s being pointed at him, but she’s sober, she could scream and everyone would know you’re up here.

“You’re so beautiful,” he slurs and it’s like something inside you splits and snaps open. He hasn’t called you beautiful in years, he hasn’t even tried to sleep with you since your first year of marriage. He’d bluntly told you that he’d rather cut off his cock than get you pregnant with his children. And here he was, laving this whore with compliments like he wasn’t paying her to make him happy.

Righteous fury makes a fool out of you. You think of every bad night, all the moments you’d curled up in your room covered in bruises after he’d had too much to drink. You pull the revolver out, cock the hammer back, and point it at the back of the woman’s head. Her movements still, hips hovering in the air as she peers ever so slightly over her shoulder.

“What’re you doin’?” Your husband slurs, slapping roughly at her hips. You see her jolt and listen to the smack echo through the room as her pale skin reddens. Your eyes burn with unshed tears and you nod towards the money on the dresser.

“Take the money. Get out,” you motion with your gun towards the door. She stays completely still, eyes so wide you can practically see the whole of them. Your finger twitches towards the trigger and she leaps up, nose flaring like a terrified rabbit. “Don’t make me say it again.”

She grabs the money, not even bothering to fix her clothes, and runs out the door. You figure after having to deal with your husband’s whiskey dick, she could use the compensation. She hastily slams the door shut behind her and you listen to the sounds of her rapid footsteps disappearing down the hall.

You should be worried she’ll tell someone or get the sheriff, but you doubt she will. You’re sure she’s been threatened by plenty of angry wives in her time here. You’re probably just one of the rare few who bring a gun to drag their wily husbands out of a whore’s bed. She’ll dismiss you as nothing more than an irate woman taking her husband back home.

Or, perhaps, you’re just drunk and confident enough to believe you can get away with this without any consequences.

Vince’s pants are jerked lazily to his knees, he leaves himself exposed to you as he gets up on his elbows. You can almost smell the whiskey on his breath as you’re reminded of your disaster of a wedding night. He’d looked just like this then. Foolish, drunk, and like the biggest mistake of your life.

He’d told you he was so nervous to lay with you that he’d practically drank the whole bar at your wedding. You hadn’t been able to do anything that night except stay up to make sure he didn’t drown in his own vomit. You’d even spent the next day nursing him so he wouldn’t suffer too much from the consequences of what he’d done.

He’d been so sheepish, so horribly ashamed of his behavior as he apologized to you. You’d thought it be a silly story to share with your children one day. Or even one to just keep to yourself and laugh at, occasionally. You hadn’t thought it would become your everyday. You hadn’t thought the apologies would stop.

His eyes roam lazily over you, tongue licking at his cracked lips in appreciation. A wet chuckle leaves him when he spots the gun in your hand. He grins at you, that familiar smile that always used to make you feel small. “Calm down, there’s more than enough of me to go around, honey.”

It hits you, then. As he laughs and smiles at you like this is all a joke. He doesn’t recognize you. You’re a bottle of whiskey deep yourself and you’d been able to tell the back of his head from every other bastard down there. But standing right before him he doesn’t even know who you are.

He doesn’t even have the decency to realize you’re his wife. “What’re you looking at, right now?” You demand, letting the gun drop a little.

He shrugs, “I don’t know,” you grimace as he lets out a belch. “One wild woman, that’s for sure.”

You laugh but there’s no humor in the sound, only the acceptance that there was no part of him that ever cared about you. Even before things went bad, when you were still young and naive. You never meant anything to him and he had been your whole word. The gun hangs limply by your side, “You’re seeing,” you tell him slowly, “the wife you left for dead. I’m standing right in front of you, Vince, what does that mean?”

He blinks slowly and you watch as the thought forms. Eventually, the realization dawns on him. His jaw hinges open and closed, just the barest bit of sobriety shining through his reddened eyes. You tilt your head, face expectant, as you wait for him to say anything to you. Prove there’s any part of him worth redeeming.

His brows furrow, lips turned down, and you wonder what he’ll say. “Help-” He starts to holler and you lunge forward. If anyone hears him or sees you standing in his room with a gun, you’ll be hanged. Maybe not before, you could have lied and said you were only an angry wife looking to scare him. But you travel with outlaws now, he’ll get you killed. He’ll get them all killed.

You grab the closest thing you can and drag a pillow over his face. If this were any other day, he’d have you on the floor, his hands would already be tight around your throat. But he’s weak and he’s drunker than you. He has nothing to motivate him to stay alive but spite. And you have your grief and your rage and you use it to keep the cotton pressed firmly against his mouth.

“I thought you were dead, you fucking bastard,” you hiss at him. He can’t respond, not with the way you’re shoving the pillow down his throat. His hands grab at your arms, squeezing your biceps so tight you feel like the bone might snap. But you don’t let go, not even when he rakes his nails down your arms and takes skin with him. You cry out in pain, watching as blood beads from his deep scratching.

You put as much of your body weight against the pillow as you can, but he refuses to give up. He kicks his legs out wildly, bucking like a bronco and nearly throwing you off of him. His arms start swinging every which way. He manages to catch you in the nose and your head goes swinging painfully to the side. Even drunk, he’s still packing a hell of a punch.

The pillow slips from your grasp as you clutch at your bleeding nose. He throws it across the room and starts to sit up. You can already hear his gasping voice, struggling to call for help after what you’d put his throat through. You spot the revolver on the ground, still where you’d dropped it.

You don’t look at him as you pick it up, don’t listen to his pathetic whimper. You scoop it off the cracked wood and turn towards him. He only has the briefest moment to see what you’ve got in your hand, to realize the threat is real. You only get one second to revel in the wide-eyed, pleading look on his face before his head is snapping back and his brain splatters against the wall.

Your ears ring as the shot echoes through the, now, starkly quiet room. The adrenaline still rushes through you, heart pounding and knees knocking together as you take in the mess. His head dangles off the side of the bed and if you stay standing just where you are, you can almost pretend there’s no hole in it.

Your arms buzz from the recoil, hands shaking so badly that the gun nearly slips from your grip. Your blood covers your arms and hands, but his douses the entire room. You press a hand against your chest, stumbling back a few steps and gasping.

You’re going to have a heart attack. A heart shouldn’t be able to pound against your rib cage like this. Your blood shouldn’t be clawing at your veins and trying to escape. You turn away from his body and clench your eyes shut, trying to breathe normally.

The barrel of the revolver is still warm from the bullet, the last bits of smoke eeking out of the tip. The smell of gunpowder and blood is overwhelmingly nauseating. You rush towards the window in the room, throwing the gun to the side and ripping at the pane until it lifts enough for fresh air to flow through.

The body behind you can’t be your husband. It’s too still, to limp. He was wild and raging, full of life in the worst possible way. How is it possible that you’re responsible for taking that from him? It can’t be. You can’t have done this.

You try not to listen to the steady drip of blood. But it’s impossible not to taste the iron in the air. Your head tips out the window and the contents of your stomach burn as they rush out of you. It lands in the bushes below, rustling the leaves slightly.

The sounds of the saloon are so loud that they drift into the night. People scream and shout at each other and you hear what sounds like a chair being thrown. How lucky for you. You shoot your husband and a fight breaks out so no one can hear it.

You fall away from the window and sink onto the cool wooden floor. Forcing yourself to look at the corpse on the bed, you bite back a sob. You just killed your husband and the idea is slow to settle. A part of you can only see a corpse, with his head still hanging off the other side of the bed you can pretend it didn’t happen.

Arthur sees Mary to the train station just as the sun begins to set. He’d like to linger in the ache of her absence, but he can only think about how he promised you it’d just be an hour. He can’t imagine how irate you’re going to be that he’d been gone the whole day.

Hunting down Mary’s brother had been much more tedious than he thought it would be. He’d joined some turtle-worshipping cult and Arthur doesn’t even know where to begin explaining himself to you. You’ll probably think he's just making it all up.

He pushes Diablo forward, the horse nickering below him like he’s giving him hell too. He doesn’t even know where to start looking for you. But, he figures in a town this small, if anyone had information they’d be in the only half-decent place they got. He nudges Diablo’s sides and turns him towards the saloon.

He takes his time walking to the saloon. He’s in no big rush to have you yelling at him for leaving you alone all day. He tries to prepare a half-decent explanation, maybe mentioning Mary and their history might ease some of the tension. You’d at least know why he felt like he had to help her. Or maybe that would only make you more mad.

He didn’t know how to handle women, especially when they were angry. He figured no matter what he came up with, he wouldn’t be absolved from this. He looks around the saloon, trying to spot you anywhere but it’s crowded with smoke and bodies. He’s got better luck just asking the barkeep.

“Ain’t got food here,” the man behind the counter warns as Arthur approaches. He doesn’t look up, too focused on scrubbing some blood off the wood.

Arthur shakes his head, “Don’t need that. Need a woman.”

The old man scoffs and gestures behind him, “Take your pick.” Arthur turns and finds five working ladies smiling at him. One of them waves and he shakes his head with a grimace.

“Not like that,” he grouses. “I was with a lady, had to leave for a little while. She might have come through here, you seen ‘er?”

“Geez mister, with a description as detailed as that I’m surprised you haven’t found her,” the old man grumps. Arthur glares, leaning further onto the counter and pushing the revolver on his hip out. The man rolls his eyes with a huff. “Only one lady been through here on her own. Sat here drinking the better part of the day away and stumbled upstairs. Haven’t seen her since, I swear.”

Not once has Arthur seen you drink more than a sip of liquor since you’ve been at camp. He sees the way your face screws up whenever Javier tries to pour you some more, he knows you don’t like the taste. He knows being on your own all day probably had you bored, but he can’t imagine you drinking so much for no reason.

He gives the old man a doubtful look but he’s already back to cleaning up. Sighing, Arthur glances up the stairs and frowns. It’s not like he’s got anything else to go on. Maybe you’d just used his money to rent a room so you could sleep. He heads towards the stairs, calling out your name as he goes.

It almost seems empty until a door slams up ahead and a redheaded woman comes rushing out. She’s wide-eyed, face so white he can see the blue of her veins. She slams right into him, nearly falling on her ass as she gapes up at him.

“Oh,” she forces a smile, “sorry mister.” She looks suspiciously disturbed and it has Arthur’s stomach flipping uncertainly. She tries to slip past him but he reaches out, snagging her shoulders and turning her around before she can get far.

“I’m lookin’ for a lady,” he tells her lowly, the tone of his voice a threat. He describes you as best he can, not once taking his eyes off her face. It twitches now and again, her eyes darting every which way. “You seen her?”

She opens and closes her mouth rapidly, shaking her head like she doesn’t know. “Um,” she clears her throat and Arthur’s eyes narrow. What has she got to hide? “Sure, ran out of here like a cat on fire a few minutes ago.”

“You know why?” He asks in that same tone and she just shakes her head again. She shifts like she wants to leave and Arthur tightens his grip. There’s clearly something she’s not sharing and he’s going to get to the bottom of it. Realizing this, she lifts her foot and slams her heeled boot down on his toes.

“Shit,” he hisses, letting her go as he jumps back in surprise. She bolts towards the terrace, sliding around the corner and disappearing down the back set of stairs. Arthur runs after her, one foot dragging slightly behind the other. “Hold on a minute!” He shouts as she disappears into the alley beyond the saloon.

She runs him in circles, dragging him between every building in Valentine before he finally lands right back in front of the saloon. He can’t find a trace of her anywhere, their footsteps overlapping in the mud and making it impossible for him to track her.

“God dammit, where’d you go?” He mutters to himself. He lets out a heavy sigh and tries hollering your name again. He doubts it will help at all but he feels useless just standing in the middle of the road.

He’s properly worried now, not sure why you would have run off. He’d given you that gun to protect yourself with, he can’t imagine you would get much trouble on your own with that on your hip. He still fears that a drunken patron in the saloon might have mistaken you for the wrong type of woman. Maybe you were handled improperly before you could pull the trigger.

Arthur doesn’t want to linger long on a thought like that. He can’t imagine something like that happening to you. It makes his stomach tense with more guilt as he walks back towards Diablo.

“-I swear, she looked insane.” Arthur’s ears perk up as the hotel owner’s voice drifts towards him. He turns and sees two men talking out on the porch. “She ran through here with what looked like blood all over her. ”

It could be any woman. Hell, it could be the prostitute he’d just chased down like a madman. But there’s a chance that the man is talking about you and he can’t take the chance. He stalks towards him and the patron the owner’s talking to spots him. His eyes widen and he scrambles back just as Arthur barrels forward.

He grabs the owner by the collar before he can turn around and shoves him into the wall of the hotel. “Where’d she go?”

“What- Who- Sir, please-” He sputters, eyes wide with fear while he looks like he might spoil himself.

Arthur shakes him a little harder, shoving him further up the wall. “You know damn well who I’m talkin’ about,” he growls, fists clenching so tight in the man’s shirt it starts to tear. “The woman, where’d she go?”

He can’t answer, he’s gone so pale Arthur can practically see through him. He also looks like he might pass out. But the patron he’d been talking to shoots to his feet, backing away from Arthur while he points to the barn across from them. “He said she went to the stables, I swear.”

Arthur lets the other man go with a rough sigh. He didn’t need to threaten him, the man was only a witness to your escape, not an accomplice. Still, he’s angry he even has to interrogate him at all.

Arthur rushes towards the stables and slams the doors open. The older man inside practically jumps out of his skin as Arthur glares from the doorway at him.

“The woman who came by?” Arthur demands. He’s got no time to explain himself now. If you got a horse, there’s no telling where you might have run off. And the way people keep describing you, you sound like you were drunk and out of sorts, possibly even hurt. You might not even remember the way back to camp.

Arthur had promised Hosea he’d take care of you. He couldn’t have messed up this badly just because he was busy trying to rustle up a rich boy.

“Oh, well, she came in lookin’ all sorts of wound up. She grabbed one of my mares, gave me the money, and went running. Gave me more than she was supposed to, I don’t think she was in her right mind.”

“Where’d she go?” Arthur barks out, impatient of his doddering story.

The man shrugs, eyes wide with surprise. “Well, I don’t know. Think she mentioned something about an overlook, but I’m not quite sure. Is she in some kind of trouble?”

Arthur doesn’t answer the man. He whistles Diablo forward and hastily climbs the horse. He rides him harder than he should, driving him faster even when he knows he wants to slow down. He doesn’t see your bleeding body anywhere along the path as he races to camp and he has to be slightly grateful for that.

He can’t help but feel slightly irritated at you, though. Why didn’t you just wait for him? He knows that he took longer than he said he would. But just leaving town altogether was beyond stupid. The roads are dangerous at night, even if you do know how to work a gun, you don’t have any chance against an ambush.

He digs his spurs further into Diablo’s side, ignoring the way the horse huffs and puffs as they make their final stretch through the woods. He ignores Charles’s greeting as he rides in and practically leaps off the horse as he runs into camp.

He doesn’t have to go far to find you. You’re in a new dress, staring over the fire with this odd sort of wide-eyed look. He doesn’t see any paint or blood, just a few nasty scratches on your arm. Seeing you standing there acting like nothing’s wrong and you didn’t worry him half to death gets him beyond angry.

He bears down on you, grabbing you by the shoulders and flipping you around to face him. “What the hell were you thinkin’, leavin’ like that?” He knows he needs to be mindful of his tone. He’s not exactly easy on the eyes, he’s sure it’s not much better when he’s shouting in your face. But he’d thought you were dead or worse.

Hosea notices the commotion, standing up from the domino table as Tilly turns towards you both. Arthur doesn’t have eyes for anyone but you. You’re staring up at him, all glassy-eyed and trembling. But you’re not speaking and it’s making the anger in his mind gnaw away at any common sense.

“Answer me, dammit! What the hell were you thinkin’?”

You open your mouth and Arthur thinks you better have a damn good answer for this. Instead of words, all that comes out is a shuddering sob that has you shaking in his hold. “I’m sorry,” you blubber, head bowed as tears start streaming.

Arthur’s eyes go wide and he slowly releases your arms. “Oh,” he trails off, hands hovering over you in an almost-touch. You wipe desperately at your tears but they won’t stop coming and he’s worried you might fall over with the force of your heaving.

“I’m so sorry,” you cry out. He doesn’t have a moment to react before you turn around and run off towards the trees. Arthur watches this all happen with a slack-jawed, awed kind of expression. He looks around and sees half the camp watching him.

“I didn’t mean to,” he argues weakly, trying to think of some defense. He moves to go after you but Mary-Beth shakes her head.

“Don’t, Arthur. Leave her be, you have no idea how terrifying you get sometimes.” She shakes her head in disappointment and walks over to her tent.

Arthur feels his heart sink to his stomach, tongue-tied with all kinds of excuses. No matter how hard he tries to be good, he just can’t do it right.

There’s no light but the moon to guide you as you trip your way through the underbrush. A few fallen branches snag at the hem of your dress but you keep moving. Your chest heaves as you try and catch your breath. You rub painfully at your eyes, trying to stem the flow of tears that just won’t stop coming.

The tip of your boot catches on a stray rock and you fly forward. Your hands sink into soft grass and you feel wet patches forming on your knees. So much for your clean new dress. You stay where you are, curled up on the forest floor feeling like a pathetic wretch

You can’t get the blood off your hands. Even after washing it off in a pond on the way to camp. You still feel it soaking through your clothes and staining your skin. Somewhere inside yourself, you know that this is just shock. You’ll be fine soon enough.

But for now, you’re stuck in an endless cycle of watching the death of your husband play out over and over again. You see his chest blowing out the last bits of air in his lungs. You feel the heavy weight of his limp body in your arms as you drag him into the wardrobe. The squish of his brain under your foot as you made a run for it.

You curl into yourself, and one last, hard sob rips through you before you feel your chest begin to silently fill in and out. The tears come a little slower as you place your hands over your face and force yourself to breathe.

“Who’s there?” You recognize Charles’s voice but you don’t have the wherewithal to answer, still trying to calm yourself. “Who’s there?” He demands again, louder. His question is accompanied by the cock of a gun, but that’s all you hear. He’s near silent as he makes his way through the forest. You open your eyes only to find yourself staring down the barrel of his rifle, no warning of his approach.

He says your name, his tone tinged with worry. “What are you doing out here?”

You wipe your face off, take in a shuddering breath, and open your mouth. Nothing more than a wheeze comes out. You don’t know what to say to him. You don’t even know how to begin to approach this.

He kneels before you, his hand landing on your shoulder and then running gently across your arm. Your brows furrow as he starts petting you, almost, like a dog. “What the hell are you doing?” You ask, barking out a wet, incredulous laugh.

He lifts his hand, a slight tilt to his lips, “Seeing if you’re injured. Is that not what’s wrong?”

You shake your head, biting your lower lip and scrubbing a hand down your face. “No,” you whisper.

“What happened?” His voice is so gentle and soft that you’re lulled into a feeling of security. You don’t see him shouting at you the way Arthur did. You imagine him listening with that stern expression of his and not saying anything at all.

“I killed him,” you mutter, staring down at your balled-up hands. “I killed him and I stuffed him in a wardrobe.” You look up at Charles and if he’s shocked, he’s doing a damn good job of not showing it. “I ran, threw my clothes in a lake, and came back to camp. I didn’t know what to do,” your voice is a hushed whisper, words coming out faster than you can think of them as you begin to unload on him.

“Stop,” he interrupts before you can confess any more of your sins. “Who did you kill?”

You hesitate and he gives you a stern look that forces the words out. “My husband. I saw him in the saloon, he had a woman with him and I just got so mad,” your nails bite into the palms of your hands and he reaches down, forcing you to uncurl them.

“You stuffed him in a wardrobe?” You nod your head rapidly and he sighs, getting to his feet. “Did anyone see you?”

You think back on it, trying to think of a witness. You’d been pretty drunk at the time, it’s hard to recall much before you pulled the trigger. “The woman,” you whisper, head bowed with shame as you remember her. “There was a woman with him and I kicked her out.”

“Get up,” he tells you, tone short and commanding as he starts to walk off.

You feel your heart drop to your heels, scrambling to your feet and chasing after him. You nearly barrel into his back in your attempt to catch up. “Where are we going? Are you turning me in?”

He shakes his head with a low laugh. “No. But we need to get rid of the body. If we’re lucky, no one will have gone in there yet. If we’re not, we’ll need to deal with that woman.”

You blanch at the idea of having to shoot someone else but Charles doesn’t give you much time to stomach the thought. He walks back into camp, tossing his rifle at an unsuspecting Lenny. “Hey, it ain’t my turn tonight!” Lenny argues with Charles retreating back.

“It is now,” he calls over his shoulder. He leads you back to the horses and it’s like he’s got you on a leash. You follow blindly behind him, just needing someone to tell you what to do. You climb the mare you’d impulsively bought. You hadn’t even really processed what you’d done.

It’s not until now, that you’re sitting on her, that you take in anything about her. She’s pretty enough, an Ardennes with white coloring and an odd grey speckling on her back legs. You like the feathering on her hooves and how soft her mane is when you run your hand over it. But you’re most thankful for the fact that she got you back to camp as fast as she did.

Charles starts to pull out of camp when someone approaches your horse. You glance down, focus still split between what you’ve done and what you’re about to do. You find Arthur staring up at you, hands bracketing the saddle so you can’t leave. He looks around you, glancing at Charles before turning back.

“What’re you doin’?” He asks, voice having lost some of the edge from earlier. You can still see the tension in his shoulders but it's clear he’s trying to keep his tone in check.

You look over your shoulder, leaning on Charles for guidance. It’s not like you’ve ever murdered someone before, you’re not even sure how to lie about it. You just know that you don’t want Arthur to ever learn about what you did. You don’t want any of them too.

It’s a gang of outlaws, liars, murderers, and jackasses and you’re terrified that if they ever found out about this, they’d start looking at you like you’re one of them. “Nothing important, just taking her for a ride,” Charles answers. His horse kicks at the ground impatiently, wanting to get a move on and you can feel your own mare getting restless.

Arthur’s eyes narrow with something like suspicion. His jaw sets and you have a sinking feeling in your stomach that you know what he’s going to say. He’ll call your bluff, say he’s coming with you. Then you’ll be forced to tell the truth. He’ll know you killed your husband.

You play a dirty card, staring down at him with wide, wet eyes and sniffling. “I just need to be away from camp, Arthur. I got so scared earlier.” The because of you goes unsaid but you know he hears it nonetheless.

His face slacks with something like guilt and he takes his hands off your horse, backing off. “Look, about that, I’m real sorry, alright? I got worried because you weren’t in town-”

“You said an hour,” you snap. A sudden wave of irritation takes hold of you. Not only is he stopping you from cleaning up your mess but he’s trying to make it out like you leaving wasn’t his own damn fault. “You left me on my own until sunset. What the hell did you expect me to do? I thought you were just going to leave me there.” You scoff, shaking your head and looking down at your hands. “Wouldn’t be the first time a man abandoned me.” It’s low, comparing him to the husband you just killed, but you need to play every card you have to make sure he stays away.

His brows furrow and you see the brief flash of hurt on his face before it disappears. With a heavy sigh, you lead your horse towards Charles. “Just leave me be,” you snap, taking off before he can say anything else.

You’ll stew in that guilt later, for now, you need to go get rid of your husband's body.

“He’s in there?” Charles motions towards the saloon and you nod your head. “Alright, hitch the horses over here. We don’t want people seeing us.” He leads you to the gunsmith across the way and you both get off your horses.

Charles stops you from going in the front and takes you around the back of the saloon. He leads you to a set of back stairs that almost gets you exactly where you need to be. You’re on the upper floor but the room your husband is in is on the other side of the building.

Charles looks at you expectantly and for a moment you’ve forgotten that it’s your murder you’re cleaning up. You’ve just been obeying him blindly like a beaten dog, needing someone to tell you everything will be alright. “Oh, right,” you whisper, leading him around the banister and towards the hallway your husband is in.

You’re nearly at the door when another couple starts walking towards it. “Shit,” you hiss, “that’s it.”

Charles looks around your shoulder to the slightly ajar door and lets out a loud sigh. “You didn’t even close the door?”

You turn and glare at him, “I was a little distracted,” you snap quietly. He only shakes his head, grabbing your hand and running towards the room before the couple can get to it. You nearly slam into the woman in your haste to get inside.

Charles slams the door closed behind you both and you hear her laugh as she moves down the hall. “Young love,” she muses to the man she’s with for the night.

You sink against the door, letting out a breath of relief. When you open your eyes again you find Charles standing in the middle of the room. He almost looks a little shocked. When he turns back to you he’s got an astonished expression on his face.

“What did you do?” He demands lowly and you flush.

“I- I,” you stutter and take a hesitant step towards him. “I shot him and stuffed him in the wardrobe,” you rush out, motioning towards the closed wardrobe beside him. You stand next to him, finally getting a good look at what he’s seeing.

You grimace in disgust. You suppose in your haste to hide the body and leave you hadn’t wholly taken in the gore of the room. There’s a puddle of blood soaked into the bed and a trail of it leading to the wardrobe. You’re pretty sure there’s a pile of your sick in the middle of the floor. Besides that, it’s like a bomb of feathers and brains splattered across the wall and floor. You can even see a bootprint where you’d stepped in a pile of mush.

“Oh, god,” you mutter, stomach flipping. “This is bad.” You’re grateful you’d already thrown up earlier, you don’t need Charles seeing you get sick. He’s already seeing you at your worst, that would just be salt in the wound.

Charles lets out a heavy sigh and moves towards the wardrobe. “It’s fine, we only need to rid of the body.”

“The body?” You take in a deep breath, lowering your voice and giving him an incredulous look. “What about the blood?” You can’t help your shrill tone of voice as you motion towards the innards everywhere. God, had you painted the walls with it? How the hell did it get this bad?

“Blood doesn’t matter if they can’t find the body,” he tells you with a deadpan expression. He pops the wardrobe open and your husband comes tumbling out. He lands at your feet with a wet thud and you grimace.

Charles grabs the sheet off the bed and hands you one end. “What are we doing?”

“We’re gonna wrap him up. Then, you’ll go outside and make sure no one sees as I toss him off the balcony.”

“What-” Your eyes go wide as you help him lift your husband onto the sheet.

“There’s a pig pen nearby. We’ll toss him in and the hogs will have taken care of everything by morning. As long as no one knows the man who was killed in here was your husband, it can’t be brought back around to you.” He speaks about this with such casualness you’d think he was deciding what he wanted for dinner. He tucks the sheet and starts to roll your husband, you blink a few times and force yourself to help him.

When he’s fully wrapped Charles hoists him over his shoulder with a groan. “Downstairs,” he commands and you take off running. You leave the room and take care to close the door this time. You head down the hall and make your way towards the back stairs.

Just as you open the balcony doors someone comes through them. She stumbles into you with a groan. “Watch it-” She cuts herself off, jaw clicking shut as she gives you a wide-eyed stare. This is the woman who’d been with your husband.

You hold your hands up, “Hold on-”

“You killed him. I heard the gun.” Your face drops, hand instinctually going to the gun on your hip. She notices this and quickly stammers out a rushed sentence. “Usually the women beat on me.”

Your brows furrow and you shake your head. “What?” You glance around her, wondering if anyone would see you kill her. Hiding a body isn’t a leisure activity, you need to get downstairs and she’s in the way. You should just shoot her or hit her over the head and drag her towards the hogs too.

When did you get so comfortable thinking like this?

“They just go after me, the wives. Yank on my hair, kick me, sometimes they spit too. They don’t never go after their husbands. I’ll be honest, I thought you were finally gonna be the one to do me in.” She laughs to herself and you force yourself to join along, not sure if she’s leading into turning you in or not. “But, no, you paid me for my time and let me go.” She winks and grins, “I won’t say nothin’ if you don’t.”

She walks off without another word and you stay firmly rooted in your place. Your eyes are narrowed in confusion, jaw slack as you try and process a whore casually agreeing to not turn you in for murder. You knew outlaw life was different than the way you lived as a proper lady. But this is simply astonishing. Is your life now just full of absolute psychopaths and madmen?

Turning back towards the balcony, you rush down the stairs and nearly fall on your ass as you run to stand under the open window above you. Your eyes dart every which way, checking that no witnesses will spot your illicit activities. There’s a dark howling forest at your back and lightless houses surrounding you, no one to see what you’re going to do.

You whistle and a blanket-wrapped lump drops from the window. You jump back before it can land on you. When it hits the ground with a thump you run forward and roll it into the bushes under the window. Charles's head peers over and disappears in a second.

You’re paranoid, head whipping in every direction at every gust of wind and rustle of leaves. At any moment you think someone is going to jump out of a bush and cry “Murderer!”

It only takes two minutes for Charles to join you and in that time you feel like you’ve aged ten years. He comes down the stairs calmly, in no rush at all. He nods towards the body and you both roll it back out of the bushes.

You take the feet sticking out of the blanket and he grabs the shoulders, nodding his head backward. “Pen’s this way.”

You both stumble along behind the shops. Pausing every so often when you see the glow of lamplight or the chatter of voices gets too close. “Why didn’t we take the horses?” You grunt, readjusting the feet in your hold for the nth time. Your arms are screaming with overuse as you struggle to keep a hold of your husband.

Charles smirks and keeps walking backward, looking for all the world like he’s completely at ease. “Consider this a lesson the next time you plan on killing someone.”

Your jaw gapes and you narrow your eyes at him. “You’re punishing me?”

“You think this is how I wanted to spend my night?” You clench your jaw shut, keeping quiet as the squealing of pigs gets closer. “Nearly there,” he mutters. You can see it coming up now, the wooden fencing is nearly at your fingertips.

“Alright, come on.” You scuttle along behind him, shuffling until your hip hits the wood. You prop the feet on your knee, groaning as you heave the body up to your shoulder. “Toss him,” Charles instructs and you use the last of your remaining strength to send the body over the fence.

The hogs lift their noses to the air, already curious by the smell of blood. Charles jumps over the wood and undoes the blanket, he slices open another cut on the body, enticing them further. He jumps back over just as the animals come trotting forward.

“They’ll really eat him?” You ask, doubt flooding your voice.

Charles hums and nods his head. “They’ll eat anything if they smell the blood.” Your stomach churns as you see one take the first bite, the others quickly following. You whip around, putting your back to the scene. Charles crosses his arms, glaring down at you. “Think you’ve learned your lesson?”

You tug the revolver out of the holster on your hip and hold it out to him. “Never again,” you swear. He chuckles and takes the handle from you. “Sure as hell never trying whiskey again.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he corrects, smiling down at you.

You sink against the fencing, ignoring the sounds of the pigs feasting. Mud soaks the hem of your dress and blood covers your hands once more. But it’s not as awful as it was a few hours ago. At least you’re not alone now. And you know Charles won’t tell anyone the truth of what happened tonight.

Still, you can’t help but worry that they’ll find out somehow. Dutch won’t risk having a liability around and that’s all you made yourself tonight. You could have gotten caught, you could have hanged for this. The bastard getting eaten behind you certainly isn’t worth all the trouble.

But there’s no mistaking that with him gone, there’s a weight off your shoulders. An empty spot in your heart is filled with the knowledge that he’ll never hurt you again.

Hell Hath No Fury Taglist: @buckysblondie @littlebirdgot

#Arthur morgan x reader #Arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan imagine #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 x you #rdr2 imagine #rdr2 fanfiction #red dead redemption #red dead 2 #red dead redemption x reader #Hell Hath No Fury #rdr2

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demigod-shenanigans · 21 hours ago

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I originally mostly made this post based on silly thoughts, but you made me think about the concept again so here’s my thoughts on some of your questions:

The claiming is a very good question. Reyna would obviously have her tattoo, but would any of the Greek demigods even recognize it? Also, Annabeth and Reyna don‘t have showy, obvious powers the way Percy and Jason do.

Barely anyone at Camp Jupiter even knows what Reyna’s powers are. Her being unclaimed would be an interesting issue, since that’s not been a thing since the Titan war. Leo and Piper got claimed immediately, and everyone assumes so will Reyna, but then she’s not, and people have a lot of feelings about it. Does she go in the Hermes cabin like kids used to? Maybe Hestia, assuming she got a symbolic cabin like Hera? Percy was already fuming but he’s even madder now. Obviously something is weird about this particular demigod but that the gods aren’t claiming this girl is a really bad omen.

Because Minerva doesn’t have kids but Annabeth is such a good battle strategist, I feel like she’s probably presumed to be a child of Mars or Bellona, but since claiming isn’t as important at Camp Jupiter (at least not for placement like at CHB), it’s probably not a huge issue. She carried Juno across the Little Tiber, so they know she’s important, and who exactly her godly parent is isn’t that much of a focus. People definitely react strangely when she insists her mom is Athena.

The Octavian situation would be interesting because as mentioned above I’m not sure Jason would have handled the whole solo praetor thing nearly as well as Reyna did. Thank the gods for Annabeth honestly. She can and will go over every single one of New Rome’s legal texts in a few days so she can find the most strategically sound way to wipe the floor with him.

Hazel adores Annabeth. There’s also immediate kinship between them based on them both having difficult relationships with their mortal parent and partially raising themselves.

Also I love the concept of Reyna finding familiarities in Thalia and Annabeth finding ones in Jason. Excellent thought, 10/10. Reyna obviously wouldn’t remember Thalia like Jason does because that makes no sense whatsoever, and Hylla isn’t relevant to the lost hero quest like Thalia is, so if she remembers anyone, it’s probably Jason. (Not sure Jason ever mentioned Thalia, but the child of Zeus combined with the Grace last name doesn’t exactly make it very hard to figure that one out)

This means the wolf encounter with Reyna might be how Thalia finds out her brother is alive. She’s terrified to let herself hope, but also even more motivated to find the roman camp now that she knows both of her little siblings might be there.

Percy probably keeps the curse of Achilles in this scenario also, which is super interesting to me.

Reyna getting her memories back would be very messy for a bunch of pretty traumatic reasons. Her remembering her childhood and Bellona’s prophecy would probably not go over great. She was raised to believe the future of New Rome was on her shoulders, and now she a) cannot even remember where New Rome is and b) the prophecy of the seven definitely isn’t helping

And she feels incredibly guilty about how much of a relief it is to be at CHB and free of all that responsibility, at least for a little while. For all the issues she has with how disorganized and chaotic CHB is, the amount of pressure on her shoulders is different. And these are just a bunch of kids, especially during the winter when only the year rounders are there. There isn’t a whole vast city looking to her for guidance.

And dealing with Aphrodite’s prophecy on top of that, trying to figure out if she meant Reyna wouldn’t find love with Jason or that the feelings she’s starting to develop for Piper are doomed to end in a failed relationship… yeah, it’s messy. She’s sort of convinced there’s something fundamentally broken about the way she loves because it seems so different from how it works for everyone else (pushing my demiromantic ace Reyna agenda here too because I can)

Piper really wishes her mom would stop meddling in her love life for five seconds. (Meeting Aphrodite again in Charlestown when that was where Reyna originally got that prophecy would be super messy, too)

Reyna misses her dogs like hell. Jason is probably dog-sitting and hanging out with them whenever he misses her. I wonder how he’d deal with Reyna being changed by her experience at the other camp? Because he doesn’t have romantic feelings for her the way she did for him, so I don’t think he’d be bothered by Reyna dating Piper, but I do think he’d be hurt by the fact that she abandoned him for other people. It’s not her fault she doesn’t fully remember everything (assuming Jason not fully remembering everything would also be true for Reyna), but seeing that she’s apparently happier with Piper and Leo than she ever was with him? That still stings.

Thinking about a concept where Juno swaps Annabeth and Reyna instead.

Annabeth and Reyna are fine, because they’ve always been able to handle just about anything the gods threw at them. Piper accidentally has her gay awakening via fake memories of a relationship with Reyna and is really confused why her girlfriend is acting so weird. Reyna and Leo bicker non-stop because even without her memories Reyna knows what she’s doing and she’s very used to getting people to listen to her but Leo will not be serious for even one second.

Percy would start fist fighting the gods in the first week. Jason has never been more stressed in his life because he never even wanted to be praetor but it was manageable while he was doing it with Reyna and now he’s alone. What the hell is he supposed to do.

By the time Annabeth shows up at Camp Jupiter, Jason is so relieved someone knows what they’re doing that he immediately asks her to be praetor, now if she’ll excuse him he needs to go have an anxiety meltdown in a corner somewhere

#thank you for the lovely thoughts and giving me the opportunity to ramble!!#heroes of olympus #hoo #reyna arellano #annabeth chase #jason grace #reyna avila ramirez arellano

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t-a-a-1 · 3 days ago

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The Misfortunes of Honor

Summary: While being under Megatron’s mind control, Optimus was obliged to interface with you. An act he wished he had done in more complimentary circumstances. Although Optimus loves you, the aftermath of the act made the two of you become distant, making you wonder if it's time to leave Prime’s side.

A/N: 2k words. Angst, suggestive content, fluff, after glow, sexy stuff, etc.

It was too late when he came to his senses.

Although he was able to break free from Megatron’s mind control, his honor had already been tainted. Not like it was ever pure. There was too much energon on his servos to say otherwise and hypocrisy did not become him.

But you?

He had made many mistakes. Many of them are unforgivable. This is one of them.

Optimus can’t look at you. Too much shame and embarrassment, yet he has to hold you in his servos. You had told him that you were hurt and unable to walk. He can tell by the bruises in your body that you were telling the truth. Not like he didn’t believe you in the first place but they served as a reminder of the horrible acts he had committed.

It’s not like he didn’t want to do it. In fact, he had dreamt of becoming one with you many, many times before. He craved and yearned for the day he would confess his undying love for you.

Megatron had taken that from him. Now, he can no longer fantasize about that day. Nor longer think what your first time with him could’ve been. He is unworthy of it. Of you. Although the act had already happened … he refuses to remember such an act. Primal. Without an ounce of love in it.

“Did it hurt?”

Optimus asks you as he enters his private quarters. No one in the hangar dared to interrupt the two of you. After tonight’s event, it was obvious that the two of you needed time alone.

“At first but I got used to it after a while,” you say as he places you on the elevated floor where you are able to see him face to faceplate.

You weren’t a stranger to Optimus' room. He had even put a coach for you to be comfortable. In exchange you put some flowers around and made the place look more lively.

“(Y/N), I – I don’t know how I could ever ask you to forgive me.”

“You don’t have to. You were under Megatron’s mind control,” you have difficulty looking at his optics. Everytime you look at them, you are reminded of how much craving they had a few hours ago. “It was the only choice.”

“Did you … Find it pleasurable?” He is usually good with words. But all sense of reason is lost whenever he talks to you. His speech becomes sparkling-like. “Since it was your first time interfacing and well, I am unable to remember much. I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t too painful for you.”

“I am not sure I can describe it. It was rough and fierce but also passionate and I think a part of you was trying to be gentle. As much as you could.”

In a conversation you two had before, you had confessed that you had never interfaced with a human before. Although you were a healthy and attractive adult individual, you found it difficult to connect with others in such a way. It wasn’t that you didn’t have opportunities before but you were uninterested or scared of the act.

Optimus began to wonder �� If you didn’t want to do it with a human, would you even want to have intimacy with a Cybertronian? He feels like an idiot. You must find him repulsive. Unattractive. A monster. Even more now that he had taken something so precious to you.

“I have tainted your honor and I would like to take responsibility if you wish me to,”

“You tainted nothing,” you crossed your arms in front of your chest. “Optimus, not having sex or having sex doesn’t make you a better or worse person.”

Your heart was beating too fast, almost coming out of your chest. Hoping that Optimus won’t notice it, you grab on to your arms tightly, it will probably leave marks.

“I am glad that it was with you,” you say as Optimus distances from you, walking around the elevated floor but not too far. “Even if it was in strange circumstances. I am fine, really.”

“But I am not fine with it,” he raises his voice. Although he is trying his best to show sanity, the more he remembers the act, the more his vexation. “All of this time. Ever since I met you, all I wanted was to have a bond with you. A genuine, pure connection and Megatron took that from me. He took my home, my friends, my life and he took you.”

There wasn’t a lot of light in his private quarters. Just the light emitting from his large data-screen. His optics were also a beautiful source of illumination. Most of the time they would be comforting but his evident anger made you question yourself.

“Optimus, is ok, really,” you remember his face plate during the act. He looked almost animalistic, unable to get enough but he looked to be enjoying himself. But now you questioned it. Maybe it was your imagination playing tricks. “Unless … Did you find our interfacing … repulsive?”

“By Primus, no,” Optimus walks back towards you, for a moment he regrets speaking without any concerns about your feelings. “It’s just that I wished we had done so in more favorable terms.”

“Favorable terms?”

“In circumstances more worthy of you,” as he spoke, his processor began to put pictures in his mind. Of all the times he fantasized about you and him. Finally together with a peaceful life. Enjoying the beauty of a tranquil Earth and a rebuilt Cybertron. He thought of the many sparklings he would have and how they would look. Their names, both human and Cybertronian. And you of course,you next to him for as long as the universe allows you to.

“In perfect conditions, we would have interfaced after concluding the Conjunx Ritus. Then we could had spark-bonded and I would have made you mine each night after that.”

Optimus took a moment to look at you, clear confusion on your face.

“Hypothetically speaking of course,” he quickly corrected himself. “Only if there were mutual feelings.”

“And how do you feel?” you ask him. “About me?”

His spark was beating at a frequency unknown to him. But his spark and processor were not connected by the same circuit. What his spark wanted to say could not be pronounced and his processor spoke what little sanity he had while talking to you.

“I think … You are … adequate?”

“I see,” His words offended you and you abruptly turned around, showing your back to him. “I am sorry I can’t be better for you. Kinda stupid on my side to believe I could ever be.”

“No,no, that’s not what I mean. I–”

His words had come to a stop as he noticed a blue liquid. Such liquid ran down from your skirt, making its way down your right leg.

Optimus had filled you with his transmission fluid, you felt the warm liquid run down your thigh. You touch it with your fingers only to confirm your suspicions.

“Is it possible for a human and a Cybertronian to have a child?”

“I pray to Primus that’s the case.”

“What?”

Wanting to make sure you heard right, you turn to look at him.

“I mean, I am not certain but if that would be the case then I’ll take full responsibility. I’ll take you as my Conjunx Endura and raise our sparkling together,” he hoped his voice didn’t sound too provoking,, he didn’t scare you with his excitement.

“If that’s what you wish, of course.”

A few seconds of silence passed in which all Optimus’s processor could think of were begging words.

“Say yes, say yes, say yes. Please. Please.”

On the other hand, you weren’t entirely sure what he meant as he used vocabulary unknown to you. You were also more concentrated on looking for something to clean yourself with.

“I don’t know, I-”

“What is a Conjunx Endura? What if it means pet?”

“Only in the case you are with a sparkling! I wouldn’t dare to think of spending an eternity with you otherwise.”

He lies, that’s actually the only thing he thinks about.

“Alright, Prime, you already said you find me disgusting. You don’t have to put any more salt on the wound.”

“Salt? What wound?”

It was frustrating to you, thinking he is cute when he blinks like that.As much as you would like to be angry with him for the continuous insulting.

“Whatever. Look, everything is fine. I’ll be fine. I am tired. My body is pretty beat up so I think I’ll go rest now,” you look down at your bare legs. Still, the fluids slowly make their way down. Feeling swollen and full, you knew you had to take a bath and clean yourself up. “Thank you for the experience, Prime. It was very significant.”

Walking slowly, you made your way to the stairs. He didn’t want to let the conversation end like this. He panics at the bare thought of you being displeased and him being the cause of it.

“I am sorry,” he stops you and gets your full attention. “It’s just that whenever I am in your presence, my processor seems to stop working.”

“... Am I that bad?”

Moving his helm from side to side, he can’t find words. He is usually eloquent and well spoken but all his being short-circuits. He can’t do it. As much as his spark begs him to confess, he rationally tells him to do otherwise.

“No, it’s just—”

“Optimus, we have an issue.”

It was Ratchet’s voice, calling him through his Comm-Link. He ex-vents, he presses the button close to his helm and speaks loudly.

“I’ll be there soon.”

He doesn’t know how to make you stay. The more he looks at you, the more he is silent. His pedes are almost giving up.

Optimus takes a closer look at you. Your breathing had changed, it has become slower. A few sweat drops run down from your face, your clothes were wrinkled. He is surprised he didn’t tear them off your body before. And your hair was a bit of a mess.

Your lips were red and swollen, probably too tired of kissing his dermas. To say you were intoxicating was an understatement as your smell combined with his had become his favorite aroma.

He curses the gods … He can’t remember much but just flashbacks. Optimus wonders if he was able to make you moan his name, our of pleasure, out of pure ecstasy and bliss–

“Don’t you have to go?”

You break his trance.

“I’ll be back,” he says. “Please make yourself comfortable.”

“I’ll try.”

He walks away. Unknown to you, he began to fantasize again. Praying to Primus of the impossible. With the small hope that when he comes back, he will find you on his berth. Ready to be taken by him once again.

A/N: Sorry for any grammar and spelling mistakes. And for being unable to tag you :( I tried to write this to the best of my possibilities since I didn’t understand much of the prompt. Still, I am very thankful to anon for giving me my first story request! Inbox are always open for any ideas <3

Sorry if this isn’t exactly what you expected but I am new to the Transformer fandom so I am still not comfortable enough writing smut since I don’t think I know much of the lore and terminology for it.

Also!

I want to state that I don’t write p0rn. But I do write erotica which is a more artistic way to write s3x. So don’t expect me to write hard core stuff, it’s just not really on my brand. Not saying one is better than the other, btw. It’s just a writing preference. BUT I can definitely write hotter stuff if needed lol.

Anyways, thank you so much for the rest and the support! I am very thankful for every comment, like and reblog.

See you y'all in the next story!

-taa1

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chheolie · 3 days ago

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where are my slippers, seokmin? 🤨

the two arrived at seokmin’s apartment, a little rushed, laughing at the ridiculous things he was saying in an attempt to be seductive—and failing miserably. he kicked off his shoes haphazardly at the entrance, slipping on his favorite slippers that were so worn they were practically gray.

"i’ll grab some water, you know, to hydrate before we… talk," he said, winking in an exaggerated way. you chuckled but rolled your eyes, used to his overly dramatic ways.

seokmin headed to the kitchen, filling a glass and gulping it down as if it would somehow "prepare his body" for the long, steamy night ahead. but then, a piercing scream echoed from the apartment entrance:

"lee seokmin!!!"

he choked violently, clutching his chest as he hastily set the glass down. "what the—?" he stumbled out of the kitchen, freezing mid-step when he saw you marching toward him, arms crossed and stomping with a very determined gait. your expression was stormy, lips pressed into a pout that told him he was doomed.

"what’s wrong, babe?" he asked cautiously, already bracing for impact.

"where are my slippers, seokmin?" your voice was sharp, and there was a glint in your eye that suggested you already had a theory.

"slippers?" he glanced down at your feet, visibly confused. "but… aren’t you wearing slippers?"

"these?" you gestured dramatically at the plain black pair you were wearing. "these are your generic, basic, guest slippers, seokmin! i’m talking about my slippers—the white ones with the charms i customized to keep here! they’re supposed to be on the shelf by the door!"

"ah…" he blinked, trying to process the source of your anger. "but… they’re not there?"

"obviously not! do you think i’d be shouting your name like this if they were?" you snapped, exasperated.

"okay, okay… let’s check again," he offered, sighing as he led the way to the entrance. you followed close behind, arms still crossed, your footsteps echoing your frustration.

he crouched down to rummage through the shoe shelf, pulling out even the most ancient-looking slippers gathering dust in the corner. after a moment, he turned to you with a blank expression.

"see? they’re not here!" you declared, your voice laced with triumph as if proving a point.

seokmin scratched his head, clearly realizing he was in trouble. "uh… so where could they be?"

"that’s what i’d like to know, seokmin," you said, narrowing your eyes. "you hid them, didn’t you?"

"what?!" his eyes widened, and his voice cracked slightly. "why would i hide your slippers, y/n? that makes zero sense!"

"oh, doesn’t it?" you raised an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look. "maybe you don’t want any of your little visitors knowing you’re taken."

"wait, what?!" his jaw dropped, a mix of shock and disbelief washing over his face. "babe, do you even hear yourself right now?"

"i do! and i’m waiting for you to explain," you shot back, your tone daring him to deny it.

"why on earth would i hide your slippers to pretend i’m single?!" he planted his hands on his hips, trying to sound outraged, but it was obvious he was holding back a laugh.

"i don’t know! you tell me!" you stomped your foot, pouting even harder.

seokmin sighed dramatically, covering his face with both hands for a moment before peeking through his fingers, his lips twitching with suppressed laughter. he had to stay serious, but it was becoming almost impossible.

"babe, i swear i didn’t hide anything…"

"then why are you so nervous, huh?" you challenged, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

seokmin opened his mouth to answer but froze. the real reason—he was dying of laughter because he found your indignation adorable—would undoubtedly seal his fate. instead, his eyes suddenly lit up, and he clapped his hands together as if he’d just solved a great mystery.

"i remember now!"

"oh, really?" your tone dripped with sarcasm, your disbelief practically radiating off you.

"they’re in the laundry room!" his face lit up with excitement, as if he had just redeemed himself completely.

seokmin didn’t waste a second. before you could say anything, he grabbed your wrist gently and began leading you toward the laundry room. you followed him begrudgingly, dragging the dreaded guest slippers across the floor with exaggerated disdain. their very existence offended you, and you made sure the squeaking noise they produced was loud enough to emphasize your displeasure.

the moment you both entered the laundry room, seokmin let out a dramatic sigh of relief as his eyes landed on your cherished white slippers, resting peacefully on the counter next to the washing machine. he pointed at them with triumphant pride, as if he had just unearthed a long-lost treasure.

"there! see? i told you i didn’t hide them."

he turned back to you, his wide smile practically begging for forgiveness.

"i washed them and… forgot to bring them back to the entrance," he explained, gesturing as if it was the most harmless crime in the world.

"hm, okay," you replied, crossing your arms. you knew he was telling the truth, but you weren’t ready to let it go just yet. keeping up the act of being mad was part of the fun—especially since your sour mood had started much earlier, and he was fully aware of why.

ever since he refused to leave jeonghan’s gathering early, despite your clear hints and even direct requests, you had been sulking. all you wanted was some alone time with him, but seokmin, with his boundless social energy, seemed more focused on entertaining his friends. he knew you were craving his attention, and while it secretly amused him, he also knew he’d have to pay the price later.

seokmin burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking with the kind of pure joy that made it hard to stay mad at him.

"i can’t with you, y/n! you’re the most dramatic person i know!"

"what am i to you, seokmin?" you asked, your expression still attempting to look stern.

"my beautiful, sweet, amazing girlfriend…" he began listing your qualities theatrically, clearly trying to butter you up.

"then why am i wearing these?!" you pointed at the guest slippers with a mix of disdain and mockery. "guest slippers, seokmin! is that what i deserve?"

he laughed even harder, his voice echoing through the small room. you felt the corner of your mouth twitch, almost breaking into a smile. damn it—you loved his laugh.

still chuckling, seokmin grabbed your custom slippers and, with the flair of a seasoned actor, knelt in front of you. holding each of your ankles delicately, he swapped out the offending slippers for your rightful pair, all while looking up at you with exaggerated devotion.

"happy now, my troublemaking princess?"

"better," you replied with a small huff, spinning on your heel and walking out of the laundry room, leaving him behind with the basic guest slippers you loathed so much.

not one to be left behind, seokmin darted after you, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. his hands settled comfortably at your sides as he planted playful kisses along your neck and the back of your head. his laughter vibrated against your skin, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

"baby," he murmured between chuckles, "now that we’ve found your slippers… how about we get back to the original plan?"

"what plan?" you asked, pretending not to melt into his embrace, even though you clearly were.

"the one you mentioned earlier at jeonghan’s house…" he teased, gently steering you toward the bedroom.

"i should hit you with those cheap slippers," you muttered, but you didn’t resist his guidance.

"i’ll gladly take the punishment," he said, his voice brimming with humor as he closed the bedroom door behind you.

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revelboo · 2 days ago

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please pelase if you got the time I miss my ugly dumb puppy waspinator or the shockwave and soundwave fic 😭😭😭

I do love your stories so much tho my tops are the two above, armada starscream, knock out and ugh a few more I love you sooo much thank you for all u do 🙌🙌🙌

He’s a good-ish boy. Thank you for reading my silliness

Worker Bee Pt 11

Waspinator x Reader

• Trying to wolf down your pasta, you barely resist the overwhelming urge to just elbow him in the face. Except then he’ll probably whine at you and you’ll feel guilty about it. Skin prickling when he shifts against your back, mandibles tugging at the ends of your hair, you stiffen. “You better not be chewing on my hair again,” you mutter, the impulse to elbow him in those big optics growing. “You understand you’re heavy, right?” Might as well be talking to yourself as one of his elbows lands alongside yours, his much heavier body almost pinning yours now, hips brushing your butt. Feeling those mandibles spread against your neck and his inner mouth and glossa brush skin- nope. Knocking over your bowl as you roll onto your back and push his head away with both hands, heart racing. “Personal space! Remember personal space?”

• Remembers. Doesn’t really care, but he does remember you fussing at him before. Ducking his head after you, ignoring your attempts to shove him away, he accidentally pushes you along the carpet. Because your scent is different. Shifting and sweetening and he’s fascinated with it. Hears you swearing at him, before finally giving up, that red stuff you were eating in your hair and smeared on your skin as you cover your eyes with your hands. “Scent for Waspinator?” It must be. Finally accepting him.

• “My soap?” There’s pasta squished under you into the carpet and in your hair, and you just want to cry as his mandibles frame your throat, inner mouth and glossa stroking against you. Maybe he’s just hungry and he’s decided you’re food not a friend anymore. An antenna brushing your face makes you shiver. “I’m not food. You know that. Right?” Voice wavering as his glossa slides behind your ear.

• “Waspinator knows,” he hisses, head lifting in offense. And to his dismay you take the opportunity to squirm out from under him, soft little body rubbing against his. Watching your eyes close when you look at the red foodstuff smeared into the floor, little shoulders lifting and falling. Wings flicking, he’s tempted to drag you back down to him, but before he can decide how angry you’ll be if he does, you storm off, leaving the mess. And him.

• Nearly crying when you go into the bathroom, now without a door to even try and close and find the shower still running. And then you are crying in frustration as you strip and slip into the ice cold shower since the water heater ran out who knows how long ago. Trying to dig slimy pasta out of your hair and then, there’s Waspinator. Because of course there is. And there’s no point screaming at him to get out. He never listens. Just sobbing as his antenna flatten to his helm and he steps in with you, an arm dragging you into him as he clumsily tries to help you get the stuff out of your hair. Not complaining about the cold. And you wonder what deity you pissed off to deserve this. Finally giving up and leaning into his warmth, just over it all.

• Gently pressing your face against his throat so he can get to your hair, he tries to ignore the sounds you’re making. Trying to prove to you that he belongs here with you in your hive. That he can take care of you. Feeling you shivering and shaking as you cry like you’re in pain. That sound hurting him, too. Keeping you pressed to him, he finds your smelly stuff you’d used before and washes you. “Waspinator’s here,” he croons, trying his best to soothe you. Still wants to investigate that subtle change to your scent, but willing to wait for now. You’re not going anywhere and neither is he.

#transformers x reader #waspinator x reader #idw waspinator

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g4rvez-r3id · 9 hours ago

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A Chat About Books

S5! Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Synopsis: Spencer catches you reading a rather disturbing book on the jet and a discussion about books and reading ensues.

Category: Fluff

Warnings: mentions of a case, discussions about a disturbing book called ‘Playground’, talks about gore (not explicit, just mentions of it in the book), mentions of murder & children dying, mentions of the Foyet arc and 5x09 “100”, reader has a fear of flying, reader is lowkey embarrassed about what she’s reading? spencer is also *lowkey* a simp? reader loves reading (heh), reader & spencer have crushes on each other but the other doesn’t know (i think that’s it, but please let me know if there’s anything i’m missing 🙏)

Author’s Note: hey lovelies! so i’m in the middle of reading “Playground” by Aron Beauregard and oh my god???? 😧 anyways, i wanted to write a little blurb because i get embarrassed about the amount of books i buy and read and ik spencer would never judge 😌 i love ✨projecting ✨ but i’m thinking of writing a part two with smut🤭 let me know hehehe

The case was a quick one. Sometimes, they usually weren’t and the team would probably be holed up in some random state for about a week. The longest you stayed was two.

You’d been on the team for a couple of years now and still, sometimes you never got used to flying high up in the air. You were usually terrified to fly, but over the course of you being on the team, you eventually got used to it.

And then you remembered the one thing your colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid, always suggested. Reading while flying. And it actually helped for flying on the way home. Usually flying to the case often consisted of debriefing and going over the M.O. and victimology. Flying home was always the better opportunity to get to reading your novels.

And you loved reading, so it gave you more of a reason to catch up on it. You often stuck to romance, but occasionally drifted into the horror genre, like you were now.

After the case in Minnesota — regarding your unsub killing prostitutes and then graduating to lower risk victims that reminded him of his wife who left him for his best friend — you were curled up in your seat on the jet, it’d been a while since you indulged in your reading without having your head full of thoughts. Since what happened with George Foyet taunting Hotch and his ex-wife and child going into witness protection and it ending with Haley being killed in the process, your head had been filled with so many thoughts and worries and stress for Hotch and his family that you could’ve even bury your face in a book until everything calmed down.

Spencer had noticed that you’d started reading again as he passed through the aisle on his cane and seated himself right next to you. He didn’t know what book you were reading but you’d been so focused on it, you didn’t even see that Morgan tripped over nothing in the aisle and tried to play it off like he didn’t. Usually, you’d laugh and tease Morgan like a brother since that’d always been your friendship with him but you didn’t even remove your focus from the book. Spencer thought it must’ve been that good of a book that you didn’t draw your attention to anything else.

He leaned over, trying to get a look at what you were reading but the book was nestled in your lap. “Whatcha reading?” Spencer finally asked and suddenly, your attention was finally drawn from the book. You almost flinched because you didn’t realize he was sitting next to you.

You quickly try and hide the cover since it’s a pretty gruesome sight so you turn it towards you in your lap. “Oh, it’s a— it’s a horror novel.” You tell. “You, uh, you wouldn’t like it.” You quickly add before he can ask what it was about.

“Why do you think so?” Spencer asks as he leans his cane over in the aisle.

You knew Spencer wasn’t one to judge, it’s what made liking him so easy. And yes, you’d admit it, you harbored a crush on the genius. And honestly, why wouldn’t you? He was amazing, sweet and insanely hot. He was everything you wanted in a man. You knew he probably didn’t feel the same way and that was okay. But finding out what type of horror novels you were into was probably a dealbreaker. Not just in a hypothetical relationship but in a friendship.

You see, the book you were reading was called Playground by Aron Beauregard. It was about an old woman who lured three families for their children to try out a playground structure for money. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, the playground structure is basically a death trap for the children and their parents are forced to watch as their children try and survive the playground structure of death. It was your first time reading it and well, one time was definitely going to be enough.

And part of you worried about telling Spencer the exact kind of book you were reading and you worried that maybe he’d think you were some type of monster for reading a book such as the one you were holding now.

“It’s—It’s pretty gruesome.” You said and pretty gruesome was putting it lightly.

“So is what we see on a daily basis.” Spencer retorts and you nod with a small shrug, “Fair point.” You sit to face him and you begin to explain the book to him.

“It’s a different type of horror. Splatterpunk, if you will. Do you know what that is?” You ask and he nods, “A, uh, literary genre characterized by graphically described scenes of gory nature. In most cases, the gore described is extreme.” Spencer explains, literally giving you the definition he’d most likely read on paper on in a dictionary.

“Right,” You nod. “Well, the plot follows a woman by the name of Geraldine Borden. She was working on building revolutionary playground equipment for years. And she decides to invite three low-income families to the estate. All the parents have to do is have their children test out the playground equipment but — there’s a twist. The playground structure is actually full of death traps and the children are pretty much in danger the entire book and unfortunately, the parents are forced to watch as the children try to escape. Spoiler alert: I’m pretty sure none of them make it.” That was just a guess, it was your first time reading it after all.

“I thought you only read romance books.” Spencer stated and you shrugged, “I change it up a bit once in a while. I found this book online on some blog. A lot of people were talking about specific pages and parts in the book and well, curiosity killed the cat.”

“Why do you read splatterpunk?” Spencer decides to ask you and you look down at the book and then back at him as you admit — “Is it bad if I say it helps with my profiling?” Spencer furrows his brows as he looks at you curiously — “Really?”

“Yeah, in some of the books I read in this genre, the main character is usually a serial killer. Or killing is involved in the most extreme of ways. It helps you really get into the mind of a killer and see why they do what they do. If it makes sense without sounding totally crazy.” You explain, hoping to God that you don’t sound insane for using extreme books such as the one you’re reading now to get a deeper understanding about your job.

“I don’t think it sounds crazy,” Spencer interjected with a tight-lipped smile. “It’s just a different perspective on things.” You stare into his eyes with a smile and surely enough, you can just get lose into those hazel pupils of his. How a man can be as beautiful as him should be a damn crime.

You turn back to the cover of your book and set it down, the cover facing upwards and seemingly feeling a little secure in what you’re reading without feeling embarrassed. “Yeah, well, this is my first time reading this book and well, probably will be my only time.”

“I’m assuming that the next time we’re in this position, you’ll be reading romance.” Spencer tells, considering that every time you’re on the jet, you’re reading a new romance book. The last time you were on the jet, you were reading a book called Praise and the author was Sara Cate. Spencer had gathered it was an erotic book, solely based on the fact that your face had flushed a couple of times while reading it and commenting that you needed to put a pause on reading until you got back home. He’d wished to know what exactly you were going to do once you got home that night.

“Oh, for sure. Those usually cheer me up from stuff like this.” You gesture to the book in front of you. “I’ve got to stop buying books, though.” You sigh sadly.

“When I was younger, my mother had always commented that I bought too many books. Said I should use the money for something a tad more useful. I can’t tell you how many Stephen King books I bought when I finally got a job. Every paycheck, it was a new book. I guess I need to outgrow the habit, sometime.” You look down, growing embarrassed again that you just spewed all of that to Spencer.

“I don’t think you can never have enough books,” Spencer tells. “No matter if it’s silly little romance books or anything of the horror genre, reading is a part of life. We shouldn’t shame other people for what we like.” He explains and you find yourself smiling again at him. “You’re right.”

Before you can go back to reading your book, you yawn behind your hand and Spencer leans over, “You should get some rest before we land.” He suggests, considering the fact that the entire time you were both in Minnesota, you barely slept. You drank coffee the entire time you were there, not wanting to bat an eye and have the unsub strike again. The most you slept was two to three hours at most. Both of your young minds working together would be the death of you one day.

You shake your head, “Oh, no. I’ll be fine.” Spencer looks at you carefully, “I know you’ll be fine, but you should get some rest. A short nap can often improve memory, improve job performance, lift your mood, make you more alert, and ease stress. They can also be good for your heart, too.”

You nod, your eyelids seemingly growing heavy after Spencer had talked to you about naps. “If you insist, pretty boy.” Stubborn as you were, the only person that could get you break was Spencer. He knew you were independent and always assured everyone you were fine. But Spencer always saw through it. You weren’t sure how he did, but he did, every single time.

So, you put your book down on the table and curled up in your seat as your head fell towards the armrest. Spencer had been in arm’s reach of the couch and grabbed the throw blanket that was perched there and quickly tossed it over your body. You looked down at you with a small smile on his face.

He wouldn’t admit it, but he always liked you. Like liked you more than a colleague. He liked you-liked you. There was something about you that lit up a room, something that he often noticed. And the fact that you’d had so much knowledge of books and the way you seemed to enjoy explaining a plot to him reminded him of himself a lot. You were so passionate about reading and books and he loved that little fact about you. He loved you. He loved your smile, your personality, your body.

And he wondered if he’d ever get the chance to tell you that. And he hoped that maybe one day, he’d stop being a chicken for once and actually tell you how he feels about you.

#criminal minds #mgg #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x fem!reader #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid blurb #criminal minds one shot #criminal minds x you #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds x reader #g4rvez-r3id #spencer reid x fem!reader

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accio-victuuri · 2 days ago

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I AM NOT HERE LIVE PERFORMANCE CLOWNING & other things

start the year right. post some cpn. 😌😌😌

earlier in the day, we got a rehearsal snippet, clowns already noticed that the building background looked similar to that of gg’s mv (anonymous/all the same). but personally, there was very little that wyb can do ( i think ) to alter that. cause the backdrop and city setup was more of the theme for hunan tv nye show. but i can understand why the cpn bells were ringing in our heads. plus during the performance, the similarity was really uncanny.

i think we already have more rational “connections” between their songs. and i guess it also doesn’t help that the captions made by their studios have a similar word in it.

• the colors on the side! Bjyx! HAHAHAHAHAHA! we clown over everything 😂😂😂

• i love what he wore for the first performance! i’m already over the moon that he sang with DZW and WH but he decided to wear that Amiri suit! and the photoshoot that went with it was exceptional too. So of course we have to pair it up with XZ.

and i gotta say, it works!

so delicate and beautiful! i actually prefer this husband matching clothes.

• the fireworks which makes sense to be added in cause there is a reference to it in the lyrics. but some noticed that it can also look like shooting stars — which leads us to kimi no nawa cpn. also the green flower thing he was holding in the photoshoot reminds us of the flower in gg’s album visual.

• His performance started 10:05 i think? which is a great coincidence. Or is it? i swear i didn’t even notice cause the content where coming out one after the other 😂😂😂

• This one is my favorite. It’s another one where we asks ourselves — why is it always them? sometimes we don’t even have to reach that much. it’s how in these two instances they said the same thing. some even thinking that WYB remembered what GG said and so he said it.

XZ: In the new year, be nice to yourself.

WYB: In 2025, I hope everyone will be nice to themselves.

they have same values and world view. that’s why they get along so well and are able to last this long. and of course i approve of this message. the boys are known to be really critical of themselves, but yeah, be nice to yourselves!

• this last one is actually what’s living in my head rent free right now because it’s related to a jewelry. my obsession. lol. and it’s a ring. people have been saying he had one on but of course he does, the TTXS ring. yes. he wore it. then he also had a coco crush ring on for his photoshoot (p1).

but there seems to be a third and unknown one (p2-4). 👀👀👀👀

it could be his coco crush rings stacked up but something tells me it could be different. and well, the placement of the ring too. idk. i’m so curious. we already have the bone necklace but i wanna know more about this mysterious ring. lol.

anyway, if it really means something we will see it again and have more details. till then, i shall look at all the photos. 😂😂😂😂

BONUS: a new sign board has been born! “Good night, I’m here.” 😭😭😭 BXGs are so clever in coming up with these.

there is also a video that looks like he smiled after reading/seeing another bjyx related sign. there was never any doubt in my head that he appreciates cpfs — because we are his fans. we support him.

-END.

#yizhan #bjyx #there is no science here i’m just clowning like i always do #some things never change lol this is what i always do first day of the new year 😂😂😂😂

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noirsdoll · 2 days ago

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-> pretty please?

pairing: curly x reader

words: 4.2k

tags: rape, drugging, implied/referenced abuse, mentions of baby trapping, mentions of jimmy being an asshole, reader is so much worse, no crash au, anya hate (im sorry), poor curly

notes: um… first post ever? so nervous but uhhh wanted to write a reader who is literally jimmy but hates everything jimmy is and wants to fuck curly. parallels!! i want curly so bad oh my godddd

writing style + some ideas inspired by @rimqueen !! go check out her stuff she is amazing!!

read it on ao3

Dumb, blond and pretty. Tears bead along his waterline, the prettiest sobs choking from his throat. Blond hair curls on his chest, frames that perfect cock. He looks like a picture, the type of fantasy you’d cook up with your hand between your legs.

Curly gazes up at you like he’s been stabbed, but he’s the one stabbing you. He stuffs you full of cock, it’s impossible not to prod at your cervix with the angle you’ve gotten him in, seated in his lap. He winces when he feels it. You moan.

The quiet hum of the Tulpar displaces your sound and that soft slide of skin on skin. Curly’s eyes are so far gone, so distant. The sharp points of your nails drag along the doughy parts of him. You salivate thinking about the muscle hidden underneath it all— muscle he could use to fight back, but he’s far too kind for that.

The perfect captain, reduced to a mess, reduced to nothing, reduced to fat tits and big hands and meaty thighs. You smile, thumbing his kiss-swollen lips. You go back in for seconds, he lets you because that’s his responsibility.

Delicate like tripwire, you’ve walked circles around him, poked and prodded at him. He keens like a dog when you scratch behind the ears. Poor thing, it’s not his fault. It’s you who kept thinking about it. Getting filled up by his fat cock till it bulges out of your belly, seeing his fingers wind in the sheets to stop himself from moving into you.

His pretty eyes are glazed over, you tap his cheek and he comes to. Curly looks at you, he’s really crying now, big globs cascading down his face. You wipe them away, shush him like a baby, stretched so impossibly on his dick that it’s hard to focus.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” you whisper, fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

He sniffles and says nothing, leaving you to stew in your guilt. You’re not guilty, you were just too eager. He’ll forgive you for this once you’re done.

Curly doesn’t meet your eyes at the morning meeting. He addresses everyone else with that worn smile of his. The one that had heat coiling in your stomach, the one you had to ruin. Split open on your fingers, the shine of spit on his pouty lips.

Swansea, Jimmy, Daisuke, that bitch Anya. She says something and he laughs, that perfect glimmer of pearly whites. Not that same pretty shade of white his cum is, you remember the way he went red as it dripped out of you. You hope it got you pregnant, then he’ll have no reason to talk to her.

You approach them both, unable to hide your grin when Curly locks up like a sore muscle. “Anya, good morning!”

She turns to look at you, a bashful smile on her face. “Oh, good morning!”

“I was doing inventory on our stock, there’s a bottle of sleeping pills missing. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” Absolute bullshit on your part, you just need her gone.

To your surprise, Anya’s face drains in colour. Seems there was some truth to your words. “There is? I’ll go check on that right away.” She turns and leaves immediately.

You glance at Curly. “Looks like she’ll be missing the meeting. I don’t mind filling her in afterwards.”

He glares at you. It’s a new expression, but it gets you soaked all the same. “What are you doing?”

“Did you have fun last night?” You’re giddy just thinking about it, replaying every moment of it in a pornographic loop— you don’t know why Curly chose to be a captain when he’d fare much better in front of a camera.

He crosses his arms, looking away. “It’s not happening again.” Curly’s eyes are more sunken than normal.

“You didn’t like it? Not even a little?” Despite everything, your heart sinks a little. Not enough to discourage you, of course, but you like to think you’re fairly pretty. He must be a narcissist, one with a type for airheads like Anya.

“I have work to do. Go help Anya.” He leaves to pilot the ship.

Jimmy takes that as an invitation to sidle up next to you. “What’s up with him?”

You glance at him in disgust. There’s something leering about Jimmy’s gaze, the way he oversees the rest of the crew with an air of superiority. Not to mention how he looks at Anya like he’s mentally undressing her. You might hate her, but you hate Jimmy more.

“Sleeping pills, really?” Curly already told him off when Anya originally came forward about Jimmy— you’re surprised he didn’t do something rash like crash the ship. Seems like now he’s employing new techniques on her.

“Keep your voice down,” he hisses, glancing over at Swansea and Daisuke, who are clearly much more engrossed in bolts and nuts and whatever engineers talk about.

“I’m telling Curly.” To help him feel less alone.

Jimmy scoffs. “He already knows.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing. He’s got the resilience of pillow fluff.” He shrugs, “so I’m using sleeping pills on her now, so what?”

“You’re a monster.” You grimace.

“I’m a man with needs. The Pony Express should give us fleshlights or something if they really cared.” Jimmy glances down at you. “Or dildos, I guess.”

What a prick. You’re surprised he hasn’t been put in a holding cell yet. You head down to the medbay to check on Anya. She’s sitting at the table, staring down at the inventory list.

You take the seat across from her. “Everything okay?”

She jumps at the sound. Anya quickly scrambles to put away the list. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.”

You’re unsure how to gently breach the subject, so you just flat out say it. “Jimmy told me.”

She stops what she’s doing, her eyes trembling as she looks at you. “Oh, he did?”

“That’s where the missing pills were from. Not sure how you want to record that on the log, but uh…,” you trail off. “Curly isn’t going to do anything about it, trust me.” You also just want her to back off from him.

Anya sinks back into her seat, forlorn. “I know… I just, I don’t know what else to do.”

“Hey, I’ll keep an eye out for you, yeah?” You say, softly. “It’s the two of us women on this ship. We should look out for each other.” You’re not sure where this is coming from. You think you’d rather foil whatever Jimmy plans to do to her than actually help her.

She nods, a hopeful smile on her face. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

“No, really,” she insists. “You’re a good person.”

Your smile falls. “See you around, Anya.”

You slip the sleeping pills out from Jimmy’s pocket when he isn’t looking. You drop a couple in Curly’s evening coffee. He drinks one at the same time every night. You don’t know why he bothers– the beans are all stale and it tastes more like cardboard than anything. He’s a man of habit, you guess.

When he starts nodding off at dinner, it’s your cue to help him to his quarters. You make a few teasing remarks about your tired captain to displace any suspicion. Jimmy gives you a knowing look.

Curly’s big and heavy, just like his cock. Curse of the sleeping pills— it’s soft. You settle for dragging your slit down the length of it, coating it in slick. This isn’t as fun as seeing him cry or seeing any of his reactions, but you’re not one to complain. You grab at his tits, sucking a pretty bruise into his pale skin. It blooms like a flower underneath his collarbone.

His cock twitches as you finish the hickey, nudging your clit and pushing you over the edge. You finish yourself off, getting up and off of him and doing up his clothes as best as you can. You dip out of his room like nothing happened, a pleased grin on your face.

It’ll be up to him to notice what you did.

It’s the weekend. Daisuke’s brought out his gaming console— a retro one that probably costs a shit-ton of money. You envy his ability to not have to care about finances. This freighter is like a summer camp to him.

He’s beaten you a handful of times now, but you’ve made peace with the fact he’ll always be better than you at video games. Gotta let the guy have one thing going for him in his life.

You hear the sound of the automatic doors opening. It’s Swansea. “Alright, kid. Playtime’s over. I got a motherboard with your name on it.”

“What?” Daisuke whines. “But it’s literally the weekend!”

He stops by the back of the couch, hands on his hips. “Learning ain’t pause for nobody. Meet me in the Utility Room after you’re done with that round.”

“Ugh, fine.” He sighs, turning back to the screen with much less enthusiasm.

“It can’t be all that bad,” you say, eyes on the screen as you button-mash to no avail.

“Swansea’s super smart but like, it’s impossible to see what he’s doing ‘cause his hands are so big. Then he gets upset when I mess up.”

“Have you tried telling him that?”

He nods earnestly. “I have, I swear! Swansea just doesn’t care.

Daisuke looks like he wants to say more, but he’s stopped by something on your right. You turn away from the game, ignoring your character dying, to see Curly standing there. He looks livid.

“Meet me in the cockpit. Now.”

On your way there, Jimmy bumps shoulders with you, you feel him take the sleeping pills from your uniform pocket, lacking any sort of sleight of hand. Joke’s on him— you swapped them out for Tic-Tacs. Anya’s going to have minty fresh breath.

As you step into the cockpit, Curly starts to unbutton the collar of his uniform, swivelling in his chair to face you.

You pause in the doorway. “Woah, not even gonna say hello first?”

He huffs, exposing the bruise you left on his chest. “What is this?”

You plop down in Jimmy’s chair, propping your feet up on the dash. “I dunno, what is it, Captain?”

He leans back in his seat, running a hand down his face. “I said we had to stop, you didn’t listen—”

“You didn’t listen when Anya came forward about Jimmy.” You shrug.

Curly turns to look at you. “That’s what this is all about? Anya?” He asks warily.

“No,” you lean toward him, over the little partition separating both your chairs, “I think you’re cute.”

He grimaces, doing his uniform back up. “And I think you’re a pain in my side.”

“You don’t like me back, Curly?”

“Captain,” he corrects you.

“Captain,” you bat your eyelashes, “I told you I didn’t want to hurt you. I meant it.” You reach over and put a hand on his thigh. He freezes up. “I just want you to feel good. That’s it.”

He looks away toward the display. His eyes are watering. “You’re just like him.”

That makes you pause. “What?”

“Jimmy. You and him, you’re the same,” he repeats, turning to look at you, his jaw set.

You frown, he can’t be serious. “Him? I’m nothing like him, I would never.” Curly’s just trying to distract you.

You get on your knees in front of him. “Are you trying to tell me that you have a thing for your best friend?” Resting your cheek on his thigh, you run your fingers along his stomach. He’s so warm, he could be your own personal space heater if he let you close enough to snuggle in his lap.

“God,” he sighs, spreading his legs wider. “You don’t give up, do you?”

You shake your head, grinning. You knew he was gonna give in eventually. You’ve always been praised for your resilience, and it’s really paying off. Curly’s cock is heavy in your mouth, weighing down your tongue.

You play with your food, circling the fat head with your tongue before you take it all down your throat. Curly’s hips shift, he knocks the back of your throat and you gag.

Glancing up at Curly, he looks almost conflicted, lips pulled in a thin line as he looks on. You sink deeper down then, his passiveness splits into a moan. That pretty face of ecstasy.

You watch every minute shift in his expression, drooling slick into your panties. Fuck, he’s hot, in the way men shouldn’t be. The top button of his uniform strains against the size of his tits, they’re bigger than yours.

Trailing your mouth down, you run your tongue along the seam of his balls. Curly’s dick rests on your brow bone as you try to fit them in your mouth. Your lips split and your eyes roll back at the taste. He smells like musk and something so Curly that has your thighs rubbing together.

Eventually, you get to your feet, fumbling with the myriad of buttons on your uniform before you seat yourself in his lap. Your cunt’s leaving a wet spot on the fabric, you can’t help it.

Leaning closer, you kiss Curly soft, slow. He lets you do it more than he reciprocates, but every soft movement of his lips has your heart going in your chest.

You pull away, his forehead against yours, and if you close your eyes, you can pretend like this is some form of romantic, because it should be— that’s what you deserve for your hard work.

“Do you like me now, Curly?” You smile shakily, one hand on his shoulder and the other on the base of his cock.

He looks like he’s two seconds away from crying, but at this point he always does. You kiss away his brewing tears. You can be gentle, you could be so good for him. He just needs to see it.

You throw your arms around him and kiss him harder, trying to show your sincerity. Your pussy’s pressed right up against his cock, your heartbeats match.

If he doesn’t understand, you’ll make him.

It’s nighttime when you finally finish up with your work and you’re able to head back to your quarters. On your way you hear noises of a struggle. You stop and peer out from around the corner.

It’s Jimmy. He’s got his hand around Anya’s throat. She’s got two hands on his forearm, trying to pull him off. Then he shoves her back against the wall, her head meets the metal with an ugly clang. Anya goes limp in his grip, sobbing.

As the automatic doors close behind them, the sound abruptly cuts off. Are the quarters sound-proof? You leave with your newfound information.

Daisuke would’ve been so much better for you, you think as you watch him. He’s soldering something, you don’t know what. You’re sitting far enough away to not need goggles. Daisuke’s so simple. Nothing to worry about in his life, bouncing around from this internship to his video games and back again. If you came onto him, he wouldn’t complain.

Curly’s making himself choose between you and authority when he could have both. You’ve never made him choose either. He’s got no one else on this ship that would care for him the way you would, the way you’ve been trying to show him.

He doesn’t get it, you lament, that’s why he said you were like Jimmy. You’re not like him. You’re good. That’s what Anya said. Anya, who got her brain knocked around while you just watched.

It wasn’t any of your business. You did help her. You didn’t let Jimmy get the sleeping pills. Though that might be the reason she was walking funny. Whatever, she probably deserved it. At least she’s staying away from Curly now.

The buzz of the soldering iron stops and Daisuke slides up his protective mask. “Wanna see what I’m working on?”

You nod and get up to look. It’s a tiny metal Polle. The shaping is a little crude, but it’s very impressive.

“How long did that take you?”

He shrugs. “I dunno, like, a couple hours? I make stuff like this when Swansea gives me free time.”

“Maybe you’re better suited for this than engineering.”

Daisuke looks at you. “You think so? My mom wants me to be an engineer.”

“Who cares what she says? Do what you want.”

He blinks for a moment before he nods, resolute. “Okay.”

Heading out of the Utility Room, you see Curly and Anya in the hallway. Curly’s got a hand on either side of her, the illusion of a comforting embrace.

“I’ll fix this, don’t worry.” He whispers, but you hear it all the same.

“Are you cheating on me?!” You exclaim, rushing towards them. You shove Curly away from her and get in between them, he staggers back in confusion.

“I’m not— We’re not—,”

You glance at Anya, pleading your case. “He made me do things. Things I didn’t want to do.” You glare at Curly. “And now what, you’re gonna try it with every girl on the Tulpar?”

“What are you talking about?” Curly asks.

“Don’t play dumb, Captain. Anya, I told you I’d look out for you. I told you that you should’ve stayed away from him, he’s a jerk, he’s—“

“I’m pregnant.” She says, eyes downcast.

You fall silent, blinking at her. “What?” You turn to Curly. “How could you—?”

“It’s Jimmy’s.” He says. “I’m going to talk to him. Again.” Curly leaves, glaring at you over his shoulder.

Something shatters inside you, and you don’t know why. You ignore it, because all you can see is Anya. Anya with a little rape baby growing inside her, Anya with a court case and Anya with money and all you can think about is how goddamn lucky she is.

She sniffles, wiping her nose on her sleeve. Her makeup never runs, despite everything, but her eyes are bloodshot. Tentatively, she hugs you. Your heart stops, confusion and what your body mistakes as guilt running through you.

Anya wraps her arms around herself, staring down at the rusted floors. “We’ve got each other’s backs, right?”

You nod, fighting everything in you that makes your face want to wrinkle with disgust. “Yeah.”

“I have… enough painkillers to…,” she winces, burying her face in her hands. “Please. I want you to tell me not to do it.”

You stare at her for a moment, so long that she meets your eyes again. “What else would I say?”

“I don’t know… you and I, we’re the same, aren’t we?” Anya smiles shakily. “You’ve got Curly and I’ve got Jimmy. You’re okay, right?”

You’re lying to her. You keep lying to her. She’s too airheaded to know the truth. You nod. “Yeah, it really shook me up though.”

“I’ll look out for you too.”

“Thank you.” But inside, you want to laugh. She can’t even protect herself and she wants to help you?

“After what you told me about Curly, it seems like you’re the only person I can trust,” she admits quietly. “I’m grateful you’re here, y’know.”

Your words are lodged in your throat. You can’t say it back.

You’re not sure what exactly to do now. You’ve been informally declared the midwife of Anya’s moneybag, and Curly’s doing everything in his power to put space between you and him. Like he can try. There’s no restraining orders in space.

And there’s no locks on the sleeping quarters.

You dip into his room, the automatic doors opening at your whim. You expect him to be sleeping at this hour, but he’s sitting at his tiny desk, the warm light of the incandescent lamp on his golden features. Curly’s pretty like a sculpture, he barely offers you the generosity of a glance as you walk in.

You sit on his bed, his back to you. “What do you want?” He says, scribbling something in his captain’s log.

You rest your hands on your lap. You’re wearing nothing but a sheer nightdress, no point in underwear when you’re gonna take it off anyways. “I just wanted to talk.”

“You never just want to talk.” It’s an accomplishment, really, that you’ve pushed the kind-hearted captain to this level of bitterness. You’ve been breaking him down—persuading him to see your side of things, and it seems to be working.

He turns to look at you now, and that ever-present filter of exhaustion looks so good on him. “They think I assaulted you.” Curly can’t say rape, it’s kinda cute.

“A girl can dream,” you sigh. “Jimmy’s the real rapist.”

“You don’t think I know that? I’m trying to hold this ship together and you and him just keep fucking things up.” He looks exasperated.

You scowl. You and him, it’s always you and him. “Don’t drag me into this. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

He shakes his head. “You and I, we…,” he cuts himself off, running a frustrated hand through his hair. Curly can’t say it.

Nodding, you say, “we did. I remember you dragging me down to the cockpit and telling me to ‘get on my knees if I want to keep my job.’ That’s not very workplace appropriate, is it, Curly?”

His face pales. “You wouldn’t. That would ruin my life.”

“Anya’s life is ruined now,” you shrug.

“You don’t give a shit about Anya.”

“I don’t.” You get up, walking over to him. Running your fingers through his hair, you cup his cheek. “She’s got a suicide plan ready to go. How about I tell her to go through with it? Put the blame on both your poor leadership and Jimmy’s wandering dick, would you prefer that?”

“What the fuck are you trying to do?” Curly looks up at you, bewildered.

“You. That’s all I want, Curly. You make it so difficult.”

—

You are the hurricane that has blazed through his life. You are what brings out the worst parts in him, what makes him sink into himself and hide. Not Jimmy, not Anya, not Pony Express’s termination. You. It all comes back to you.

Curly thought you were just another Jimmy, he attracts them like a magnet. That’s what he told you, hoping to spark an ounce of self-realization. But you’re something much worse. You don’t hide, you don’t need to. Every fault will end with the blame on his shoulders.

You have made him so many things he never imagined himself being. A rapist? He’s not– he would never hurt someone, especially not a woman. But here he is, his hands balling into fists, rage blurring his thoughts as much as his vision.

Curly gets up out of his chair, he towers over you because he is a man and you are nothing. He is the captain and you are a subordinate who gets off on biting the hand that feeds you. He hates punishment in every form, he much prefers talking, but words don’t work around you.

And this is the thing that finally scares you. Because he knows that you know that no one can hear you in these sound-proof quarters.

Curly tosses you onto his mattress, you yelp and your eyes go wide, you push at his chest but he is more muscle than he isn’t. Under your dress is your leaking chasm of a pussy. Of course, you’re turned on even now, because every wire in your brain is so dutifully crossed.

A hand around your throat is sufficient work for holding you down, your blunt nails drag along the corded muscle of his forearms. You look so small, so negligible.

Maybe Curly understands Jimmy just a little, just enough to not actually be like him. Fortunately for you, the look of fear in your eyes is enough to satiate him. He lets go of you, sitting back on his heels and staring at the mess between your legs. No blood, he wouldn’t do that to you. Jimmy would, and he is so far from Jimmy.

It’s sobering, this feeling, much better than any attempt at therapy. He feels sane, like he’s been given something tangible to latch onto and it’s you, what he can inflict on you.

You’re not crying, but you’re visibly shaken. You drag your knees up to your chest, crowded against the headboard in a sorry attempt to put distance between you and him. You swallow, your eyes never leaving him, as you come to the realization that he could be so much more than you give him credit for.

“Hey, come here.” He pulls you closer because that is the easiest thing to do. It’s Curly who apologizes, Curly who strokes your hair and makes love to you the way you have been begging him to.

Because that is his responsibility.

#🕸️—writing #curly mouthwashing #captain curly #curly x reader #mouthwashing #mouthwashing fanfic #grant curly #curly x you #curly smut #curly x reader smut #mouthwashing fandom

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quokkaholic · 3 days ago

Text

Locked In🍺 h.j

Warnings: Suggestive fluff, cussing duh, alcohol consumption, kissing and touching(tehe), claustrophobia maybe. Lightly edited

Synopsis: y/n is a student by day and flirty/sassy bartender by night. On a busy night, Han comes in and matches her freak. Han referred to as sexy man before y/n knows his name. They may or may not get stuck in the fridge.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮

It's going to be a rough night tonight. Even though the dive bar you work at is on the smaller, more local side, you get pretty busy on Thursday nights. Busy enough that you typically have two bartenders, but tonight your literal other half and best friend got a call about her boyfriend having a family issue in the middle of her restocking the cooler. You know she doesn’t want to leave you high and dry, but he needed her, and you aren’t soulless. You tell her to go to him; its already 1am, so you just have 3 more hours till close. It’s not like she hasn’t covered for you on many different occasions. She gives you a tight squeeze before grabbing her stuff and jogging out the door. While you’d like to sit and relish in the feeling of being the greatest friend of all time, you now have so much more shit to do.

You’re so busy trying to catch up on dishes, you can’t check who walks in when the bell that hangs on the door rings. You shout to the front, that you’ll be right there as you grab the rag that's hanging through one of the belt loops on your jeans.

As you speed walk to the front, you see the man that just came in is not a regular; you would remember if you had seen him before. He’s fucking stunning, and if you weren’t working, it would take some serious courage to go up and talk to him. Thankfully, you’ve been working on your bartender persona.

“Hey love, what can I get you?” you say to the patron as you lean over the bar to grab some empty bottles nearby.

“Oh hi baby. I uh…” he says as he squints at the torn and marked up beer and liquor list trying to read it under the dim neon lights.

“If you say “surprise me” it’ll be a bud light” you warn as you pour some pints for the couple at the other end of the bar. Sending you a playful glance over the paper, he slowly lowers it.

“Well what do you recommend?” He raises his voice just loud enough for you to hear him as you're running around doing little tasks but not loud enough to disrupt the others.

“I go for a paloma, personally. Its fresh, and bubbly, and not too sweet, but I'm warning you, the grapefruit soda we keep is pretty sour.”

“That sounds lovely” he gives you a soft smile kinda relieved he didn’t have to make a decision.

“I gotcha”

You pour some more shots for the group at the pool tables before mixing up the sexy man’s drink and pouring it into a sugar rimmed highball glass.

“For you, my dear” you say as you hand him the finished drink. He grabs it with both hands allowing his fingers to graze yours; his touch is warm and tender and dreamy, nothing like the usual snatching of other customers. Before you walk away, you pour him a little bowl of snack mix.

“Hey y/n! Why is he getting so much attention” a crotchety old man and regular of yours shouts to you as you make your way to the back.

“Oh shut it. If you want snacks, use your words next time and ask, asshat” biting back, as you walk right past him.

You are shuffling around clearing off tables, tabbing people out, and wiping up spills. It takes a minute before you realize sexy man has not made much progress with his drink. Going back to him, you try to figure out the cause,

“How does it taste, babe?” striking up a conversation again. He gives only an innocent and sorry look in response, you can't stop the corner of your mouth from raising to a smirk.

“I swear to god, if you say its too sour”

“I'm sorry miss y/n” he says after sucking a breath through his teeth.

“You motherfucker” insulting him between laughs.

“I tried to warn you! I can add some simple syrup to it, but I think you’d rather have a beer, it’ll be on me”

Before sexy man can reject your offer, you reach into one of the beer ice chests, but are once again heckled by the wrinkly regular.

“Why does he get special treatment, huh? I’m supposed to be your favorite”

“I don't remember saying that” responding while opening the beer (idk but i feel like if han had to pick a beer found at your average US bar it would be modelo)

“You literally told me last week!” He’s probably right, you’ll say quite a lot to get a bigger tip.

“Well..” muttering as you wipe off the bottle. You lean to sexy man close enough so that when hold your hands up, it blocks both of your faces.

“What's your name, dear?” you whisper after you place the beer in front of him and he whispers his answer back to you.

“Han, is my favorite now. He's cuter, and nicer, and I bet he tips better too.” You and Han snicker together about it for a minute before you have to get back to running the damn bar.

You keep cleaning, and serving drinks, and running tabs; its nearing 2:30am before you can stop and talk to Han again.

“Han my sweet, you want some company?”

“That would be amazing, actually”

“So, what brings you here, at this hour I might add?”

“Honestly, jet lag. I just needed to get out of the hotel room, and I’ve been living the dream ever since. And you?” such a smooth talker, and he keeps eye contact with you the whole time. Not in an intimidating way but in the way where he is genuinely engrossed in your conversation, and it makes your heart pound.

“I’m a student so working nights works best with my schedule”

“Oh, an educated woman! Sexy”

“Yeah it would be, if I could get a good job with my four year degree, but alas, I make more as a bartender than I did as a lab tech. So, here I am, grad student by day, bartender by night.”

“Sexy and driven” He mumbles against the mouth of his bottle before he tips it back to finish it off. You and Han chat consistently while you take care of the handful of other patrons. You try to get him another beer, but he declines.

“You ready for the check, HANdsome? Sorry, that wasn’t good.” Its starting to get late in the night, and your charm is starting to wear off.

“No…uhh. What time do you get off?” Han seems to be infected by your shyness.

“Oh um. We close at 4, but i won’t leave until 5 or 5:30”

“Is it cool if I just wait till then? Maybe, I could take you to breakfast? I’m just not tired at all, and I…I’m really…”

“That would be amazing actually. I’d love to. Could I get you a soda at least?”

You and Han chat and get to know each other through the last call, and it's time to kick the last customers out. The grouchy regular is of course the last one out the door.

“Why does your new favorite get to stay?”

“Because I like him more than you. I already told you he's with me! If I hear one more word about this from you, I'll never serve you again. Now get the fuck out” you shout the last part locking the door being them.

Even though you try to get him to stop, Han helps you with your closing duties, but because you were short staffed tonight and you were kind of neglecting some duties to talk to Han. It's a little after 5 by the time you guys are getting ready to walk out the back door. You pull on your coats and grab your purse,and just as you guys are about to open the door it hits you, you didn't restock, Janie was doing that before she had to leave.

“Fuck, will you help me restock the fridge, it’ll take like 8 minutes if we work together.”

“Lead the way”

Han is handing you bottles and crushing boxes as you organize the shelves. You two make a great team and finish the task in record time, but when Han turns to exit he just stands at the door darting his eyes all over looking for a knob.

“Here, let me”

You scooch around him, and reach up to the shelf where you keep the emergency “key” that opens the door from the inside, but it's not there. You feel around and nothing. It's not there. You look around on all the surfaces, and it's nowhere to be seen. While walking past the fridge door, you see it in the corner of your eye, but to your dismay, you see it out the window of the fridge door on the counter right outside.

“Heeeeey. Bad news. We’re locked in”

“What?” Han's jaw might as well be on the floor.

“Yeah so there's the key” pointing out the window. Han indirectly squishes you against the door and places his cheek on yours in order to see what you see.

“Fuck” he breathes out.

“That's what I’m saying. We’ve got options, we left our phones by the door so we can call for help, but we could 1) cause hundreds of dollars in damage and break out and I probably lose my job or 2), which I am leaning towards, another bartender will be here at like 7 for opening stuff and we just chill here for an hour and a half”

“Well… I guess we have plenty to keep us busy” he says gesturing to the surrounding alcohol with a smirk.

“Alcohol actually speeds up the effects of hypothermia” his playful smile drops at your words

“I'm kidding! I mean not really; that is true, but we'll be fine! Here, have a drink” you open a beer and hand it to him.

Even though you and Han have already been talking for hours, the conversion is never ending. Topics flowing seamlessly into one after another and you guys snack on the drink accoutrements like cherries and such. You have your winter coats on, so the cold is bearable, but you’ve scooted inch by inch close between his legs but facing him with your legs bent over his. You take turns back and forth spraying the whipped cream you have for some of the more elaborate shots available into eachothers mouths. He fills your mouth a bit too much and when you try to close your lips, some spills out onto your chin. Han immediately apologizes and uses his thumb to wipe it off, but his hand lingers on your cheek, and his eyes bounce between your lips and eyes.

Not a second later your lips are smashed together and he is wrapping his arms around to clasp his hand behind your back and pull you into him. His lips are soft and plump and sweet from residual cream. The kisses are slow and passionate. There's tongue but not down your throat, just gentle gliding over lips and dipping in just slightly to get a taste. Things start to heat up when he withdraws slightly to lick over the area that he had wiped, instead of stopping there he licks along your jaw and pushes your hair back to kiss over and behind your ear. Once he pulls away with his head still tilted, you have the opportunity to access his neck leaving wet kisses down to where his shoulder and neck connect. He moans softly as his hands fall down to grip your ass hard. This kiss is truly more intoxicating than any drink, and you recognize that as his noises have a warmth building in your stomach. You’re loving every seconds, but this is risky enough, the last thing you need if for your coworker to find you fucking a stranger in the walk in. You start to slow down a little and Han immediately follows your lead. To be silly and kind of try to help the sexual tension dissipate you feel Han reaching towards his head and then yours. He pulls your hoods up over your heads and is holding them shut to create a kiss cave forcing the passionate kiss to halt due to your grins and giggles.

Soon the bartender arrives and thankfully the staff is pretty close and all really cool so you don't have to explain much, at least not right now. You guys grab your things, and scamper outside.

“I guess we don’t need breakfast anymore” Han chuckles to himself.

“I could go for coffee”

“Coffee? I could go for a nap! Don’t you need sleep?”

“Sleep? Baby, I have class.” His eyes widen in shock as he reaches out his hand for your phone.

“You’re insane. I have to see you again, but only after you get some rest.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮

A.n- VERY lightly inspired by the anime How I Attended an All Guys Mixer (get into it). Thank you for reading

-mo♥️

Masterlist

#han jisung x reader #han fluff #skz #stray kids #skz fanfic #skz x reader #han jisung #han jisung fanfic #han skz #jisung x reader #han x reader #han fanfic #han stray kids #han fic #skz fluff

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marksbear2 · 2 days ago

Note

Could we get a Peter Parker (Tom holland) x mentor reader? The reader is already an experienced hero and he’s taking care of Peter new injuries and giving him advice.

Peter Parker x Mentor male reader

Tom holland is my favorite Spider-Man so I loved writing this. I also added a title a friend of mine recommended it.

⚠️Warnings — Father figure reader, stitches, patching up, lecturing, canon Peter Parker, mentions of pain and etc.⚠️

Stitches and Lessons

The fluorescent lights buzzed softly above, casting a cold, sterile glow over the cluttered room. Peter Parker sat on the edge of the worn-out couch, his Spider-Man suit peeled down to his waist, revealing a web of fresh cuts and bruises across his torso. He winced as you dabbed at a particularly nasty gash on his shoulder with antiseptic.

"Ow, ow, ow! Could you, like, *not* dig into my soul with that cotton swab?" Peter whined, squirming under your grip.

"Stay still," you said firmly, your voice calm but commanding. You didn't flinch as you pressed the swab deeper into the wound. "If you’d actually dodged instead of playing hero with your face, we wouldn’t be here right now."

Peter huffed, crossing his arms but obediently staying still. "I did dodge! Mostly. I mean, you try avoiding all those guys when their charging at you like a truck with legs."

"That's the point, kid," you said, setting the swab aside and reaching for the needle and thread. "The bad guys you’re fighting are brute. Their predictable. He charges, you move. You don’t have to be faster; you just have to be smarter."

Peter watched as you threaded the needle with practiced ease. His usually chatty demeanor gave way to a rare moment of quiet. "You make it sound so simple."

"It is simple," you replied, though your tone softened. "What’s not simple is you thinking you have to take every hit for everyone else. That’s not how this works, Peter."

You started stitching the gash, your hands steady despite Peter’s occasional flinches. He bit down on his lip, suppressing another yelp. "I can't just let people get hurt," he said after a moment. "Isn’t that the whole point? 'With great power...' and all that?"

You paused, needle hovering mid-air, and looked him in the eye. "That quote doesn’t mean you have to destroy yourself to save everyone else. Great power, great responsibility—it means knowing your limits. Knowing when to fight and when to step back. You’re no good to anyone if you’re out of commission because you thought you could take on everything by yourself."

Peter's shoulders slumped. "Yeah, but... what if stepping back means someone gets hurt? What if—what if I fail?"

You finished the last stitch and tied it off with a firm knot. Setting the needle down, you rested a hand on Peter's uninjured shoulder. "You’re going to fail, Peter. It’s inevitable. No one saves everyone, not even the best of us. But it’s not about how many people you save or how perfectly you do it. It’s about trying your best, learning from your mistakes, and coming back stronger."

Peter looked down at his hands, his fingers playing with a loose thread on his suit. "How do you deal with it? Failing, I mean."

You leaned back, letting out a soft sigh. "You remind yourself why you started. You let the people you save—the ones you can save—be your anchor. And when it gets too heavy, you lean on the people who’ve got your back." You gave him a pointed look. "Like me, for example."

A small, sheepish smile tugged at Peter’s lips. "Thanks... for patching me up. And for the pep talk. Even if it did feel like a lecture.""Anytime, kid," you said, standing and stretching your arms. "But next time, try to get fewer holes punched into you, alright? My stitching skills aren’t for free."

Peter laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I’ll try, but no promises. It’s kind of my thing, you know?"

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the first aid kit to clean up. "Yeah, yeah. Just remember: you’re not alone in this. You’ve got a whole team—and me—to help you figure it out."Peter’s grin grew a little wider, a little brighter. "Got it, mentor dude."

You shot him a mock glare, but the warmth in your eyes betrayed you. "Go home and get some rest, Spider-Man. The city can survive a night without you swinging through it."

As Peter slipped his mask back on and headed for the window, he paused. "Hey," he called over his shoulder. "You’re not as scary as you look, you know." Before you could respond, he shot a web at the nearest building and disappeared into the night, leaving you shaking your head with a quiet chuckle.

"Kid’s going to be the death of me," you muttered, though the faint smile on your face said otherwise.

THE END

#x male reader #male reader #male reader insert #x male y/n #x reader #amab reader #x gn reader #marvel x male reader #spiderman x male reader #spiderman x reader #peter parker x male reader #peter parker x reader #marvel x reader #marvel #the bear club

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cherryxbooo · 2 days ago

Note

May I please request a fic where the female reader is an FBI agent and former Marine who has a reputation for being tenacious and tough and she runs into the LAPD while working on a case, reuniting with Tim whom she has a passionate history with?

Just like old times

Summary: Y/N, an FBI agent, reunites with her former lover, Tim Bradford, while working on a dangerous case with the LAPD. Their chemistry rekindles, and after the case, their relationship is revealed, sparking curiosity among Tim’s coworkers.

Note: First of all, I want to thank all of you for all the support you showed me on my last few fics. It means a lot, thank you so much 🫶🤞Thank you for your request, I gave it my own little spin so I hope you like it! Enjoy 🤍

Reader x Tim Bradford

Genre: Fluff/tiny bit of angst (if you squint lol)

The police station buzzed with the usual chaos: phones ringing, officers shuffling through files, and the occasional banter to lighten the tension of their work.

But the air shifted when the captain’s door opened, revealing Commander Grey alongside a woman in an impeccably tailored suit.

The first thing people noticed about her wasn’t her striking appearance, though that was undeniable.

It was the way she carried herself; shoulders squared, gaze sharp, exuding an air of authority and control.

It was the look of someone who had seen the worst humanity had to offer and lived to tell the tale.

“Who’s that?” Jackson West muttered to Lucy Chen as they leaned against the edge of their desks.

“No idea,” Lucy replied, narrowing her eyes at the mysterious newcomer. “But she screams FBI.”

Angela Lopez walked up, crossing her arms. “She doesn’t just scream it, she’s it. Look at the badge on her belt.”

“Great,” Lucy said under her breath. “Another suit to look down on us.”

As the whispers spread, Tim Bradford entered the bullpen, his usual brisk and no-nonsense demeanor firmly in place.

His sharp eyes scanned the room, narrowing when he caught sight of the figure beside Grey.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Tim froze mid-step.

It was you.

The last time Tim Bradford had seen you, the two of you had been tangled in a mess of emotions.

It was a heated goodbye neither of you wanted but both knew was necessary.

You had been on the fast track, transitioning from your time in the Marines to the FBI with an ambition he respected but couldn’t keep up with.

He was a police officer with roots too deep to pull up, and your career demanded a level of movement and detachment that didn’t fit into his world.

The chemistry between you had been undeniable, volatile at times, but magnetic.

When you were together, it was like nothing else existed. But the breakup wasn’t ugly; it was bittersweet.

You’d left with mutual respect and more than a little unresolved tension.

And now, years later, you were back.

“Bradford!” Grey’s voice snapped him out of his daze. “I need you for this.”

Tim approached, his expression unreadable, though the quick flicker of surprise in his eyes didn’t escape you.

You tilted your head slightly, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

“Sergeant Bradford,” you said smoothly, your voice carrying the same confident edge he remembered.

“Agent Y/L/N,” he replied evenly, his tone giving nothing away.

“Wait,” Lucy whispered loudly to Angela and Jackson, “he knows her?!”

The case was a high-stakes operation that had everyone on edge. For months, the LAPD had been chasing leads on a sprawling human trafficking ring operating across state lines.

The criminals were highly organized, using fake businesses and offshore accounts to cover their tracks, and their connections ran deep, involving corrupt officials and dangerous enforcers.

Every lead the LAPD pursued seemed to hit a dead end. Frustration was mounting, especially for Tim Bradford, whose no-nonsense approach had been tested by the complexity of the operation.

The captain had finally called in a favor with the FBI, hoping a fresh perspective and federal resources could turn the tide.

That’s when they sent you.

When Commander Grey introduced you as the FBI agent assigned to the case, the bullpen had gone silent.

Your reputation had preceded you, not just as a skilled investigator but as a former Marine who was known for your grit and relentless pursuit of justice.

Tim’s coworkers were impressed, though they couldn’t help but notice the palpable tension between you and the sergeant.

“We’ve been tracking this network for years,” you explained during the initial briefing, clicking through a presentation of maps, photos, and suspect profiles.

“They use legitimate businesses,restaurants, shipping companies, as fronts for their operations. They’ve been moving people through LA under the radar, and we believe this city is a critical hub in their network.”

Lucy Chen leaned forward, studying one of the photos. “How are they avoiding detection?”

“Fake documents, forged permits, and insider help,” you said grimly.

“We suspect they have someone on the inside tipping them off. That’s why every move we make has to be airtight.”

Tim, seated at the back of the room, crossed his arms. “And what’s the endgame here? Arrest a few mid-level operatives while the bosses disappear?”

You met his gaze evenly. “The goal is to dismantle the entire network. That means taking down everyone, from the enforcers on the ground to the kingpins running the show.”

The room fell silent, the weight of the task settling over the team.

As the precinct buzzed with the aftermath of the sting operation's success, the atmosphere began to lighten.

Officers filtered out one by one, their weariness mingled with satisfaction.

You were seated at a table with a pile of paperwork, methodically logging the details of the operation, when Tim approached, his face unreadable but his presence grounding.

“Looks like the big bad FBI agent has paperwork too,” he teased, setting down a mug of coffee next to you.

“Don’t think for a second you’re exempt, Bradford,” you shot back, smirking as you gestured toward his own untouched stack of forms.

“Or is LAPD above such mundane tasks?”

“Not a chance,” he quipped, pulling out a chair and settling beside you.

Your easy banter didn’t go unnoticed. Lucy and Angela exchanged a curious glance from across the bullpen, while Jackson leaned closer to Nolan, whispering something that made him grin.

Eventually, Angela couldn’t resist. She sauntered over, her arms crossed and an amused expression on her face.

“So,” Angela began, dragging out the word. “How exactly do you two know each other?”

Tim stiffened slightly, though he didn’t look up from the file he was reviewing.

“Work,” he said curtly, clearly trying to shut down the conversation.

You arched an eyebrow at his abruptness but decided to play along. “We’ve crossed paths before,” you said vaguely, keeping your tone neutral.

Angela wasn’t satisfied. “Crossed paths? That’s it? Because the two of you seem awfully... in sync.”

Lucy, unable to resist joining in, pulled up a chair.

“Yeah, it’s like you’re finishing each other’s sentences out there. Spill. Is this some FBI-Marine/army secret society thing?”

Tim finally glanced up, his expression a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “We’ve worked together before. End of story.”

“Oh, come on, Bradford,” Nolan chimed in, grinning. “You can’t just drop breadcrumbs and expect us not to follow.”

You exchanged a glance with Tim, silently communicating whether or not to indulge them.

His slight shake of the head told you all you needed to know: he wasn’t about to open up. Still, you decided to throw them a bone.

“Let’s just say Tim and I have some shared history in... high-stress situations,” you said, your tone deliberately cryptic.

Lucy’s eyes lit up. “Oh, like what? You were partners? Rivals?”

“Or lovers?” Angela added slyly, clearly enjoying Tim’s discomfort.

Tim shot her a sharp look. “Focus on your own love life, Lopez.”

“Oh, relax,” Angela said, waving a hand. “We’re just curious. It’s not every day we see you get along with someone.”

You bit back a laugh, deciding to rescue him. “It’s complicated, okay? And classified.”

That seemed to satisfy them... For now.

They dispersed, though you caught them glancing back occasionally, whispering among themselves.

Tim let out a low sigh, running a hand through his hair.

“Classified?” he echoed, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You’re welcome,” you replied with a wink, returning to your paperwork.

Later that evening, when the station was nearly empty, Tim and you were left alone to tie up loose ends.

The earlier teasing lingered in the air, but now it felt like a private joke between the two of you.

“You think they’ll let it go?” you asked, leaning back in your chair.

“Not a chance,” Tim said dryly. “Lopez will probably turn it into a guessing game, and Chen will dig through every detail of my life.”

You chuckled. “They seem like a good group.”

“They are,” Tim admitted, his voice softening. “Annoying, but good.”

There was a brief pause, then he looked at you with a hint of a smile. “Thanks for handling that back there.”

You shrugged. “Part of the job, Bradford. I’ve got your six, remember?”

His expression shifted, something more serious flickering in his eyes. “I know you do. Always have.”

You held his gaze for a moment longer, the weight of his words settling over you like a warm blanket.

Then, with a faint smile, you nudged his stack of paperwork toward him.

“Now finish your reports, Sergeant,” you teased.

The morning after your arrival at the station, you found yourself in the briefing room, surrounded by Tim and his team.

The station buzzed with an energy you hadn’t felt since your days in the Marines.

As a former Marine turned FBI agent, you were used to commanding respect and navigating high-pressure situations.

Today, though, you were walking into a hornet’s nest.

Grey stood at the front of the room, the case details projected on the screen behind him.

“Alright, people, listen up. We’re working with Agent Y/L/N on this one, so I expect full cooperation.”

Your name was enough to draw a few looks, especially after yesterday’s whispers about your connection to Tim.

You stayed professional, though, your expression unreadable as Grey continued.

“The target is Ethan Marlow,” Grey said, gesturing to a mugshot on the screen.

A rugged man with a scar across his cheek and an unmistakable smirk stared back at the room.

“Suspected arms dealer. We’ve been trying to nail him for months, but he’s slippery. Last week, we got a tip that he’s planning a major shipment through the Los Angeles docks.”

You stepped forward, holding a remote to switch slides.

“Marlow’s operation is large, but he’s not untouchable. My team and I have been tracking his movements across state lines, and we believe his associates are using a shell company to smuggle weapons through legitimate cargo shipments.”

Lucy raised her hand. “Why not just hit the docks and seize the cargo?”

“Because Marlow doesn’t work alone,” you replied, flipping to a map that highlighted his network.

“His associates are just as dangerous, and if we spook them, they’ll scatter. We need to cut off the head of the operation. That means Marlow.”

Tim’s eyes flicked to you, his brows furrowing slightly.

He wasn’t used to taking orders from anyone, but he respected competence. And you? You radiated it.

Angela chimed in. “What’s our play?”

You glanced at her, then looked back at the team.

“Marlow’s hosting a private party at a nightclub downtown tonight. It’s our best shot at getting close to him.”

“Undercover?” Nolan asked, leaning forward.

You nodded. “Exactly. We’ve got a cover story and fake identities for two officers. You’ll mingle, gather intel, and plant a tracker on Marlow’s vehicle.”

Tim leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “And who’s going in?”

You paused, meeting his gaze directly.

“You and I.”

The room seemed to hold its breath. Tim’s lips quirked into a faint smirk, his demeanor calm despite the weight of your suggestion.

Angela raised an eyebrow. “Well, this just got interesting.”

As the team dispersed to prepare for the operation, you caught up with Tim in the hallway.

The sound of your boots echoed against the tiled floor as you fell into step beside him.

“Was that a problem?” you asked, glancing up at him.

He shrugged. “Nope. Just wondering how you managed to finagle me into this.”

A sly smile curved your lips. “Thought you’d appreciate the chance to dress up.”

Tim chuckled, low and warm. “You’ve got jokes.”

There was a pause as you both walked in companionable silence.

Memories of your past flashed unbidden in your mind, the long nights on stakeouts, the adrenaline-fueled moments of action, and the quieter times, when his touch was all you needed to feel safe.

“Remember the first time we worked together?” you asked softly.

Tim glanced at you, his expression softening. “Yeah. That drug bust in San Diego. You saved my ass.”

“You were pinned down,” you reminded him, smirking. “I didn’t have a choice.”

He shook his head, his voice quieter. “You didn’t hesitate. Not once.”

“It’s what we do,” you said simply, though your heart warmed at the admiration in his voice.

Tim stopped walking, turning to face you. “Y/N... what happened with us... back then—I never really got a chance to explain.”

You held up a hand, cutting him off gently. “Tim, it’s okay. We both had our reasons.”

“But you’re here now,” he said, his voice steady. “That’s what matters.”

For a moment, the unspoken history between you hung in the air, a tangible thread connecting the past to the present.

Then, the sound of a door opening down the hall broke the moment, and you both fell back into step.

Later that evening, you stood in front of the mirror, adjusting your earpiece and smoothing out the sleek black dress you’d chosen for the undercover op.

Tim emerged from the adjacent room, his suit perfectly tailored, exuding confidence. His gaze flicked to you, lingering a beat too long.

“Looking good, Agent,” he remarked, his voice teasing but low enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“You clean up nicely yourself, Bradford,” you replied, adjusting his tie.

As you rode to the nightclub together, the tension in the air was palpable, not the bad kind, but the kind that made your pulse quicken and your senses sharpen.

You exchanged glances, each silently acknowledging the trust you’d built through years of working together.

Inside the club, the operation went off smoothly, at least at first. You and Tim played your parts to perfection, your chemistry undeniable as you mingled with the crowd.

Marlow was sharp, but not sharp enough to see through your cover. It wasn’t until a hiccup in the plan, a sudden appearance of Marlow’s enforcers, that things took a dangerous turn.

The nightclub pulsed with the heavy bass of music, its dim lighting and crowded space creating an almost oppressive atmosphere.

You navigated the sea of people with ease, Tim trailing behind you as you both subtly scanned for your target.

Marlow was seated in a VIP booth, surrounded by his entourage, his laughter echoing through the space.

Tim leaned closer to your ear, his voice low and steady. “We’ve got eyes on him. What’s the play?”

You turned slightly, catching his intense gaze in the neon glow. “I’ll distract him. You plant the tracker.”

His jaw tightened. “You sure about that?”

“Tim,” you said, your tone firm. “I’ve done this a hundred times.”

“That doesn’t mean I like it,” he muttered, but he didn’t argue further.

Adjusting your posture, you approached Marlow’s booth with the confidence of someone who belonged.

His eyes flicked to you immediately, a sly grin spreading across his face as he motioned for you to come closer.

“Well, well,” he said, his voice thick with amusement. “Who do we have here?”

You gave him a coy smile, slipping into character. “Someone who heard you’re the man to know in this town.”

As you spoke, you felt Tim’s presence nearby, his movements precise as he maneuvered around the booth.

The tension in your shoulders eased slightly, until one of Marlow’s men, a bulky enforcer with a sharp gaze, stood abruptly, his eyes narrowing on Tim.

“Who’s this guy?” the enforcer barked, his voice cutting through the din.

Tim didn’t miss a beat. “Relax. I’m just here to grab a drink.”

The enforcer didn’t look convinced. Marlow waved a hand, his focus still on you. “He’s fine. Sit down.”

Tim used the distraction to slide the tracker beneath the table, his hand steady despite the close proximity of Marlow’s crew.

You kept the conversation light, your laughter carefully timed, your every move calculated to keep the target’s attention on you.

But just as you thought you were in the clear, Marlow’s phone buzzed.

He glanced at it, his expression shifting to one of suspicion. “Excuse me for a moment.”

He stood abruptly, motioning for his men to follow.

Your heart raced as you exchanged a look with Tim, both of you realizing the same thing: something was off.

As Marlow disappeared into a back room, you and Tim quickly regrouped.

“He’s onto us,” Tim said, his voice low but urgent.

“We need to pull out,” you replied, scanning the room for the nearest exit.

Before you could move, one of Marlow’s men appeared, his gun drawn. The tension in the air snapped like a live wire.

Tim stepped in front of you instinctively, his stance protective.

“Easy,” Tim said, his tone calm but authoritative. “We’re just leaving.”

The man didn’t budge, his finger twitching near the trigger. You acted quickly, your Marine instincts kicking in as you disarmed him with a swift, calculated movement.

The gun clattered to the floor, and chaos erupted.

Tim grabbed your hand, pulling you through the panicked crowd as more of Marlow’s men gave chase.

The music and flashing lights blurred into a cacophony of sound and color as you navigated the crowded dance floor, your adrenaline surging.

“Out the back!” Tim shouted, his grip on your hand firm.

You burst through the back exit, the cool night air hitting your skin like a shock.

Tim covered you as you drew your weapon, both of you taking defensive positions as Marlow’s men spilled into the alley.

Shots rang out, the sharp crack of gunfire echoing in the narrow space.

By the time backup arrived, the scene was secured, and Marlow’s operation was compromised.

You stood with Tim in the aftermath, both of you catching your breath as you surveyed the chaos.

“You okay?” Tim asked, his voice steady despite the adrenaline still pumping through his veins.

“I’m fine,” you replied, though your hands were still trembling slightly. “You?”

“I’m good,” he said, his eyes lingering on you. “You didn’t have to jump in like that.”

You gave him a wry smile. “What? And let you play hero? Not a chance.”

His lips twitched into a small grin, but the concern in his gaze remained. “You scared the hell out of me back there.”

Before you could respond, Captain Grey approached, his expression a mix of relief and frustration. “Nice work, Agent Y/L/N. But next time, let’s try to avoid a full-blown shootout.”

“Noted,” you said, nodding.

Back at the station, the air surrounded with residual energy from the operation.

As everyone debriefed, Lucy sidled up to Angela, her eyes flicking between you and Tim, who were standing a little too close for professional comfort.

“Okay, what’s the deal with them?” Lucy whispered.

Angela smirked. “I don’t know, but I’m dying to find out.”

Nolan, ever the curious one, joined in. “You think they’ve really worked together before?”

“Obviously,” Angela said, her tone teasing. “But there’s definitely more to it.”

Harper chimed in, her arms crossed as she observed from a distance. “They’ve got history. You can see it.”

As the group speculated, Tim and you shared a glance, both aware of the unspoken questions hanging in the air.

For now, though, you kept your history, and the rekindled spark between you, to yourselves.

Later that evening, after the precinct had quieted down, you and Tim found yourselves in the dimly lit briefing room, both reviewing reports from the operation.

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, it was thick with unspoken words, lingering tension, and the familiarity of years past.

Tim glanced up from his file, his voice breaking the quiet. “You were incredible out there today.”

You smirked, not looking up from your notes. “I know.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Still as humble as ever, I see.”

Setting your pen down, you met his gaze, your expression softening. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, his tone turning more serious.

“You scared me back there, you know. When that guy pulled the gun.”

“I’ve been in worse situations,” you said with a small shrug, trying to downplay it.

“Doesn’t make it easier to watch,” he replied, his jaw tightening.

The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard.

You leaned back in your chair, folding your arms. “Tim, I’ve been doing this a long time. I know the risks.”

“I know you do,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But that doesn’t mean I’m okay with you putting yourself in the line of fire.”

“Funny,” you said, tilting your head. “That’s exactly how I felt about you the last time we worked together.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his eyes searching yours as if trying to gauge how much of the past you were willing to bring up.

Finally, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “And how did that work out for you?”

You gave him a pointed look. “Not great, Bradford. You have a way of making people care whether they want to or not.”

His lips quirked into a faint smile. “Same could be said for you.”

The words hung between you, heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid.

A few hours later, after the station had emptied out, Tim offered to drive you back to your temporary FBI accommodations.

The ride was quiet at first, the hum of the engine filling the space.

“Still driving this beast?” you teased, gesturing to his truck.

He grinned. “Reliable. Like me.”

You snorted. “Debatable.”

As the truck came to a stop outside your building, he shifted in his seat to face you. “Listen, I’ve been thinking…”

“That sounds dangerous,” you quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he reached for your hand, his touch gentle but firm. “I’ve missed you, Y/N. Not just working with you. You.”

Your breath caught, the sincerity in his eyes nearly undoing you. “Tim…”

“I know we didn’t end things the way we wanted,” he continued, his voice steady but soft. “But seeing you again… it’s like no time has passed. And I can’t ignore it anymore.”

You looked down at your intertwined hands, your heart racing. “Tim, this job… our lives… nothing’s simple.”

“I’m not asking for simple,” he said, his tone resolute. “I’m asking for you. Whatever that looks like.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, raw and honest in a way you weren’t sure you were ready for.

But as you looked at him, his expression equal parts hopeful and vulnerable, you realized that maybe you were.

The next day, you arrived at the station to find Tim waiting for you, two cups of coffee in hand.

He handed you one without a word, his fingers brushing against yours.

The small gesture sent a spark through you, a silent acknowledgment of the conversation you’d had the night before.

As you worked through the details of the case, the team’s curiosity about your relationship with Tim only grew.

Lucy, ever the inquisitive one, cornered you during a quiet moment.

“So,” she began, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. “You and Tim—what’s the story there?”

You smirked, taking a sip of your coffee. “You’ll have to ask him.”

When Lucy relayed this to Angela, Nolan, and Harper, it only fueled their determination.

During a briefing, Nolan couldn’t help but ask outright. “How exactly do you two know each other?”

Tim shot him a look that could wither a cactus. “Not your business, Nolan.”

Angela leaned back in her chair, smirking. “Interesting. Usually, you’re a lot less… protective.”

“Drop it,” Tim said, his tone leaving no room for argument. But the subtle way his eyes flicked to you didn’t go unnoticed.

Later, after the team had dispersed, you found Tim waiting for you by your car.

He leaned against it, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

“You okay?” you asked, approaching him.

He nodded, then gestured for you to come closer. When you did, he pulled you into a quick, fierce hug, the suddenness of it catching you off guard.

Not expecting the cold, grumpy Tim Bradford to behave this way.

“What’s that for?” you asked, your voice muffled against his chest.

“Just wanted to,” he said simply, his tone soft.

As you stood there in the quiet of the parking lot, you realized that while the job might be dangerous and the past might be complicated, having Tim by your side made it all feel a little less daunting.

The next morning, you arrived at the station to find Tim already in the war room.

He stood in front of a large board covered with photos, timelines, and maps, his focus intense.

It was a scene you were familiar with, Tim Bradford in full mission mode.

“Morning,” you said, stepping inside with a coffee in hand.

He turned, his expression softening when he saw you. “Morning. Got started early.”

“I can see that.” You handed him a second coffee. “Figured you might need this.”

He took it with a small smile. “You know me too well.”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Old habits die hard.”

The two of you stood side by side, going over the latest developments in the case.

The criminal organization you were tracking was sophisticated, with layers of secrecy and a network of loyal operatives.

It was the kind of operation that required precision, patience, and trust.

“I think they’re using the docks as a secondary drop point,” you said, tapping a location on the map.

“We need to get eyes on it, but we can’t tip them off.”

Tim nodded. “Agreed. Harper and I can run surveillance. You and Nolan can follow up on the warehouse lead.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Nolan? You’re pairing me with a rookie?”

“He’s not a rookie anymore,” Tim replied, smirking. “And I trust him.”

“Fine,” you said, pretending to grumble. “But if he slows me down, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

Tim chuckled. “Noted.”

As the day progressed, the rest of the team couldn’t help but notice the easy rapport between you and Tim.

Lucy, always perceptive, leaned over to Angela as the two of you passed by.

“They’re definitely hiding something,” she whispered.

“Obviously,” Angela replied. “But what? They act like they’ve known each other forever.”

Harper, overhearing the conversation, chimed in. “Whatever it is, Tim’s not going to spill. You know how he is.”

“Yeah,” Lucy said, grinning. “But Y/N might be more willing to share.”

The three women exchanged a conspiratorial look before following you into the bullpen.

“So,” Lucy began, leaning casually against a desk. “How’s working with Tim treating you?”

You glanced up from your notes, arching an eyebrow. “Fine. Why?”

“No reason,” she said, feigning innocence. “Just curious. You two seem... close.”

“We’ve worked together before,” you said simply, refusing to elaborate.

Angela smirked. “And how did that go?”

“About as well as you’d expect,” you replied, your tone even.

Their curiosity only grew, but before they could press further, Tim appeared, his presence effectively ending the conversation.

He shot you a look as if to ask if you were okay. You gave him a subtle nod, and he relaxed.

Later that evening, the team gathered to finalize the operational plan. The stakes were high, if the operation failed, it could mean months of lost work and the possibility of the suspects disappearing altogether.

“The docks are our best shot,” Harper said, her tone firm. “But we need solid backup. These guys won’t go down without a fight.”

“I’ll take point,” you said without hesitation.

Tim frowned. “No way. It’s too risky.”

You met his gaze, your expression unwavering. “I can handle it.”

“I know you can,” he said, his voice quieter. “But I’m not letting you go in alone.”

The room fell silent as the tension between you and Tim became palpable.

The rest of the team exchanged glances but didn’t intervene.

“Fine,” you said finally. “But don’t slow me down.”

Tim’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The docks were dark and quiet, the salty breeze carrying a faint hint of diesel and seaweed.

You and Tim crouched behind a stack of shipping containers, eyes scanning the area for any sign of movement.

The operation had reached its climax, and you were at the forefront of the action.

“I count three guards near the north entrance,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the distant hum of machinery.

Tim nodded, his gaze sharp. “Two more near the warehouse entrance. Harper’s team is covering the perimeter.”

You adjusted your earpiece, your heart steady despite the tension. This wasn’t your first high-stakes operation, and you knew it wouldn’t be your last.

But there was something different about this one. Working alongside Tim brought a layer of intensity and focus you hadn’t felt in years.

“On my signal,” Tim said, his voice calm but authoritative. “We take out the guards at the north entrance first. Quietly.”

You nodded, your fingers tightening around your weapon. “Got it.”

As the seconds ticked by, you felt Tim shift closer to you. His shoulder brushed against yours, a subtle reminder that he had your back.

Despite the danger, his presence was grounding, a steady force in the chaos.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice low.

“Always,” you replied, a small smirk playing on your lips.

The operation moved quickly. You and Tim approached the guards with practiced precision, each movement coordinated and silent.

When the first guard turned, you stepped forward, delivering a swift and calculated blow that sent him crumpling to the ground.

Tim handled the second guard with equal efficiency, his movements smooth and controlled.

“Clear,” you whispered, signaling to the rest of the team.

From the earpiece, Harper’s voice came through. “Perimeter’s secure. We’re moving in.”

You and Tim pressed forward, making your way toward the warehouse.

The massive structure loomed ahead, its rusted exterior illuminated by flickering floodlights.

Inside, you knew the operation’s ringleader was waiting, along with the final pieces of evidence needed to bring the entire organization down.

As you reached the entrance, Tim glanced at you, his expression serious. “You good?”

You gave him a confident nod. “Let’s finish this.”

The air inside the warehouse was heavy with the scent of oil and metal.

Stacks of crates and pallets created a labyrinth of narrow pathways, each one more precarious than the last.

You and Tim moved silently, your weapons at the ready.

“Two o’clock,” Tim murmured, gesturing toward a shadowy figure near the back of the room.

You nodded, signaling that you’d cover him. Tim moved ahead, his steps deliberate and soundless.

He closed the distance to the suspect with remarkable speed, subduing him before he had a chance to react.

But just as the suspect hit the ground, the room erupted in chaos.

Another figure appeared, shouting a warning that sent the rest of the criminals scrambling.

“Contact!” you shouted into your earpiece, diving behind a stack of crates as gunfire erupted.

Tim dropped beside you, his expression tight. “We’ve got to neutralize them before they make a run for it.”

“On it,” you said, your adrenaline surging.

The two of you moved as a unit, covering each other as you advanced through the warehouse.

You took down one suspect after another, your training and instincts kicking in with precision.

Tim’s presence beside you was a constant, his sharp commands and quick reflexes ensuring that you were always one step ahead of the danger.

As the chaos subsided, you found yourself face-to-face with the ringleader.

He stood in the center of the room, a smug grin on his face as he held a gun pointed in your direction.

“Drop it,” you ordered, your voice cold and commanding.

The man chuckled, shaking his head. “You don’t scare me.”

“You should be scared,” Tim said, stepping beside you. His tone was low and menacing, his weapon trained on the suspect.

For a moment, the air was thick with tension. Then, with a sudden burst of movement, the suspect lunged toward a nearby crate. But he didn’t get far.

In a flash, you and Tim fired simultaneously, your shots hitting their mark with precision.

The suspect crumpled to the ground, his weapon clattering harmlessly to the floor.

“Clear,” Tim said, his voice steady.

You nodded, lowering your weapon. The adrenaline began to ebb, leaving you with a sense of relief and satisfaction.

“Nice shot,” you said, glancing at Tim.

“Right back at you,” he replied, a small smile tugging at his lips.

As the rest of the team secured the scene and processed the suspects, you and Tim stepped outside to catch your breath.

The cool night air was a welcome contrast to the stifling heat of the warehouse.

“That was intense,” you said, leaning against a nearby railing.

Tim chuckled, shaking his head. “Just another day at the office.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile crept onto your face. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re reckless,” he shot back, his tone teasing. “But I guess that’s why we make a good team.”

The banter felt easy and familiar, a reminder of the connection you shared.

As the night wore on, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the chance to work alongside Tim again, even if it meant navigating the complexities of your past and present.

But one thing was clear: together, you were a force to be reckoned with.

After the successful operation, the precinct was buzzing with activity. Arrests had been made, evidence was secured, and the team was riding the high of a job well done.

You and Tim lingered in the bullpen, going over the final report. The room had emptied out, leaving the two of you alone.

Repeating the same praises and compliments to each other.

“You were amazing out there,” Tim said, his voice low.

“You weren’t so bad yourself,” you replied, smirking.

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “So, what now? Back to the FBI?”

“For now,” you said. “But I’m sure our paths will cross again.”

“I’m counting on it,” he said, his gaze steady.

There was a beat of silence before he added, “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever worked with anyone like you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment?”

“Definitely,” he said, his tone warm.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment before he reached out, his hand brushing against yours.

It was a small gesture, but it carried a weight of unspoken feelings.

“Y/N,” he said softly,

“I know we’ve been dancing around this, but... I’ve missed having you in my life. Not just as a partner. As you.”

Your breath caught, his words sinking in. “Tim, I—”

Before you could finish, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was equal parts tender and passionate.

It was a moment of clarity, the past and present colliding in a way that felt inevitable.

When he pulled back, his eyes searched yours. “Tell me this isn’t just me.”

“It’s not,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions. “It never has been.”

While the road ahead wasn’t without its challenges, one thing was clear: together, you were unstoppable.

The next day, you found yourself back at the LAPD station, but there was an odd tension in the air.

You had already wrapped up your part of the case, and you were supposed to head back to the FBI, but something kept pulling you back to this familiar place, and to Tim.

As you entered the station, you couldn’t help but notice the curious glances from his coworkers.

You tried to brush it off, but the whispers had already begun. You knew exactly why. The mission was over, so why were you still here?

Nolan, Angela, and Lucy were at their desks, exchanging amused looks as they watched you walk by.

Their curiosity was palpable, but they hadn’t dared to say anything, yet.

Tim sat at his desk in the busy LAPD station, sorting through a pile of paperwork.

The usual hum of phones ringing, conversations about cases, and the sound of boots echoing in the hallway filled the air.

But none of it seemed to matter. Not when his mind kept drifting back to her.

Y/N.

You had been on his mind ever since their time together last night. The way your smile made his heart skip a beat, the way your laughter felt like a melody to him, everything about you seemed to ground him, even when the world was chaos.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching his desk.

He looked up, and there she was: Y/N. His chest tightened at the sight of her, and a smile spread across his face almost instantly.

You were standing in front of him, hands in the pockets of her jacket, looking at him with a soft but knowing smile.

You didn’t say anything at first, just took in the sight of him with those warm, familiar eyes.

"Hey," Tim said, his voice low and filled with affection, as if the word itself held a thousand meanings.

He stood up, his gaze softening when their eyes met.

Your smile grew, your heart fluttering at the sight of him. You were always struck by how effortlessly he seemed to make everything feel right, even on the busiest of days.

"Hey, yourself," you replied, your voice sweet, with a hint of playfulness.

Tim’s hand reached out instinctively, his fingers brushing against yours.

The simple touch sent a spark through both of us. It was as if the world faded away, leaving just the two of us standing in this quiet, intimate moment.

"You’re here early," Tim commented, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of your hand as you stood there together.

"I wanted to see you," you admitted, your voice a little softer than usual, a hint of shyness lacing your words. "I missed you."

His heart thudded in his chest, and without thinking, he pulled you into him, wrapping his arms around you.

You melted into him almost immediately, your head resting on his chest.

Tim closed his eyes, the familiar scent of your perfume making him feel like everything was in place.

"I missed you too," he murmured against your hair. The words were simple, but they held so much weight.

He felt the warmth of you in his arms, and it made the stresses of the day feel like nothing.

You tilted your head back slightly to look up at him. His face was inches from yours, and you could feel his breath against your skin.

You loved how close you both were. There was something about being in his arms that made everything seem okay, no matter what was happening around us.

Tim’s hand cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing over your skin. "You okay?" he asked softly, his voice filled with concern.

"I am now," you replied with a small smile, your hand resting over his where it gently held your face. "Just needed to see you."

Your heart raced at the way he looked at you, so open, so trusting. He leaned down, his lips grazing yours in a gentle, lingering kiss.

It was tender, soft, like the kiss had all the time in the world.

When you pulled away, Tim let out a quiet sigh, his forehead resting against yours.

"I don’t want to let go," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

"You don’t have to," you whispered back, your arms wrapping around his waist, holding him close.

Tim smiled, the corners of his lips curling up in a way that only you could make happen. "Good," he said, his voice low and full of affection.

He kissed you again, this time deeper, the kiss filled with a hunger that had been building ever since you'd parted ways the night before.

You both broke away a few moments later, your faces flushed, breaths heavy.

Tim pressed his forehead against yours again, as if trying to ground himself in the moment.

"You’re everything to me," he whispered, the words sincere and full of emotion.

It was rare saying the Tim Bradford like this, all soft. But it was the best thing you've witnessed and you wouldn't change it for anything.

You closed your eyes, your hands gently brushing through his hair.

"And you’re everything to me," you said, your voice soft but filled with so much love.

The moment stretched on, neither of you wanting to move away, to break the peace that had settled between you.

You were lost in your own world, the chaos of the station and the responsibilities of your lives fading into the background.

It was just the two of you, connected, in your own little bubble.

Finally, Tim pulled back slightly, still holding you close. He smiled at you with a softness in his eyes that only you had the power to draw out.

"I’m glad you’re here," he said, his voice a little rough from the intensity of your shared moment.

"I’m glad too," you replied, your fingers tracing small patterns across his chest. "I’m not going anywhere this time."

Tim’s heart swelled with warmth at your words. He leaned down to press a final kiss to your lips, slow and tender.

It wasn’t about passion this time, it was about the connection you had, the unspoken understanding between you.

As you broke the kiss, you smiled up at him. "I guess I should probably let you get back to work," you said, a playful glint in your eyes.

Tim chuckled, but there was a hint of reluctance in his voice. "Yeah," he agreed, his thumb brushing over your cheek one more time. "But I don’t want to let go of you."

"Then don’t," you said softly, your voice filled with a quiet promise.

"Do you think the others suspected anything?"

"Oh definitely."

Meanwhile, the others were spying on both of you, their curiosity getting the best of them.

His coworkers froze, watching in disbelief through the glass window as Tim, usually stoic and reserved, wrapped his arms around you and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Oh, my God,” Lucy muttered under her breath, eyes wide. “Is that...?”

“I think that’s Y/N,” Nolan said, his voice trailing off as he tried to make sense of the situation.

“Bradford,” Lucy called out from far, unable to keep her curiosity in check. Storming into his office with the others close behind.

“Since when do you get all... affectionate?”

Tim glanced at them, his usual tough exterior slipping for a brief moment. He didn’t say anything at first, just held you there, savoring the moment.

You, however, were more than willing to answer their questions.

“You all have a lot of questions, don’t you?” you asked with a playful smile, glancing at Tim before meeting the others’ eyes.

Angela raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “We’ve never seen you like this, Tim. And you’ve been so secretive about everything. Who’s this?”

You looked up at Tim, the quiet understanding between you two enough to convey everything they needed to know.

“She’s my girlfriend, so I can do whatever I want.” Tim finally said, his voice firm, as if to silence any further questioning.

He didn’t give them much to go on but the simple truth.

The room went silent.

“Your girlfriend?” Jackson asked, his voice filled with disbelief. “Since when?”

Tim shrugged. “Not too long ago." Tim didn't want them to directly know that the two of you had just gotten back together.

“Not too long ago?” Lucy said, her jaw dropping. “And none of us knew? How... how is that even possible?”

Tim simply glanced at you with a soft smile, giving you the space to add something if you wanted.

You cleared your throat, still not entirely used to the attention.

“We’re private,” you said, your voice gentle but steady. “I’m not here for attention. Just... helping out with the case.”

Angela, ever the inquisitive one, tilted her head. “But you’re an FBI agent, right? What’s the deal with you two?”

You shared a glance with Tim before speaking, your tone calm and honest.

“We’ve known each other for a while. Tim and I have a history... and we’ve kept things private for a reason.”

Tim stepped in then, his expression soft but serious. “This is a personal matter. We’re not ready to share all the details. But Y/N means a lot to me, and that’s all that matters.”

The others nodded, though they still seemed a little stunned by the revelation.

After a brief pause, Jackson chuckled. “I guess that explains the... intimate moment earlier.”

Tim shot him a look, and you laughed, nudging Tim’s side playfully.

“Don’t worry,” you said, “We’ll make sure to keep it professional here. But the personal stuff? That’s ours.”

The others shared a mix of understanding and disbelief, their questions lingering in the air.

But before anyone could press further, you gave Tim a final, sweet smile.

“I should get going,” you said, your hand resting lightly on his chest. “I have work to do. But we’ll talk more later.”

As you turned to leave, Lucy caught your arm, her tone softer now, almost teasing.

“Hey, you’re always welcome to come by. It’s nice seeing Tim... happy. Maybe next time we’ll get to know you better, huh?”

You grinned, nodding. “Next time.”

With that, you left the station, feeling the eyes of Tim’s coworkers on you, but not in a bad way, just a little curious.

Back at your car, you smiled to yourself, the warmth from Tim’s touch still lingering on your skin.

You couldn’t deny it, everything was changing. But you knew you had Tim by your side, and that made it all feel right.

That evening, Tim greeted you at the door with a soft smile and a tight embrace.

You both had a quiet dinner together, sitting at the small kitchen table as you talked about your day.

“Thanks for letting me steal you away today,” Tim said, his fingers brushing yours as he handed you a glass of wine.

“Anytime,” you replied, your voice soft. “I love being around you, Tim. It feels like... everything falls into place when I’m with you. Just like old times.”

Tim leaned in, brushing his lips against your forehead. “Me too, Y/N. I couldn’t imagine my life without you now.”

The conversation flowed easily, and the quiet moments between you both were more than enough to make everything feel complete.

As you both relaxed into the evening, you knew this was just the beginning of something bigger, something that felt right.

And in the silence of your shared space, surrounded by love and the soft rhythm of each other’s breathing, you knew you’d navigate whatever came next together.

The end

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