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ugotnojamzzz · 1 month ago

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Chapter 11

Genre: Mafia!au , Slowburn, Angst, Hurt, eventual smut, TW (it is a mafia!AU, after all)

Pairing: Mafia!Jungkook x reader

Disclaimer: English isn’t my native language. Also, don’t come for me over the theme, people. It’s an Alternate Universe, which means the bangtan boys are essentially what I like to call meat puppets to serve the storyline. This is obviously not a projection of their actual real-life personas.

Wordcount: 1.8k

Masterlist

Chapter 10

—

In her long list of world’s end scenarios, the fear that the sky should eventually fall on her head had always struck Y/N as mere superstition.

After two weeks of Jungkook’s strict lockdown, however, it started to sound like mercy.

Past restless and miles beyong bored, YN struggled to admit that what she craved, far more than an escape, was an impact. A crack in the ceiling. A break in the routine.

When the storm hit again, it gave her all three.

She was already asleep when the knock came. Not urgent—just firm. The kind that didn’t wait.

Before she could answer, the door opened.

Jungkook stood in the doorway.

“Up,” he said.

She blinked, groggy. “What—?”

“Power’s out. Again.”

Y/N sat up, rubbing at one eye with the back of her hand. “Seriously?”

“Cameras are dead. Elevator too.”

That made her blink harder. No elevator meant no way out of the attic. But no surveillance meant no evidence.

Just like last time.

She stared at him for a second longer than she meant to. He didn’t explain. He didn’t wait.

He just turned and walked away, expecting her to follow.

It was pretty clear.

Last time the power went out, she tried to run.

He wasn’t taking any chances.

Muttering under her breath, she swung her legs off the bed and followed.

The floor felt colder than usual, the hall silent but for the hum of the storm pressing at the walls, rain drumming against the windows like it was trying to get in.

The common room was pitch black, save for the flashes of lighnting coming through the skylight every few seconds.

YN dropped onto the couch, arms crossed. “This is getting repetitive. Maybe you guys should invest in an stay-in electrician.”

Jungkook didn’t smile, didn’t even turn around. He just leaned against the wall, arms folded. “We don’t need to talk.”

She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and muttered, “Aw—And here I thought we were gonna braid each other’s hair and tell scary stories.”

He rolled his eyes.

Y/N let the silence sit for a moment.

She studied him—just a shadow leaning against the wall, all sharp edges and unreadable eyes. Like the storm outside had taken shape and learned how to glower.

“Jesus,” she said dryly. “So you really pulled me out of bed just to sit here in silence until the power comes back?”

“That’s the plan.”

She exhaled through her nose, slow. Let the quiet drag out.

Then, standing, “Can I at least get a drink?”

He didn’t move. “Pour it yourself. Unless that’s too much effort.”

Y/N arched a brow. She walked to the cart in the corner, poured two fingers of whiskey, neat. Took a slow sip, and turned back to face him.

“You know,” she said, “you don’t have to keep pretending I’m the most exhausting part of your job.”

“I’m not pretending.”

She let out a quiet, humorless laugh and moved back to the couch, curling into the corner. “Right. ‘cause I’m so high-maintenance. What with the whole being-locked-in-my-room-day-in-and-day-out and all that. »

Outside, thunder rolled. The skylight buzzed faintly in its frame.

Y/N sat back down, curled sideways, blanket still wrapped loosely around her shoulders, one leg tucked beneath her. Jungkook remained by the far wall, arms crossed.

The storm outside had swelled. Rain smeared down the glass like oil. Every few seconds, lightning lit the room in flashes—white, then gone.

Y/N spoke first.

Not loud. Not dramatic.

Just… conversational.

“You ever notice how every time the power cuts, everyone’s first concern is what I might do?”

Jungkook didn’t respond.

“It’s always about where I might run, who I might stab, or what I might break.”

Still nothing from him. But his posture stiffened.

She went on. Lightly.

“Funny no one ever seems to worry about what you might do.”

That got his attention. His eyes cut to her but he stayed silent.

“You don’t think that’s a little backwards?” She didn’t look at him. “No lights. No cameras. No one listening. No one coming.” She paused. “It’s just us. Alone. And you’re not exactly known for your gentle disposition.”

His voice was cold. Controlled.

“Don’t start.”

She turned her head now—just enough to meet his gaze.

“I’m not starting anything,” she said. “I’m just saying… statistically speaking, girls are a hell of a lot more likely to pay for what happens in the dark.”

He clenched his jaw.

She could see it even in the dark—how the muscles in his cheek twitched, how his fingers curled slightly tighter under his crossed arms.

“Say what you mean,” he said, low.

Y/N tilted her head. “I think I just did.”

“You think I’d—” He cut himself off, breathing through his nose. “You think that’s what this is?”

She tilted her head. “I think guys like you rarely ask permission.”

His eyes darkened. Not with guilt. Not with confirmation. But with something colder.

“You don’t know the first thing about guys like me.”

“Oh, I think I do,” she said. “The ones who keep their hands clean while doing the dirty work. Tell themselves they’d never, but stop pretending to be decent the second no one’s watching.”

She was still. Unflinching. That was the point.

The silence stretched again—longer this time, with only the storm to fill it. She leaned back in the chair, arms folded under the blanket, voice softer now.

Lightning flashed.

He looked away first.

Her mouth twitched, not quite a smile.

Only her victory was short lived—

“I know girls like you, too,” he said.

She turned her head, “Do you.”

He went on, calm and bored. “Silver spoon. Always pampered. Always right. Always the victim when things don’t go their way.”

She gave a humorless laugh. “Careful,” she said. “You’re starting to sound like you’ve thought about me.”

“You’re an heiress. Everyone knows what that means.”

“Oh, right,” she said, voice tightening. “Because being born with my name means nothing bad ever touched me.”

“Compared to the rest of us?” He shrugged. “Yeah.”

The storm thickened.

She stood. Sharp. Sudden.

“Is that the best you can do, then? Spoiled little girl?”

He stepped forward once.

“Sit down.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Y/N didn’t look away.

Neither did he.

“No,” she said, stepping closer, “I don’t think I did. Why don’t you try it again?”

His jaw clenched.

The wind screamed against the skylight above them. The whole ceiling groaned.

He stepped forward too. The air between them narrowed.“I said s—” he began.

“Fuck you,” she snapped, cutting him off.

The words landed hard, loud. Like a match to gasoline. Jungkook didn’t flinch, but something shifted in his stance. Outside, thunder cracked again, sharper this time. Closer.

His voice came low, even—controlled only because it needed to be.

“I’ll say it once. Get away from the window.”

She let out a laugh—harsh, humorless. “Oh, right. Because the window’s the threat here.”

He didn’t move. The storm did.

Outside, the wind shrieked against the walls, and the thunder hit harder.

She turned her back on him and took one slow, deliberate step until she stood right under the skylight.

“What do you think is gonna happen, Jungkook?” she said. “The sky gonna come crashing down if I don’t follow orders?”

She faced him again. Steady.

“Good. Let it. I’d rather have the sky fall on my fucking head than listen to you bark for one more second.”

His fists curled.

The tension snapped tight between them—no air left, no space to breathe. The thunder roared.

He started to speak.

“Don’t push me—”

But she cut him off, voice rising over his.

“Why not? Go on, yell a little! It’s really cathartic. Besides, who knows? If you’re loud enough, lightning might just strike and put us both out of our miser—”

CRACK. A shatter. A breath too late.

Lightning struck the glass like it had been waiting. The glass above exploded.

The crash was sudden, but his reaction was faster.

In an instant Jungkook had her pinned against the wall, one hand at her ribs, the other braced beside her head. His body covered hers in a hard, instinctive shield as shards exploded across the floor where she’d been standing—not a second too soon.

For a long moment, neither of them breathed.

The drumming of their pulse was barely covered by that of the storm, the terrifying clatter of glass skittering across tile and rain trickling down through the gaping hole.

He didn’t move. Neither did she.

His chest rose and fell against hers.

Too close.

Then—her voice. Dry. Tight.

“You can let go now.”

He hesitated—just for a second—then stepped back, rubbing the back of his neck, pacing once like he needed to burn the adrenaline off. He cursed to himself as he observed the damage.

“Careful,” he hissed, as Y/N stepped around the broken glass, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. She didn’t sit again—just stood there, arms crossed, pulse still pounding faintly in her ears.

If she wanted—if she really wanted—this could be the moment.

His throat was right there.

Her foot was already near a jagged piece of glass.

He felt it too.

“Don’t even think about it,” he muttered, eyes still forward.

Y/N rolled hers. “I’m not.”

The wind pushed at the broken skylight, the rain speckling the tile, but neither of them moved to clean it up.

Then she spoke again—flat, offhand.

“Well. I’ll make your life easier and go back to my room. No shattered glass in there for me to swan dive through.”

Jungkook didn’t look at her. “That’d be smart.”

She scoffed, turned toward the door, then paused as she grabbed the handle.

“I hope you’re not expecting a thank you,” she said.

“I’m not.”

—

When she closed her bedroom door, Y/N leaned against it for a second longer than she meant to.

Her skin was still buzzing.

From the cold, probably.

Or maybe it was from him—that too-close weight of his body against hers, the feel of his hand on her ribs.

She scowled. Rolled her shoulders once, like she could shake it off, then crossed the room and climbed back into bed.

She exhaled. Short. Annoyed.

Nothing happened.

Just glass. Just rain.

Just him.

Nothing at all.

But her pulse was still off-rhythm when she closed her eyes.

Careful what you wish for. The sky listens. She had asked for a break, and the storm had kindly obliged. The heat, however, was extra.

—

Hope you liked it. If some of you are intrigued or interested in finding out more, don't hesitate to interact and I'll start posting some more chapters! Also questions and remarks and feedback are welcome xxx

Chapter 12

Masterlist

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ooo-goon-fiction · 3 days ago

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Chloe The Boss Babe

Chapter One: The Corner Office

Chloe Bennett’s heels clicked sharply against the polished hardwood of the 47th floor, a metronome to her ambition. At twenty-seven, she was a comet streaking through the corporate sky of Harper & Voss, a boutique consulting firm with a reputation for chewing up young talent and spitting out cynics. But not Chloe. She’d clawed her way to senior consultant in record time, and now, with a whisper of a promotion to partner, she was on the cusp of making history as the youngest ever at the firm. Her office, a sleek glass box overlooking Manhattan’s jagged skyline, was a testament to her grind—minimalist, pristine, with a single potted succulent on the desk as a nod to something softer. She didn’t have time for softer.

Her phone buzzed as she sank into her chair, the screen flashing with an email from the managing partner, Evelyn Harper. *“Chloe, let’s discuss your trajectory next week. Keep up the momentum.”* A tight smile curved her lips. Momentum was her middle name.

The door swung open without a knock, and Seth Carver stepped in, a stack of files under one arm, his tie slightly askew. At forty-two, he was an anomaly in the intern pool—a late-career pivot from some vague tech background, or so his resume claimed. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a jawline that could’ve been carved from granite and dark eyes that lingered just a beat too long. Not that Chloe cared. She didn’t have time for distractions, and Seth, with his polished loafers and faint cologne, was just another intern to manage.

“Morning, Chloe,” he said, his voice smooth, almost too smooth, like he was auditioning for a role he hadn’t quite landed. “I’ve got the Q3 projections you asked for. Printed, as requested.”

She glanced up, her hazel eyes sharp. “Digital’s fine next time, Seth. We’re not in the ‘90s.” Her tone was clipped, not unkind, but firm. She didn’t have time for inefficiency either.

He set the files on her desk, his fingers brushing the edge of the wood longer than necessary. “Some things are better on paper. More… tangible.” His smile was easy, but there was a weight to it, like he was testing the air between them.

Chloe didn’t bite. She flipped open the folder, scanning the numbers. “These look solid. Run them by analytics for a second pass. I need them airtight for the board.”

“Of course.” He didn’t move immediately, just stood there, hands in his pockets, watching her. It wasn’t overt, but it was enough to make her pause. There was something about Seth—something she couldn’t quite pin down. He was competent, almost too competent for an intern, and he never argued or complained. But there was a shadow in his deference, a flicker of something unsaid. The way his eyes narrowed slightly when she gave him a directive, the way he’d linger on her title—*Ms. Bennett*—with a faint edge, like it was a joke he wasn’t sharing.

She’d seen his type before. Older men, especially ones who’d fallen from some mid-tier tech throne, often carried a chip on their shoulder when a younger woman outranked them. Chloe had learned to spot it early—the subtle tightening of a jaw, the overly polite tone that masked resentment. Seth hadn’t crossed that line, not yet, but she felt it simmering, like a kettle just shy of whistling.

“You need something else?” she asked, not looking up from the files.

He shifted, his smile reappearing. “Just checking if you wanted me to sit in on the client call at noon. I could take notes, free you up for the big-picture stuff.”

She met his gaze now, searching for the angle. “I’ve got it covered. Focus on the projections.”

“Understood.” He nodded, but there was that flicker again, a microexpression she couldn’t quite read. He turned to leave, then paused at the door. “Oh, by the way, I noticed your system’s been running a bit slow. Probably some background processes hogging resources. I can take a look if you want.”

Chloe’s fingers stilled on the keyboard. “It’s fine. IT handles that.”

“Sure, but IT’s swamped, and I’ve got some experience with this stuff.” He leaned casually against the doorframe, his tone light but insistent. “Could set up a firewall, lock things down. Keep you secure.”

She studied him, her instincts prickling. Her laptop was her lifeline—client contracts, financial models, emails with Evelyn about the partnership. It was locked tighter than Fort Knox, and she hadn’t noticed any slowdown. Why was he pushing this? “I didn’t ask for a firewall, Seth.”

“Just offering.” His hands came up, palms out, all innocence. “You’re the boss.”

There it was again—that faint edge to *boss*, like he was chewing on the word. She held his gaze, unblinking, until he broke it with a small chuckle and stepped back. “I’ll get on those projections.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and Chloe exhaled, her fingers tapping idly on the desk. She didn’t have time for this—for whatever game Seth was playing. But the unease lingered, a quiet hum beneath her focus.

An hour later, she was deep in a spreadsheet when a notification popped up on her screen: *Firewall Installation Complete. System Secured.* Her stomach dropped. She hadn’t authorized anything. She clicked through the settings, her pulse ticking up. The installation was recent, timestamped ten minutes ago, with an admin override she didn’t recognize.

“Seth,” she muttered under her breath, her jaw tight. She stood, her heels clicking again, this time with purpose. Whatever he was up to, she was going to find out.

Chapter Two: A New Morning

Chloe’s finger hovered over the “OK” button on the firewall notification, her jaw tight with a mix of irritation and suspicion. The pop-up’s sterile text glared back at her: *Firewall Installation Complete. System Secured.* She didn’t trust it, didn’t trust Seth, and she was about to storm out to confront him when she clicked the button.

The world tilted. Her vision blurred, like someone had smeared Vaseline across her eyes. She blinked, hard, trying to clear it, but the office dissolved into a haze of light and shadow. Her stomach lurched, and then—

She was standing in front of her bedroom mirror, slipping on a pair of gold hoop earrings. The morning sun slanted through her apartment window, painting her hardwood floor in warm stripes. Her alarm clock blinked 6:45 a.m., and her phone buzzed with a calendar reminder: *Client Call – 12:00 p.m.* Chloe frowned, adjusting the neckline of her blouse—a deep burgundy silk number, lower-cut than her usual tailored neutrals. She smoothed her pencil skirt, which hugged her hips a little tighter than she remembered choosing. When had she picked this outfit? It was… bold. Not her usual armor, but it felt right, didn’t it?

She shook her head, brushing off the flicker of unease. She was Chloe Bennett, senior consultant at Harper & Voss, on the fast track to partner. Sure, sometimes she wondered if she was in over her head—twenty-seven and already outpacing people twice her age? It was a lot. Maybe she wasn’t *quite* as bulletproof as she projected. Imposter syndrome, her therapist had called it last month. Just noise, not truth. She straightened, swiping on a bolder shade of lipstick than usual. She looked good. That was enough for now.

Her phone pinged again, a text from Seth: *Morning, Chloe. Q3 projections are ready for review. Need me to bring coffee for the client call?* She smiled faintly. Thank God for Seth. The guy was older, sure, but he was sharp, efficient, and—okay, fine—easy on the eyes. Not that it mattered. She was too busy for that kind of distraction, but it didn’t hurt that her intern could’ve stepped out of a cologne ad. She typed back: *Black, no sugar. Thanks.*

By the time she reached the 47th floor, her heels clicking with purpose, the morning felt fresh, crisp, like a blank page. She strode into her glass office, the Manhattan skyline glittering beyond, and set her bag down. Seth was already there, leaning against her desk with a paper cup of coffee in hand, his tie knotted just a hair looser than professional. His dark eyes flicked over her, lingering on the burgundy blouse a beat too long before he handed her the coffee.

“Morning, boss,” he said, his voice smooth, with that same undercurrent she couldn’t quite place. “You’re looking… sharp today.”

She raised an eyebrow, taking the coffee. “Thanks. Let’s keep it professional, Seth.” Her tone was light, but there was a warning in it. She wasn’t here for compliments, especially not from her intern.

He chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Just stating facts. Projections are on your desk. Digital this time, since you’re so modern.” His smile was easy, but there was something in it—a glint, like he was in on a joke she wasn’t.

She ignored it, sipping her coffee and settling at her desk. “Good. I need you to sit in on the client call today. Take notes, keep me on track. I’m juggling too much to catch every detail.”

“Happy to help,” he said, his tone just a shade too pleased. “You’ve got a lot on your plate, Chloe. Youngest partner hopeful and all. Must be… exhausting, carrying that weight.”

She glanced up, her fingers pausing on her keyboard. His words were polite, but there was a needle in them, a subtle jab at her age, her ambition. “I manage,” she said coolly, holding his gaze. “You just worry about the notes.”

“Of course.” He nodded, but that smile lingered, like he knew something she didn’t.

The morning blurred into a flurry of emails and prep for the client call. Seth was everywhere—organizing her slides, fetching data, even suggesting tweaks to her talking points with a confidence that bordered on presumptuous. She leaned on him more than usual, grateful for his competence but vaguely unsettled by how effortlessly he slipped into her orbit. He was good, too good for an intern, and yet there was that shadow again—the way he’d say “Ms. Bennett” with a faint smirk, or the way he’d stand just a little too close when handing her a file, his voice dropping to a murmur about how she “must get tired of proving herself” to the old guard.

It wasn’t enough to call out, not enough to pin down. Just enough to make her second-guess herself, to wonder if she was imagining the condescension in his tone when he said, “Don’t worry, I’ll clean up the details for you.” She wasn’t imagining it, was she? No, she was just stressed. The partner track was breathing down her neck, and she was reading too much into things.

By mid-afternoon, the client call was done—nailed, thanks to Seth’s meticulous notes—and Chloe was back at her desk, skimming reports. Seth hovered nearby, tapping away at his own laptop. “Hey, Chloe,” he said casually, not looking up. “Your system’s been lagging a bit, hasn’t it? Probably some junk processes running in the background.”

She frowned, glancing at her laptop. It was fine, wasn’t it? “I haven’t noticed anything.”

He shrugged, standing and crossing to her desk with that easy, unhurried stride. “Trust me, I’ve seen it before. Let me set up a firewall, lock it down. You don’t want any vulnerabilities, not with all the sensitive data you handle.”

Her instincts prickled, a faint echo of something she couldn’t grasp. “IT handles that, Seth. I didn’t ask for—”

“It’s no trouble,” he cut in, already leaning over her desk, his fingers brushing her keyboard. “You’re busy. Let me take care of it. Just a quick install.” His eyes met hers, that glint sharper now, like he was daring her to push back.

She opened her mouth to protest, but the words caught. She was tired, wasn’t she? And he was just trying to help. “Fine,” she said, waving a hand. “Just make it quick.”

He nodded, his smile widening as he tapped a few keys. A notification popped up on her screen: *Firewall Installation Initiated.* Chloe barely glanced at it, already turning back to her reports. The day felt heavy, like she was wading through fog, but she pushed through. She always did.

As Seth stepped back, his hands in his pockets, that smile lingered, sharp and knowing. “All set, boss,” he said softly. “You’re safe now.”

Chapter Three: The Mirror’s Edge

Chloe’s finger pressed the “OK” button on the firewall notification, the screen’s sterile text—*Firewall Installation Complete. System Secured*—burning into her retinas. Her chest tightened, a flare of unease sparking through her. She opened her mouth to call for Seth, to demand an explanation, but the world shimmered, like heat rising off asphalt. Her vision swam, colors bleeding into a soft haze. She blinked, once, twice, her heart stuttering—

And she was in her apartment, standing before her full-length mirror, a tube of crimson lipstick in hand. Morning light spilled through the blinds, casting slatted shadows across her hardwood floor. Her alarm clock blinked 6:45 a.m., and her phone buzzed with a calendar alert: *Client Presentation – 12:00 p.m.* Chloe tilted her head, studying her reflection. Her blonde hair was swept into a loose, tousled updo, and she wore a fitted black dress—sleeveless, plunging neckline, the kind of thing that screamed *look at me*. She frowned, tugging at the hem. Was this too much? No, it was perfect. Bold. She needed bold. People didn’t take her seriously otherwise, not when she was… well, not the sharpest in the room.

The thought stung, a quiet jab she couldn’t quite shake. At twenty-seven, she was on the verge of becoming an executive at Harper & Voss—or was it a director? The details blurred, but the promotion was close, dangling like a carrot. She wasn’t *stupid*, not exactly, but she knew her limits. Numbers swam when she stared at them too long, and strategy meetings felt like wading through quicksand. Thank God for Seth Carver, her personal assistant. He was a lifesaver, always cleaning up her messes, polishing her presentations, whispering the right answers when she faltered. Sure, he was kind of a jerk—those smirks, the way he’d mutter about “women in charge” under his breath—but he was good at his job. And, okay, he was hot, with that chiseled jaw and those dark, piercing eyes. Not that it mattered. Much.

Her phone pinged with a text from Seth: *Morning, Chloe. Presentation slides are prepped. Coffee?* She grinned, typing back: *You’re a god. Black, no sugar.* A flutter of relief settled her nerves. Seth had her back. He always did.

By the time she reached the 47th floor, her heels—higher than usual, a little wobbly—clicking against the hardwood, she felt almost confident. Her glass office sparkled in the morning light, the Manhattan skyline a glittering backdrop. Seth was already there, leaning against her desk, a coffee cup in one hand and a tablet in the other. His suit was crisp, his tie just loose enough to hint at rebellion. His eyes raked over her dress, slow and deliberate, before he handed her the coffee.

“Morning, Chloe,” he said, his voice smooth, laced with that familiar edge. “That’s… quite a look. Going for the wow factor today?”

She flushed, smoothing her dress. “It’s professional. Just… eye-catching.” She took the coffee, avoiding his gaze. “Thanks for the slides. You’re sure they’re ready?”

“Perfect, as always.” He smirked, tapping the tablet. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered. You just smile and let me handle the heavy lifting.”

Her stomach twisted, a mix of gratitude and irritation. She hated how much she needed him, hated the way he said “heavy lifting” like she couldn’t manage without him. “I can handle it, Seth,” she said, sharper than intended. “I’m not an idiot.”

His eyebrows lifted, that smirk deepening. “Never said you were, sweetheart.” The word landed like a slap, casual but barbed. He didn’t apologize, just watched her, like he was waiting for her to react.

She swallowed the retort, her cheeks burning. He was baiting her, and she couldn’t afford to take the hook. Not today. “Just… get the conference room set up,” she muttered, turning to her desk.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, the mock deference dripping from his tone. He lingered a moment, his eyes on her, before sauntering out.

The morning blurred into a haze of emails and prep. Seth was a shadow at her side, organizing her notes, feeding her talking points, even adjusting her slides mid-meeting when she fumbled a statistic. The clients nodded, impressed, but Chloe felt like a fraud, her dress too tight, her voice too shaky. Seth’s presence was a lifeline, but every time he leaned in to whisper a correction, his breath warm against her ear, she caught that glint in his eyes—smug, knowing, like he was the one running the show.

“You’re doing great,” he murmured at one point, his hand brushing her arm. “Just follow my lead, and we’ll get you that executive title.”

She forced a smile, ignoring the condescension, the way he said “we” like she was a passenger in her own career. He was helping, wasn’t he? She needed him. Didn’t she?

By mid-afternoon, the presentation was over—a success, thanks to Seth—and Chloe was back at her desk, exhausted. Seth lingered, tapping at his tablet. “Hey, Chloe,” he said, his tone casual. “Your laptop’s been acting up, hasn’t it? Probably some unsecured processes dragging it down.”

She blinked, glancing at her screen. It seemed fine. “I… don’t think so.”

He shrugged, already moving to her desk, his fingers grazing her keyboard. “Trust me, I know these things. Let me install a firewall, tighten things up. You’ve got too much sensitive stuff on here to risk it.”

A faint prickle of unease stirred, but it dissolved under the weight of her fatigue. Seth knew tech. She didn’t. “Okay, fine,” she said, waving a hand. “Just don’t mess with my files.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his smile sharp, almost predatory. He tapped a few keys, and a notification popped up: *Firewall Installation Initiated.* Chloe barely glanced at it, already turning back to her emails, her mind foggy, her dress suddenly feeling like a costume she didn’t know how to take off.

Seth stepped back, hands in his pockets, his eyes glinting with that same knowing look. “All set, Chloe,” he said softly. “You’re safe now.”

Chapter Four: The Spotlight

Chloe’s finger clicked the “OK” button on the firewall notification, the words *Firewall Installation Complete. System Secured* flashing briefly before her eyes. A pulse of unease flickered, sharp and fleeting, but before she could grasp it, the world dissolved. Her office warped, colors bleeding into a soft, disorienting haze. Her stomach twisted, her vision swam, and she blinked—

She was in her apartment, standing in front of her mirror, a mascara wand in hand. Morning light filtered through the blinds, casting a warm glow over her cluttered vanity. Her alarm clock blinked 6:45 a.m., and her phone buzzed with a reminder: *Manager Interview – 10:00 a.m.* Chloe tilted her head, studying her reflection. Her blonde hair was teased into loose waves, her makeup heavier than usual—smoky eyeshadow, a bold red lip, lashes thick with mascara. She smoothed her outfit: a tight white blouse, unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of cleavage, and a short black pencil skirt that barely grazed mid-thigh. Her sky-high stilettos wobbled slightly as she shifted her weight. Too much? No, it was perfect. She needed to stand out today, needed every eye in the room on her. It was her only shot.

The manager position at Harper & Voss was on the line, and she was up against Seth Carver—her colleague, her rival, that toxic, sexist, infuriatingly hot… pig. God, he was gorgeous. Those dark eyes, that chiseled jaw, the way his suits clung to his broad shoulders. Not that it mattered! He was a jerk, always smirking, always tossing out little digs about women in power, like he thought she didn’t belong in the same room as him. And he was smart—too smart. The kind of sharp that made her feel small, like her brain was scrambling to keep up. She couldn’t compete with that. But she could look better, dazzle them, distract them from the fact that her ideas weren’t as polished, her answers not as crisp. She dabbed on more lip gloss, pursing her lips. It’d have to be enough.

Her phone pinged with a text from Seth: *Ready for the big day, Chloe? Don’t trip in those heels.* She scowled, her cheeks flushing. Jerk. She typed back: *Worry about yourself, Seth.* But her stomach fluttered, and she hated it. Why did he have to be so… ugh, *annoying*?

By the time she reached the 47th floor, her heels clicking precariously, her nerves were a live wire. The office hummed with its usual rhythm, but all she could think about was the interview. Seth was already there, leaning against a conference room door, his suit impeccable, his tie just loose enough to look effortlessly cool. His eyes raked over her, slow and deliberate, lingering on her skirt before meeting her gaze.

“Morning, Chloe,” he said, his voice smooth, laced with that smug edge. “Dressed to impress, I see. Hope you brought your A-game to back it up.”

She bristled, clutching her portfolio tighter. “I don’t need fashion advice from you, Seth. Focus on your own pitch.”

He chuckled, stepping closer, his cologne faint but dizzying. “Oh, I’m ready. Question is, are you? Big step, manager. Lot of responsibility for someone so… new to the game.”

Her jaw tightened. There it was—that condescending jab, the implication she was just a kid playing dress-up. “I’ve got this,” she snapped, but her voice wavered, and she hated how small it sounded.

The interview was a blur of fumbles. Evelyn Harper and two other partners sat across from her, their faces unreadable as they fired questions about strategy, leadership, metrics. Chloe’s answers came out wrong—ditzy, scattered, like her brain was tripping over itself. “Um, I think synergy is, like, super important for team vibes,” she heard herself say, cringing internally. “And, you know, branding is totally key to, um, client trust?” The partners exchanged glances, and her stomach sank. She was bombing, and she knew it. All she could think about was Seth, sitting in the waiting area, probably nailing his interview with that sharp, calculated charm.

When it was over, she stumbled out, her heels wobbling, her face burning. Seth was waiting, arms crossed, that infuriating smirk plastered on his face. “So, how’d it go, princess?” he asked, his tone dripping with mock concern. “Dazzle ‘em with your… charisma?”

She glared, her hands balling into fists. “I did fine, Seth. Better than you think. I don’t need your pity.”

He raised an eyebrow, stepping closer, his voice low. “Pity? Nah, I’m just curious how you plan to lead a team when you can barely string a sentence together in there.” His eyes flicked over her again, lingering on her blouse. “Though I bet they didn’t mind the view.”

Her breath caught, rage and embarrassment colliding. “You’re such a pig,” she hissed, but her voice shook, and she hated how her eyes lingered on his jawline, his stupidly perfect face. “I’m just as qualified as you, and I—”

“Relax, Chloe,” he cut in, his smile sharpening. “I’m just messing with you. You’re cute when you’re mad.” He winked, and she wanted to scream, to wipe that smug look off his face, but her words tangled, and all she could do was turn away, her heels clicking furiously as she stormed to her desk.

She sank into her chair, her heart pounding, her portfolio untouched. She’d blown it, hadn’t she? Seth was going to get the promotion, and she’d be stuck, forever the girl who tried too hard and fell short. Her laptop pinged, pulling her from her spiral. A notification: *System Performance Warning.* She frowned. Her computer had been fine, hadn’t it?

Seth appeared at her desk, uninvited, his tablet in hand. “Saw that warning,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes glinting with something sharper. “Your PC’s acting up. Probably some unsecured processes. Let me fix it—quick firewall install, and you’re golden.”

She blinked, a faint prickle of unease stirring. “I didn’t ask for—”

“It’s no trouble,” he said, already leaning over her desk, his fingers brushing her keyboard. “You’ve got enough to worry about, right? Let me handle the tech stuff.” His voice was smooth, almost soothing, but that smirk lingered, like he knew something she didn’t.

She opened her mouth to protest, but the words dissolved. She was tired, defeated, and Seth was… helping, wasn’t he? “Fine,” she muttered, pushing back from the desk. “Just don’t break anything.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his fingers flying over the keys. A notification popped up: *Firewall Installation Initiated.* Chloe barely glanced at it, her mind still reeling from the interview, from Seth’s words, from the way her own voice had betrayed her. She didn’t see the way his smile widened, sharp and predatory, as he stepped back.

“All fixed, princess,” he said softly, his eyes locked on hers. “You’re safe now.”

Chapter Five: The Desk at the End

Chloe’s finger hovered over the “OK” button on the firewall notification, the text—*Firewall Installation Complete. System Secured*—staring back at her like a challenge. Her stomach churned, a flicker of something wrong sparking in her chest. She opened her mouth, ready to call Seth out, but the world tilted. Her vision blurred, colors melting into a dizzying swirl. She blinked, her breath catching—

She was in her apartment, standing before her vanity, slipping on a pair of dangling silver earrings. Morning light spilled through the blinds, glinting off the clutter of makeup tubes and perfume bottles. Her alarm clock blinked 6:45 a.m., and her phone buzzed with a reminder: *Staff Meeting – 9:00 a.m.* Chloe smoothed her outfit—a tight pink blouse, unbuttoned to show a hint of lace, and a miniskirt that barely passed HR’s dress code. Her strappy high heels added inches she didn’t need but craved. She pouted at her reflection, swiping on bubblegum lip gloss. Seth always said her job was to look pretty, and she wasn’t about to disappoint. Not that it was her *only* job—she was his personal assistant at Harper & Voss, wasn’t she? Filing, copying, coffee runs. The important stuff.

Her cheeks flushed as she thought of Seth Carver, her boss. God, he was such a toxic jerk—those smirks, the way he’d toss out comments like, “Stick to smiling, Chloe, it’s what you’re best at.” Pure misogyny, the kind that should’ve made her quit. But it didn’t. It… excited her, in a way she didn’t want to admit. He was a bad boy, all sharp jaw and dark eyes, the kind of guy who made her thighs press together when he leaned too close. Not that she’d ever act on it. Probably. She fluffed her hair, trying to ignore the heat creeping up her neck.

Her phone pinged with a text from Seth: *Morning, doll. Coffee, black, on my desk by 8:30. Don’t be late.* She giggled, typing back: *On it, boss! ☺* Was he flirting? He had to be, right? The way he called her “doll,” the way his eyes lingered—it wasn’t just insults. It was… chemistry.

By the time she reached the 47th floor, teetering in her heels, her arms full of Seth’s coffee and a stack of files, the office was buzzing. She scurried to Seth’s corner office, a sleek space twice the size of her cramped desk at the end of the hall. He was already there, leaning back in his chair, his tie loose, his suit jacket slung over the armrest. His eyes flicked over her, slow and deliberate, taking in the pink blouse, the miniskirt, before settling on her face.

“Morning, Chloe,” he drawled, his voice smooth, edged with that familiar condescension. “Nice outfit. Trying to distract the whole floor today?”

She blushed, setting the coffee on his desk. “Just, um, keeping it cute,” she said, her voice high, a little breathless. Was that flirty enough? She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling. “You like it?”

He chuckled, leaning forward, his gaze pinning her. “It’s doing its job. Now, let’s see if you can do yours. Those contracts need copying—double-sided, no staples. Think you can handle that without screwing it up?”

Her smile faltered, but she nodded quickly. “Totally! I got this.” She hated how his words stung, how they made her feel small, but the way he looked at her—like she was something to devour—made it hard to care. He was joking, wasn’t he? Not… insulting her.

The morning dragged in a haze of menial tasks. Filing Seth’s reports, fetching his lunch, printing emails he could’ve read digitally. She tried to pitch an idea during the staff meeting—something about client outreach—but the words tangled, long terms like “synergy” and “metrics” tripping her up. “Um, maybe we could, like, make the clients feel super special?” she’d said, her voice lilting like a question. The room went quiet, and Seth’s smirk was immediate, sharp as a blade.

“Good effort, Chloe,” he’d said, his tone dripping with mock praise. “Let’s leave the big ideas to the grown-ups, yeah?” The other men laughed, and she sank into her chair, her cheeks burning. He winked at her, though, and her heart fluttered. That was flirting, right?

Back at her desk, she fumbled through more filing, her mind fuzzy. She wasn’t dumb, not really, but every time she tried to focus, her thoughts slipped, like her brain was allergic to complexity. Seth was the smart one—manager material, always three steps ahead. She was lucky to work for him, wasn’t she?

He appeared at her desk mid-afternoon, his tablet in hand, his smile all teeth. “Your computer’s lagging again,” he said, not asking. “Probably some junk processes. Let me fix it—quick firewall install, keep things tight.”

She blinked, a faint prickle of unease stirring, gone as fast as it came. “Oh, um, is it broken?” Her laptop seemed fine, but Seth knew tech, and she… didn’t.

“Don’t worry your pretty head about it,” he said, leaning over her desk, his fingers brushing hers as he took the keyboard. “You stick to looking good, and I’ll handle the rest.” His voice was low, almost intimate, and she giggled, her cheeks flushing. He was so close, his cologne dizzying. This was flirting, definitely.

“Whatever you say, boss,” she teased, batting her lashes. He smirked, his eyes glinting with something darker, and tapped a few keys. A notification popped up: *Firewall Installation Initiated.* She barely noticed, too busy twirling a strand of hair, her gaze flicking to his jawline, his hands, the way he filled out his shirt.

He stepped back, hands in his pockets, his smile sharp. “All set, doll,” he said softly. “You’re safe now.”

Chapter Six: The Pink Haze

Chloe woke with a squeal, practically bouncing out of bed. Her apartment was a glittery mess—lip gloss tubes scattered across her vanity, a pink curling iron tangled in its cord, and a cloud of strawberry body mist lingering in the air. Sunlight sparkled through her blinds, catching the fresh glow of her spray tan, her new lash extensions fluttering like butterfly wings. Yesterday’s salon spree had been, like, *totally* worth it—French square-tip acrylics, hair extensions down to her waist, the full bimbo package. She clapped her hands, giggling at her reflection. Today was her first day interning at Harper & Voss, working for that *mega* hot stud, Seth Carver. An internship was, like, a job, right? Or close enough for a ditzy girl like her. She wasn’t the brightest—big words made her head all fuzzy—but who cared? She was cute, and Seth was a total dreamboat. Maybe he’d keep her around as his secretary or something. She burst into giggles, imagining herself at his desk, twirling her hair, making him smile.

She picked her outfit like it was a mission: a slutty secretary costume straight out of a fantasy—tiny black pleather skirt that barely covered her thong, a sheer pink crop top tied under her chest, showing off her glitter-dusted cleavage, and platform heels so tall she wobbled just standing. She layered on the makeup—hot pink lipstick, sparkly eyeshadow, enough blush to look permanently flushed. “Perfect!” she chirped, blowing a kiss to the mirror. Seth was gonna *love* her.

Her phone pinged with a text from him: *Get your ass to the office, doll. Coffee, black, and don’t be late.* She squealed, typing back: *Omg yessir Mr. Seth!! ☺☺* Her heart fluttered. He was so bossy, so… in charge. It made her thighs clench just thinking about him.

By the time she tottered onto the 47th floor, her heels clicking like gunshots, every head in the office turned. She didn’t notice, too focused on Seth’s corner office, the door emblazoned with *Seth Carver, Senior Manager*. She knocked, her acrylics tapping, and his voice growled, “Get in here.”

He was sprawled in his chair, tie undone, shirt unbuttoned just enough to show a sliver of tanned chest. His dark eyes devoured her, crawling over her outfit with a smirk that was equal parts hunger and contempt. “Jesus, Chloe,” he said, his voice thick with mockery. “You look like you wandered off a porn set. That’s the vibe you’re going for?”

She giggled, twirling a lock of hair, her extensions bouncing. “D’ya like it, Mr. Seth? I wanted to, like, look super cute for you!” She stuck out her hip, letting her skirt ride up, her voice a bubblegum purr.

He laughed, cold and sharp, standing to circle her like a shark. “Cute’s one word for it. Slutty’s another. But it works. You’re not here to think, are you? You’re here to look good and do what I say.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she nodded, batting her lashes. “Totally! I’m, like, your intern, right? So I do coffee and stuff? And, um, look pretty?” Someone at the salon had said Seth was bad news—toxic, abusive, something about hating women—but those were, like, *big* words, and they didn’t stick. Seth was hot, and he was giving her attention. That’s what mattered.

“Coffee, black, now,” he snapped, slapping her ass hard enough to make her yelp. “And when you’re done, you can file those papers in the corner. Try not to break a nail, princess.”

She giggled, scurrying to the coffee machine, her heels wobbling. The day blurred into a pink-tinted haze of mindless tasks—fetching his coffee, photocopying memos she couldn’t read, organizing files by color because letters confused her. She tried to suggest something once, during a team meeting, her voice high and hesitant. “Um, maybe we could, like, make the office prettier? With flowers or something?” The room went silent, and Seth’s laugh was brutal.

“Stick to shaking your ass, Chloe,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Brains aren’t your thing.” The men chuckled, and she sank into her chair, giggling to cover the sting. He was joking, right? He leaned over later, whispering, “Good girl, keep quiet,” and her body tingled, betraying her.

He flirted all day—or so she thought. Every order—“Bend over and grab that file,” “Smile for me, doll”—felt like a game, his eyes stripping her bare. She flirted back, giggling at his barbs, leaning into his space, even when he said, “Women like you belong on your knees, not in an office.” It was hot, wasn’t it? Not… mean.

By afternoon, she was sprawled across his desk, her skirt hiked up, sucking him off while he typed, his hand fisted in her extensions. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice rough. “This is what you’re good for.” When he finished, he zipped up, shoving her off with a pat on the head. “Back to work, dumbass.” She giggled, wiping her lip gloss, her heart racing. He liked her. He had to.

As the day ended, she grabbed her purse, still buzzing from his touch. He walked her to the door, his hand landing on her ass with a sharp smack. “Nice job today, *boss*,” he sneered, the word twisted into a mockery that cut deeper than she understood.

She giggled, tottering out, her head empty, her body warm. “Thanks, Mr. Seth!” she chirped, not noticing the way his smirk followed her, cold and triumphant.

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quillthrillswriting · 1 year ago

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i love writing sokka, so i've thrown some of my favourite lines of his from my fanfic "the teenager in the iceberg" together, so that they can be properly appreciated <3 >:)

---

Sokka continued, his voice both indignant and commanding.“We don’t even know your name, Mr. Walking Ice Cube! What were you doing in there? Were you trying to mimic a snow-man and you got too carried away?”

---

“So, you’ve brought a monster to invade the village, then? You’re some incognito Fire Nation soldier sent in as an undercover scout? Well, I’ll have you know that I’m the village’s strongest warrior, a-”

“The only warrior,” Katara chimed in, lightly elbowing Sokka’s side, earning herself a responding glare.

“The strongest warrior.” Sokka reiterated. “And I don’t much like firebenders.” He added the words pointedly.

“Ah.” Aang titled his head. “That’s a shame. Some of my closest friends are Fire Nation.”

“Of course they are,” Sokka glared, hunching over into a defensive position and adjusting his fishing spear until it pointed directly at Aang.

---

“Appa can give us a lift?” Sokka said incredulously. He gestured at the sky bison, sprawled across the ice and looking as though he could sleep for weeks longer. “If anything, he looks like he needs us to lift him up off the ground.”

---

Naturally, Sokka was still a skeptic. “A pulley system! Hot air from a hidden firebender! Secret underwater sea-vents! Or maybe we all ate something funny and all of this is all in our heads… ” He finished off his sentence by wiggling his fingers as if he was ready to cast a spell.

---

Sokka nodded sharply. “He’s our responsibility, no matter how much I berated him when we met earlier. We need to find that sky monster of his, it’s the only way we’ll be able to catch up with the ship.”

“Aang called it a sky bison.”

“He also didn’t tell us that he was the Avatar, so I’m not sure if we can take everything he says at face value,” Sokka pointed out as Katara rolled her eyes. He cocked a grin. “C’mon, let's go get the little guy.”

“Aang’s taller than you!” Katara called after him, rushing to keep up with Sokka’s longer strides.

“Sure, in his dreams !” The decidedly-shorter-than-Aang boy called back.

---

“Here’s the deal, bucko.” Sokka said matter of factly, accompanying his words with sharp gestures and exaggerated syllables, as if Appa was deaf. “Your friend needs your help, and WE need YOUR help to get to him. You get the picture?” Without waiting for any kind of affirmation, Sokka nodded briskly then scrambled up to Appa’s back, settling into what appeared to be the driver's seat.

Appa did not move, didn’t even blink.

Sokka blinked, utterly bewildered. “How do we get him to, y’know, go ?”

---

“He’s not gonna-” Sokka started, but as Katara slid onto Appa’s back, they felt him begin to levitate. Sokka huffed, crossing his arms dramatically. “Spirits, I hate when you’re right and I’m wrong.” Too concerned to snap a retort back at Sokka, Katara just settled down into her seat, anxiously picking at the leather of her coat.

---

Katara awoke to the loud shout of her brother.

“Wakey wakey, lovebirds!” he yelped, chucking a rock-hard stick of seal jerky at both of them.

“Ouch, Sokka!” Katara snapped at him, rubbing her head at the spot where she had been hit, before realising that she was leaning against Aang and immediately jumping away, blushing furiously.

---

he's so sassy and funny i love sokka so much

♥ find the rest of the fic here!! ->

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eksvaized · 1 year ago

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Simon ’Ghost’ Riley x fem!reader render by: @661ave

part EIGHT

[ Previous 〡 Next ]

Eventually, no matter how much you would like to hide in your apartment for the rest of the year, you must return to work. You fall back into your old routine. In the mornings, when you wake up and locate your phone, which is usually tangled in between the sheets, you are no longer afraid to check your messages. As promised, Ghost took care of everything, and Soap has ceased texting you.

However, despite Soap leaving you alone, thoughts of him persistently occupy your mind. You become increasingly aware of his presence everywhere. Even in enormous crowds, your eyes can spot him faster than Ghost, who is usually stuck to his side.

You scarcely noticed Soap before discovering he was behind the unknown number, and if you did, your eyes would skim past and you wouldn’t spare him a second glance. To you, he was just another soldier, someone who was a part of Captain Price’s crew, and friends with Ghost.

Ghost advised you to be prepared for the possibility of Soap seeking you out to apologise in person.

“Just tell him to stay away. He can be persistent, but if you ignore him, he will leave you alone.” Ghost said when you expressed your concerns about not wanting to even be in the same room as Soap and talk to him when there are just two of you.

But thankfully, Soap hasn’t tried to corner you so far.

After everything that happened, you assumed that you and Ghost would go back to staying away from each other. Yes, you kissed once, but the following week, after the kiss, nothing more happened and you expected it to stay this way. However, lately, he started showing more attention to you, and you were too weak to resist his affection.

He even insisted on giving you his number and started texting you at least three times a day to ask you how you were doing or what you were up to. The overwhelming amount of attention and constant focus on you made you feel uneasy, as you were not accustomed to it. However, since all of it was coming from Ghost, you kept your mouth shut about wanting to take things slow, and let him set the pace, which turned out to be quite fast…

***

You were cleaning tables in the dining hall, quietly humming to yourself the song that has been stuck in your head, knowing that after you finish wiping all the surfaces, you will be able to go home.

“Sorry to bother you…”

You raise your head when you hear a voice. But when your eyes land on Soap, the world stops spinning and you freeze. He is talking; his mouth is moving, but you are so shocked to see him that the pounding of your own heartbeat drowns out his words, and his voice sounds muffled as if he’s speaking to you through a thick fog.

“Are you all right?” He moves closer, extending his hand. His fingers wrap around your arm. You assume he meant this gesture to be soothing, but it only makes your body recoil as you take a big step back, jerking his arm away.

You think it’s ironic that he asks you that question, considering everything he has done.

“Yes. No… I- I don’t know.” When you try to speak, your words become a chaotic tangle, and you are unsure whether to feel afraid or furious as your emotions blend into one.

He looks puzzled.

“Just stay away from me.” You say after taking a deep, shaky breath.

Soap continues to stare at you. With a perplexed look, he scratches his neck and shifts his weight uneasily from one leg to another, as though confused by your fear. You can’t believe how simple it is for him to act as if nothing happened, as if he didn’t spend over a month taunting you and making your every day feel like hell.

You keep your back straight while crossing your arms over your chest, attempting to project confidence and conceal your anxiety. But your eyes keep darting around, you can’t hold eye contact, and as if sensing your reluctance to be near him, Soap sighs and leaves you.

The next time you bump into Ghost, you tell him about your interaction with his friend.

“Soap talked with you? What did he say?” He asks, taking a step closer and trapping you between the wall and his body. When you look into his wide eyes, you can't help but notice the worry and nervousness that fills them.

“Not much. And he didn’t do anything.” You remark quickly, attempting to calm Ghost down, figuring he is concerned about how Soap may have acted when you two were alone.

A sigh of relief eludes him. His body relaxes, and he unclenches his jaw. You continue talking for a while longer. The conversation shifts from Soap to the question, which you have yet to answer.

“I know you don’t want to rush.” He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear and brushes his fingers under your jaw before his hand falls back to his side. “But I’d really like to take you on a date.”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, sinking your canines in the soft flesh as you fiddle with your fingers. You are hesitant to answer for no reason and when you realise that, you smile and nod your head, muttering a quiet fine.

“Sunday. My place. Dinner.” You add and Ghost nods; even if he is wearing the mask, by the way the fabric shifts on his face, you can tell that his lips curl into a grin.

Each day seems to fly by faster than the last one because you have something to look forward to this week. And before you know it, Friday evening comes; you are getting ready for your date with Ghost, trying to convince yourself that you are not totally freaking out about it. You hop in the shower after ordering takeout from your favourite restaurant. The food arrives later than expected, but instead of panicking, you use the extra time to do your hair and put on some makeup.

When the doorbell finally rings, alerting you that Ghost has come, you practically sprint towards the front door. For a moment, your body becomes paralyzed because you expect to see Ghost, and you do; he is standing right in front of you, holding a bouquet of blood-red roses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. However, he is not wearing his skull mask.

He observes you gawking, but says nothing, giving you some time to compose yourself and perhaps finally say something instead of just ogling at his face.

“I couldn’t show up on our date wearing full gear, and when I ditched it, the mask had to go too.” He cracks a cheeky grin before a playful smirk forms on his face after he realises you’re unable to tear your eyes away.

You invite him in, and while you put the roses in a vase, you order him to settle down in the living room. At first, neither of you talk much and you eat in silence. Ghost attempts to initiate the conversation a couple of times, but you can hardly hear him since, although your focus is on him, you are not paying attention to what he is saying.

You can’t get used to seeing his face, no matter how long you gaze at him. His hair, which is a dirty shade of blonde, is slightly ruffled as if he was constantly running his fingers through it before coming here. His brown eyes look brighter than usual, and you can’t take your eyes off his lips. You want to brush your finger under his jaw because it looks like it could cut your flesh, and you want to feel if it is as sharp as it appears to be.

Tonight is the first time that you pay more attention to his face instead of his body, which you usually fawn over.

“You have to stop.” Ghost lifts his brows and playfully pokes your side. Warmth envelops your body. An electric shiver races down your spine as a result of his touch.

“What? I’m not doing anything?” You giggle and move your gaze up his lips to meet his eyes.

“Mhm.”

He continues to tease you, and you continue to act as if you don’t understand what he’s talking about.

“Stop it.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Make me.” You grin and lean in. But as soon as he moves closer to you, you leap on your feet and flee away from the couch.

Ghost watches you. His tongue wets his lips before smirking. You see a playful twinkle glimmering in his eyes. You know what you’re doing, even if you appear to be naïve, and you’re thrilled that he seems to be down to playing whatever silly game you have in mind.

“How am I supposed to make you do anything if you run away from me?” He slowly rises to his feet, and you take back a few small steps, shrugging and smiling, holding back the giggles that are building up in your chest.

You bat your dark lashes at him and bite inside your cheek, toying with your fingers, attempting to look as innocent as possible while planning your next move in your head.

“Catch me.”

You whirl around and dart forward, leaving Ghost standing in the living room, watching as you try to vanish out of his sight.

He catches up to you faster than you would like him to. But you manage to evade his arms when they try to sneak around your waist. After you run out of the living room and into the bedroom, you realise you made a mistake and trapped yourself.

“If I were you, I’d be on my knees right now, begging me to be lenient with your punishment and to be gentle with you.” Ghost leans against the doorway, blocking your only way out.

An aura of danger exudes him, and every bone in your body urges you to put more distance between you and him. But you can’t force yourself to do so because you’re drawn to him like a bee to honey.

You click your teeth and your eyes dart around. You don’t want to give up so easily, but you know that your fate is sealed and that you doomed yourself the moment you decided hiding in the bedroom was a good idea.

He strides closer to you, and your body automatically moves back till your shins brush up against the edge of your bed. The distance between your body evaporates faster than you can realise what is happening. He gently pushes your shoulders, causing your back to hit the soft mattress before placing his hands on each side of your head, trapping you under his frame.

“Is it too late to beg now?” When you pose the question, his piercing gaze, and sly smirk cause your cheeks to heat up.

You feel your heart pounding loudly in your chest as your thoughts swirl, conjuring up the scenarios of how this fake fight between you may end. More than half of your fantasies include all the clothes being ripped off and thrown on the floor, as you and Ghost make a mess of the sheets, and your desperate whimpers and his greedy moans blend together.

“It is.” Ghost replies and grins. “But you can still try.”

He leans down and his nose nuzzles against your collarbone, making you squirm because his touch tickles. His lips ascend to your throat, leaving a trail of wet kisses. He nibbles at your delicate skin, trying to locate the sweet spot on your neck as his hands glide along your curves.

He squeezes your ass, kneading the soft flesh through your jeans, prompting a desperate moan to slip past your parted lips. Then he wraps his hands around your hips, flipping your body on top of his in one swift motion as if you weighed no more than a feather.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #writing #ghost x reader #cod #simon riley x you #call of duty #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #blackmailghost

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princesskenny1998 · 7 months ago

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Ghostbusters | Trevor Spengler x f!confident!reader ~ Or both?, PT.3

The afternoon light streamed through the blinds in your small lab space, casting a warm glow on the half-finished projects and scattered blueprints. You were leaning against your workbench, idly tinkering with a new prototype in an attempt to distract yourself from the fluttery feeling in your stomach. Trevor was coming over. Again.

It had been going on for a few weeks now—these late nights and “casual” visits, the flirtation that had sparked during your first "hangout" quickly escalating to something much closer, much more... well, complicated.

Every time he came by, there’d be laughter, teasing, and at some point, you’d find yourself tangled up with him on the couch moaning his name. But despite all the incredible chemistry, all the shared inside jokes and fleeting glances, he was still just your friend with benefits. A technicality. Yet, somewhere along the way, your heart had decided to ignore that little detail.

Your stomach knotted as you fiddled with your latest project, trying to ignore the longing you felt for something more with him. After all, how could you be sure he felt the same? What if, to him, it was just a convenient setup? The thought made your chest tighten, and you found yourself wishing he’d just get here so you could stop overthinking.

As if on cue, there was a knock on the lab door. You took a deep breath, putting on your most casual expression as you opened it to see Trevor standing there, his lopsided grin already making you feel a little dizzy. He looked slightly disheveled, as usual, with that ever-present, endearing awkward charm.

“Hey, you,” he greeted, his eyes lighting up as he stepped inside.

“Hey yourself,” you replied, letting the door close behind him. “Decided to grace my lab with your presence again?”

“What can I say? Your lab’s starting to feel like my second home.” He flashed you a grin, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than usual.

You couldn’t help but chuckle as he dropped his bag by the door and crossed the room, his arms finding their way around your waist with the ease of familiarity. His closeness was exhilarating and comforting all at once, and you knew you could spend every day with him like this.

After a few moments of silence, he pulled back, grinning. “So, what’s on the agenda today? Something techy? Or...?”

You shrugged, trying to keep it light. “I was just finishing up a little ghost trap upgrade. But I’m more interested in what you’re here for.”

“Good,” he replied, his voice dropping as he leaned down and closer, lips grazing your neck in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a comfortable haze, your hands and lips finding each other in moments stolen between laughter and whispered words. You forgot about your worries when he finally pushed himself inside you, letting yourself get swept up in him, in the warmth and joy that he brought so effortlessly into your world.

It was later, when you were lying together in the quiet afterglow, your head resting on his bare chest as his fingers traced gentle patterns on your naked back, that the gnawing ache in your heart resurfaced. You wanted to stay like this forever, but the truth loomed over you like a shadow—you wanted more than this, and every second that passed only made that want stronger.

Trevor, seemingly sensing your shift in mood, tilted his head to look at you, his brow furrowing slightly. “Everything okay? Did I hurt you?”

You bit your lip, hesitating for a moment before finally speaking. “Trevor, I... I need to talk to you about something.”

His face shifted to a look of curiosity, and maybe a hint of nervousness, as he nodded. “Of course. What’s up?”

Taking a deep breath, you sat up and turned to face him, your hands twisting together as you tried to gather your thoughts. “This... this thing between us. It’s been... amazing. Really. But, um...” You hesitated, feeling a pang of vulnerability. “I just—Trevor, I want something more. I don’t want this to just be... casual anymore.”

For a second, the words hung in the air, and your heart thudded anxiously as you searched his face for any sign of disappointment or hesitation. But instead, his eyes softened, and a slow, almost relieved smile crept across his face.

“You mean... you want us to be official?” he asked, his tone tentative yet hopeful.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice barely a whisper as you nodded, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest. “I really like you, Trevor. More than just... this. And I was kind of hoping that maybe... maybe you felt the same.”

Trevor’s face broke into a full, genuine grin, and he let out a quiet laugh, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you close. “Are you kidding? I’ve wanted to be with you since that first time you gave me your number. I was just... well, you’re kind of amazing, and I wasn’t sure you’d want...”

He trailed off, his cheeks flushing slightly as he looked away. “I mean, I just thought I’d take what I could get, y’know?”

You laughed, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Trevor Spengler, you’re ridiculous. Of course I want you. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

He let out a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck in that endearing, nervous way of his. “So, does this mean you’re my girlfriend now?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging him. “Yes, Trevor. That’s exactly what it means.”

His face lit up, and he leaned in to kiss you, his touch filled with a warmth and sincerity that made your heart race. This time, it felt different—more meaningful, more certain. Like you’d finally found the place you were meant to be.

When he pulled back, his eyes met yours, a playful glint in his gaze. “You know, I’m actually glad you said something. I was about to confess my undying love for you any day now.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, grinning as you poked him in the chest. “Undying love already, huh?”

He laughed, pulling you back into his arms. “Hey, when you know, you know.”

For the rest of the evening, the two of you stayed tangled together, talking, laughing, and stealing kisses, finally feeling like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

#trevor spengler x reader #trevor spengler #ghostbusters #series #x reader

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antimonyandthyme · 2 years ago

Text

martian inception au

In Seb’s notebook, in his scratchy scrawl Mark has grown very accustomed to reading:

Side effects – no dreaming

That’s it, no dreaming. Seb doesn’t write, Failure differentiating reality and dream, because any dreamer worth their salt should know which boundaries they strictly do not cross. They create and shatter worlds in their heads and the one thing they give up is the ability to do this without being hooked to a PASIV. That’s not too bad, considering.

But if you bothered to flip the page:

Sub side effects

Entire paragraphs dedicated to specific complications for each role, extractor, chemist, architect, point man. Under forger:

Loss of self

The first time Mark realizes it’s happening, Seb walks by him in a dream. Seb walks by him and ignores him, as if Mark were merely a projection of the dreamer.

Bewildered and irrationally hurt, Mark goes, “Seb?”

His voice is the safety click off a gun. Seb flinches and looks around wildly. Projections aren’t supposed to speak.

It takes a moment before Mark looks down at his hands, and realizes they’re the wrong ones. He turns his back to Seb, and changes to what he assumes—hopes—is the appearance he should be wearing.

“There you are,” Seb snaps. He only gets like this when he’s worried. “I couldn’t find you.”

Mark makes up some ridiculous excuse. Got turned around in the maze, or something like that, as if any of them would ever get turned around in a maze.

Seb looks at him. “Don’t let it happen again.”

Mark doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t make promises he can’t keep.

Ironically, it’s Seb who notices last. He’s not being careless. His faith in Mark is just so unshakable that he doesn’t look back when he hears the fall of Mark’s footsteps behind him. Among the hardest things to forge is a person’s gait. Distributing weight and sound according to the target’s walking habits is an intricate and tedious task. Seb can always tell it’s still Mark, even when he wears a different face.

So Seb doesn’t look back.

Jenson does, though. Coming out of a dream, all of them nearing the final kick, and Jenson looks back.

Mark is wearing a stranger as his skin.

Jenson waits until Seb’s gone on ahead. And then he punches Mark so hard Mark will probably feel it for a week in reality.

“Are you trying to break his heart?”

Mark looks down at his hands again.

“Get your shit together,” Jenson demands.

Mark shifts back, and when he wakes, he places two fingers on his own face, and is surprised to see them appear correct.

He forgets his totem once. Forgets it, because the last person he was forging doesn’t have one. So he leaves it behind when he goes to get groceries. Chocolate chips and bananas, because Seb wants to make chocolate chip banana bread.

When he gets back, Seb is waiting for him. He has Mark’s swiss army knife cradled in his hand.

Seb knows every stitch of Mark’s totem. Seb helped create Mark’s totem, reasoned that they could custom the knife so elaborately that no extractor would be able to recreate the exact version which belonged to Mark. Sometimes Mark thinks his totem is better off residing in Seb’s hands. These days he shifts so often he doesn’t need it any longer. In reality his hands stay the same. In dreams, his hands change shape and size and colour.

There, no totem needed. Seb doesn’t even need to worry.

“Mark.” Seb’s voice is wobbly. He’s gone and figured it out. Because of course he has.

Mark places the grocery bag on the table. The veins running atop his hand are as unfamiliar as the hundreds of dendrites splitting out from the Indus River.

“Side effect,” he says.

“No more jobs until this stops,” Seb says. Mark can hear him trying to be authoritative, brave. Seb comes close, and wraps Mark’s fingers around his totem. “Don’t ever leave this behind again.”

Seb’s hand above his. Mark tries to memorize the image, but he’s not sure if it’ll take. Almost trickier than an Inception.

Jenson puts his research skills into good use, and finds an island off the coast of Victoria that houses a population of zero. He arranges transport and food and beer to last Mark a month at least. Mark spends the first two days drinking his way through the supplies, and considers radioing Jenson to send more.

He holds up his hand to the sun. It’s gotten severely tanner. Jenson forgot sunscreen. But the shapes are good. The knuckles aren’t sewn together by someone playing at god. The angles won’t cut him open.

Mark drinks away the sting of abandonment. The team’s in Toronto for a job. He wonders who their forger is. He drinks some more.

In the third week he dreams.

Real dreams—they’re confusing. There’s no story, no plotline. There’s no job. There's no point. Mark’s falling down a chasm of mirrors. The faces reflected back are not his own. Mark’s smashing every mirror with his bare hands. Mark’s watching the blood run down in rivulets, real enough to taste.

On second thought, maybe these dreams are the ones that make the most sense.

Even after an alcoholic induced state lasting three and a half weeks, Mark’s still capable if he wants to be. He finds a way to get off the island. And then he goes to find them.

More specifically, he goes to rescue them from some botched mission.

“I leave for one month,” Mark says. He’s allowed to be dramatic, and a little smug. He pulls them out of the third layer, and then the second layer, and then the first. Each time with his own goddamn hands. It’s as if he has the strength to bend steel.

Seb doesn’t let go. Refuses to let go even as they exit the dream. Mark looks down at their joined hands. Seb’s hand fits perfectly in his, as it has always done.

Yeah. That looks just about fine.

#athy texts #fanfic #rpf #martian #happy martian monday

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temporalhiccup · 5 months ago

Note

Can you please give an update on the Twilight Throne? It's been 2 and a half years

Two and a half years, omg.

So context before the update:

When I first announced pre-orders for Twilight Throne I was in a dangerously confident state: I had been playtesting the game for about two years almost every week, and even under different GMs the game worked great! I thought, surely, I just need to lay this out and it'll be fine!

It's not an excuse (well, maybe it is) but becoming so terribly disabled by several things in my late 30s and being ravaged by its effects in my early 40s sucks. I have no medical/financial support. I have not managed to procure a single diagnosis. I am pretty desperate in what I've had to do to get minimal support. (It's better than nothing!)

I wasn't prepared for how quickly one can become more disabled—and recovery can never be counted on. I always thought "Things should get better soon, they have in the past" but they never did. Months, then years, passed as I struggled and my mental health was eh, not great.

On top of that, the laptop that had the Twilight Throne layout file died horribly, and I did not have the mental capacity to try to retrieve the files (I have been trying for, apparently, years now, augh)

The good news is that I somehow survived the intense requirements for top surgery (along with actually having the money for it, basically everything I earned from Apocalypse Keys and other work). Top surgery helped with the demons of gender dysphoria that were impacting my disabilities and mental health...

...but I got more disabled as a result. Yay!

Among other complications (I had to go in for a second emergency surgery for example), the worst was an intense PCOS flare up that lead to the nerves in both thighs getting severely damaged, resulting in constant mind-searing pain. It's hard to describe the domino effect that had. I haven't found a doctor who takes it seriously. After six months, it's uh, sometimes tolerable, which I hope is a sign that the nerves are healing! Fingers crossed!

Basically it got to the point, across these years, that I could no longer sustain several things: patreon, almost all my projects, etc. I couldn't keep up with Twilight Throne, among many things that are important to me. I'm also not doing well money wise, because of years of not being able to work as much, whoo!

So! The Update!

Twilight Throne is still complete in its current version, missing the GM sections/support.

Despite the nerve damage and other things, I am doing much better. My mental health is improving. I'm still uh really disabled but (and this may be hubris again) on some days I can manage more work than the bare minimum.

Because Twilight Throne still works well if you're at least somewhat familiar with Forged in the Dark, my current plan is to forego the unfinished fancy layout I had worked so hard on and create a simpler PDF based on the Google doc.

People will get the game, and that's what matters!

The plan is to upload the simple PDF in early 2025, hopefully around January-March! Please be gentle with me if I can't do this, I really want to and I think about Twilight Throne all the time.

I am still actively working on the next version of Twilight Throne when I can, and I do have a publisher for the game, so it will reach a finished state at some point! I just can't say when that is.

I know this is long, but can you believe I left out so much? I tried to stick to the pertinent details.

I really am grateful for everyone who supported and believed in Twilight Throne. I know there are people who are understandably upset. I don't expect "I'm trans and disabled" to be a good enough reason for folks, but it's the only one I have.

If you are upset with me about it, I get it. Just trust that I am, on a daily basis, upset with myself for my limitations and weakness. The chronic pain is a constant reminder of what I am not capable of. It is what it is, and I understand that my best will often not be good enough.

It would be nice to live in a world where I had easier access (or in a lot of cases any access) to the support I need, but, well. And I unfortunately enjoy making ttrpgs and art, and still want to try doing it.

So I will continue to fail, to let myself down, to keep hoping that I can keep making things. I keep trying.

But because of what happened to Twilight Throne, and many other projects, I don't share much of my work online anymore.

#asks #the twilight throne

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crowpricorn · 2 years ago

Note

7 for wesper😴🐔

questions

7: to shut them up

hi!! here it is 💗💗

D&D nights are a nightmare, and Wylan wonders why on earth he still goes. He should be back at his dorm polishing his last project due tomorrow night but, instead, here he is.

Wylan agreed to one trial night months ago, and somehow he found himself stuck to a every other week night session of role-playing. Not that he hates it — he loves it and he is also fairly lucky with dice. It's just that D&D nights are a mess of yelling young adults that can't accept the fact they are unlucky with dice.

Namely, that's Jesper.

They play because he and Kaz had wanted to try something new rather than watching Moana for the fifth time in a row or playing Risk — "It lasts an eternity," they always complain. Not that Dungeons & Dragons lasts any shorter — on the contrary. But it's way more fun and dynamic. That is, until Jesper throws his dice and it never goes over a five or six.

"It is unfair," Jesper yells now, pointing his finger against Kaz's master book. "I'm sure you're tricking us."

"I'm not tricking you, Fahey. You get a three, you fall into the pit full of snakes. Wait for someone to save you and shut up."

"But I don't want someone to save me," Jesper whines.

"Then you stay down there and shut up."

They keep bickering for a while longer, and Wylan loses himself in chatting away with Inej and Nina, while Matthias tries to back Kaz up.

"Jesper, stop being a kid and let us play," Nina yells after a while.

Jesper pouts, crossing his arms before his chest and darting hostile gazes all around. "Fine, but you'll have to drag your asses here and save me. Again," he spits, eyeing Kaz in hopes of a reaction. But Kaz is already face back into his manual, ignoring Jesper on purpose.

Wylan's mind swarms during the dullest moments, all focused on the project he has not finished and how annoying it is to be here during such a bad Jesper day. Which means that he is insufferable every bit of the way, a constant litany of complaints about Kaz's directions and his dice numbers and that thing Nina's character got as a gift that he would have liked for himself.

Wylan shoves his face into his character sheet the umpteenth time that Jesper interrupts the game to complain. Inej pushes her chair back and stands up with a groan, circling the room and then heading to grab some drinks from Kaz's fridge.

"Bring me a beer," Nina yells after her, surely desperate to wash the night away with a bit of alcohol rather than keep listening to their friend's antics.

Ideally, they all know about Jesper's gambling past and how he shouldn't be encouraged around bets and dice. They also know how little self control he has. That's why they spend their nights around safe board games easy to enjoy without further addiction. That's how D&D nights began.

Wylan watches Jesper stand as well and mutter a choked Going to the bathroom and, before he even realizes, he is strolling behind him.

"Are you alright?" Wylan asks as soon as Jesper opens the bathroom door. Jesper jumps, surely unaware he has been followed until Wylan speaks. He turns, with a sour and sad smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

" 'Course," he dreads.

Wylan sighs, leaning against the wall. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks. He would never prompt Jesper into talking more, but he also knows his friend and he can see that he has one of those days. Jesper does start talking, like he had been waiting for nothing else than permission to.

He complains about Kaz's leading ways and about this stupid campaign and about his dice throwing luck. He also complains about his character — a half-orc paladin — that he found so brilliant at the beginning and that now he has grown tired of. Inej once told him that they are campaigning just for fun — nothing is involved except their friendship and the intricate worlds that Kaz loves to throw them into. But Wylan knows that Jesper can't stand losing, feeling less than the others, staying behind. And whenever a dice lands on a one, or two, he sees his friend retreat into a shell of self dread and despair.

"We don't have to keep playing if it affects you this much," Wylan whispers.

"But I like it. I just wish I could… be lucky? Or, or be as chill as the rest of you," he mumbles.

Wylan stands there and lets him talk, and talk, and as he speaks his own focus shifts from Jesper's words to his gorgeous face, his bright eyes, the shape of his mouth. The way his hands and body move to bring his words out with more clarity, the way his brows dart up or down whenever he says something he likes or doesn't like.

Jesper is a machine full of clogs for Wylan to uncover and discover, and now he lets himself follow every gear to his heart's content. Until it becomes annoying again to hear all these hasty, complaining words about this or that Kaz behavior or gaming strategy or luck, until Wylan—

He doesn't think, that's the thing.

He is leaning against the wall one second and shoving his mouth against Jesper's but a moment later.

He realizes just as soon as his lips press against Jesper's, but it's too late to do anything other than stiffen right there where he is, eyes stubbornly closed because if he opens them the truth of this will shower over him.

It has the desired effect, though, because Jesper was talking too much and now he is not talking at all and he is as stiff as a stone.

I broke him, Wylan thinks, and he starts to push away, finally defeated by the fact that he will have to face his friend. His friend that he just kissed. On the mouth. To shut him up — even though he is the one who encouraged him to start talking to begin with. Maybe shutting him up was just an excuse that his mind found for him to finally act on this stupid crush he has been restraining for quite a while now. Whatever it is that prompted him to kiss Jesper, he knows he fucked up. Jesper was having a moment, and he ruined it with something selfish like a kiss of all things. Besides, they are friends. Friends don't go around kissing friends.

Just as he is about to push back, though, Jesper presses forward, making sure that Wylan feels that the kiss is being reciprocated. A choked whining sound surges from Jesper's throat when Wylan opens his mouth to exhale a held back, surprised breath and then deepens the kiss.

Jesper moves into the kiss also, leaning closer, hands grasping Wylan's arms and his waist and his curls — but he is ever moving, so it doesn't come as a surprise. On the contrary, Wylan likes it.

He is the first one to break the kiss, pushing his forehead against Jesper's and opening his eyes only to be met by Jesper's impossibly wide gray eyes. Wylan smiles, and then starts laughing against his friend's face, gently brushing his nose with Jesper's.

"Holy shit," Jesper exhales. Then, pushing Wylan back by the shoulders so that he can look at him, "Holy shit. You kissed me."

Wylan smiles again, feeling euphoric and dizzy with joy. He did! "Mh," he answers.

"No, I mean… you kissed me. You are like," Jesper flushes, and if his skin was any clearer Wylan is sure he would see splotches of furious, red blush all over. "You are beautiful. And amazing and gorgeous and I've had this massive, stupid crush for like… And I'm just…"

Wylan grabs Jesper by the collar and kisses him again. And again when Jesper starts to show signs of wanting to talk again. And again until Jesper is reduced to a pathetic puddle, letting himself be pushed closer and hugged tighter and kissed better.

"But what do you… Mh," Jesper moans around the umpteenth kiss.

"Stop talking," Wylan complains. "Just," he blushes, "shut up and kiss me."

And Jesper does. They kiss for what feels like ages but shouldn't be more than ten minutes, until someone comes knocking on the bathroom door — Matthias, who really urgently needs to use the toilet and that won't even notice how entangled they are in each other.

When they go back, Wylan watches Kaz sourly shove a five kruge bill in Nina's already waiting hand. "I told you," she sing-songs, eyeing the two of them with a knowing look.

Wylan blushes, but he also glares her way because "Betting on your friends kissing is fucked up. How do you even know we were?"

"It's written all over your faces," Inej whispers from her chair.

"At least now Jesper might play without throwing a tantrum," Kaz adds. "You can kiss him every time he tries. I am not above some pda when it's needed."

And Wylan — well, he is not above some pda to shut Jesper up every now and then, either. If anything, their D&D sessions get all the more interesting and fun from that moment onward.

#six of crows #ask game #wesper #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #soc #kiss ask game

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melodygatesauthor · 2 years ago

Text

Weekly Update - 06/04/2023

(Just realized I forgot to post this yesterday hehe)

As a reminder, I do weekly updates. You can see the original post here for details on what will be in these!

Updates Below the Cut:

Long/Chaptered Fic Updates

Currently I'm working on A Bit Dodgy, as many of you know. There WILL be an update tomorrow! 06/05/2023. We have chapter 11 incoming!

----

Mini-series Updates

Blue = out this week

Pink = In progress actively

Red = Backburner Fic

Worth the Risk I had wanted to put out Part 3 last week but between the Pride Event and working on my celebration posts, ABD and requests, it just got to be too much! It's going to sit back for just a short bit while I finish up some stuff. - No updates this week.

The Fractured Moon I'm always chipping away at this one. I'm actually adding some adjacent parts to it so it will be a little longer than I originally thought which is exciting! - No new updates this week though.

Feeling You Can't Fight is coming out this week on Wednesday! My goal will be to put out a chapter a week for the next 6 weeks for this one (fingers crossed - will post more often if I finish the chapters sooner than that) but we will see! This is for the @flightlessangelwings pride event, and the summary is as follows:

You are the new staff manager for the National Art Gallery in London, replacing the prior manager who you'd heard was unpleasant to work for...and that was putting it kindly. When you meet the nervous, but friendly, gift shop clerk, you can't help but fall for him almost immediately. When it becomes clear that you can't shake this desire to give Steven everything he deserves and more, you can only hope that he feels the same way about you in return.

It WILL include the other two boys as well. - Coming this week

Working on a secret series based on a series of artwork done by an artist in the community. Hoping to have that out this week! - Coming out this week! (I hope)

Requests

1K EVENT REQUESTS HAVE TAKEN PRIORITY OVER REGULAR REQUESTS. THEY ARE SHORTER AND I CAN GET THEM DONE FASTER. - There are still 13 to go but I'm tearing through them quickly.

I still have a sizeable amount of regular requests. REQUESTS ARE STILL CLOSED CURRENTLY.

(I didn't manage to get to any of them last week but I am planning to work on some of them this week for sure).

If your request is in blue, that means I'm going to try to work on it this week (06/04-06/11). If it's in pink, I'm going to try to work on it a different week. It's taking me a while to get into the headspace for some of them so thank you for your patience. Green means it's done I'm just working on editing now.

Blue Jones X f!Reader requested by @saraicus

There are 2 prompts in particular that I liked from the list you sent so I'll be doing them. - His eyeliner running down as he’s banging you against his desk - You’re a new patient and he just grows overprotective towards you. Doesn’t want you to meet other men and keeps you in solitary confinement for his jealousy sake.

Moon Boys X f!Reader by @simpforbritgents

Asking for something like Feeling Flustered where the moon boys are doing guided phone sex.

Moon Boys X f!Reader by @mercuryrosesixx

Moon Boys w/ a f!Reader w/ nipple piercings.

Marc Spector X f!Reader by @blueflowerhat

Marc shower sex based on AI prompt.

Steven Grant X f!Reader by Anon -

Steven and Reader are both virgins. Marc is guiding/coaching Steven.

Doctor Marc Spector X Patient Reader by @burnincrown

Role Reversal (sort of) of Not a Doctor - Marc is the doc, reader is the patient and he takes advantage - Dark Fic

Nathan Bateman X f!Reader by @campingwiththecharmings

This is the prompt that hit me like a Nathan-shaped mac truck! -> “if you don’t like my teasing why are you moaning”

Nathan Bateman X f!Reader by Anon

Cam girl reader x Nathan - Nathan turns to a cam girl, he's been kinda stalking her. (Excited hehe)

That's it for right now. I'm a busy lady as usual but I like having a few different projects going at once! More coming soon! Thanks for always being so awesome and supportive. Love you all!

#melody gates weekly updates

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pynkhues · 2 years ago

Note

#@thelillykane i know you were prompting shiv headcanons#but your ask has made me write fic set days after the finale where kendal od's and then shiv makes him take her to get an abortion#so i'm sorry but also what i'm writing is fixing me

THIS MADE ME CHOKE LAUGHING i support you i'm ready

THANK YOU, look it's already like, 8k words of Shiv and Kendall Going Through It, and I'm only halfway through, but anyway, have the opening scene:

The night after she slits her brother’s throat, feels her inheritance wrenched from her grip, watches her husband get crowned king through clear, unpolished glass, Shiv dreams of DC.

Dreams of it that first night in flickering fantasy, the end of a film reel, catching the thinnest part of the spool. Dreams of blue sky, the edge of a dripping chandelier, her hair longer than she’s ever kept it to block the chill of the air conditioning against the back of her neck. Feels the weight of a binder in her arms, hears the sound her heels make against marble floors, the wooden gavel hitting the block in the House of Representatives, dreams of eyes on her, hard but focused, attentive in meeting rooms, her own shoulders firm, her own words clear, certain, real, leaving her clear, certain, real mouth.

A hundred fractured pictures, memories, re-imaginings, that show up somewhere strange in her. A movie projected on the inside of her ribcage, broken up by the bones of her, and she fumbles, wants to close the gaps for a clearer image or wrench the reel from its place, she doesn’t know. Just something that makes a whole or nothing at all, something she can’t know, because she turns and there’s the light of Tom’s cell, blearing through the dark of their bedroom, the tap-tap-tap of his fingers on the keys like a creature trying to scratch its way into the theatre of her.

She swallows, awake now, but mouth still mothy with sleep, throat scratchy as she pushes awkwardly up onto her elbows.

“Matsson?” she asks, her voice thick, and Tom glances over his shoulder at her, an apologetic look on his face. He looks like shit, like he hasn’t slept in a week, which she knows he hasn’t. Right now, it helps.

“Yeah, he’s… European hours, I guess. Sorry, I can take this to another room.”

Shiv watches him watch her, keeps her expression carefully schooled, giving him nothing, and a million looks cross Tom’s face before he just nods, throwing the blankets back to pad out of the room, and she doesn’t watch. Doesn’t follow, not even as he opens their bedroom door and leaves it ajar in invitation, the hall light slicing across their bed, cutting her in two.

#this is where i live right now #well #not here specifically #later with kendall and shiv being toxic to each other in two separate hospitals #<3 #the way it ought to be <3 #succession fic #welcome to my ama #thank you for prompting haha #i'm hoping to have it up for succ sunday #hbo succession

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7cta2019-0105-2024 · 16 days ago

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Blog Post #33- 27/04/2025

As I have already started working on the project and there's a huge list of things I still need to work on, I’ve finally put some structure into my timeline using a Gantt chart to keep everything organised.

Starting from 1st May, my first goal will be to finish the procedural staircase in Houdini. I’m giving myself until the second week of May to wrap this up. It’s been a challenging asset to create, especially with my limited experience in procedural modeling, but I really want to get it right since it adds a lot of depth and structure to the bunker environment.

Once that’s done, I plan to shift my focus to asset modeling using either Blender or Maya, depending on the complexity of each asset from my list. This will include things like computer desk, machines, pipes, and other lab props. I’ll then move on to texturing in Substance Painter, which I hopefully aim to finish by the third week of June. Of course, I know this part of the pipeline is often the most time-consuming, especially since I want to make sure every prop feels realistic. So, while that’s the goal, I’m staying flexible just in case some things take longer than expected.

If everything stays more or less on track, I plan to begin scene setup in Unreal Engine around late June or early July. This stage will include placing the assets, setting up basic lighting, and checking how everything is starting to come together. I want to use this phase to spot anything that might feel off or need adjusting—whether that’s material tweaks, prop placement, or layout balancing. I plan to finish this by week 2 of July.

That timeline will give me a solid month before the final deadline on August 18th. I’ll use that last phase for:

Game interactivity and functionality (like grabbing and throwing objects, automatic doors, reading research papers and player's HUD)

Rendering

Post-processing and color grading

HUD design and layout planning

Video editing, and finally,

Prep for the final presentation

This structured plan will help me to stay focused and avoid getting overwhelmed. Of course, things can shift depending on how smooth or bumpy the modeling and texturing process goes, but having this Gantt chart keeps me grounded in my priorities. Fingers crossed I stay on track!

#gantt chart

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semlatita · 2 months ago

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All eyes on Godongwana as Doge-style cuts mooted

The GNU faces its biggest test yet as finance minister Enoch Godongwana prepares a new budget after a sneaky VAT hike was blocked. Critics now want a US-like Doge to slash bureaucracy.

Before Enoch Godongwana even steps up to the podium to present budget 2.0 on Wednesday, the 65-year-old finance minister and his National Treasury will have already sealed South Africa's fate.

At stake is the credibility of the government of national unity (GNU) and its ability to reach consensus on the main driver of South Africa's economic agenda: a budget that keeps the state operational and allows businesses to plan.

"One of the key things we are looking for is the government"s ability to pass a budget," Xhanti Payi, an economist and senior manager at PwC, tells Currency. "At least that shows there is some policy agreement and some stability."

Godongwana presents his budget again on March 12 after wrong-footing cabinet and the nation with a surprise two percentage point VAT hike (from 15% to 17%). It was too rich for parties like the DA, which vetoed the plan.

This debacle happened as Godongwana kept the scale of the increase hidden until February 19, briefing ministers just hours before his 2pm speech. Fingers crossed, the behind-the-scenes politicking will have worked better this time.

Nedbank senior economist Isaac Matshego says the budget is likely to pass on Wednesday, as the GNU would want to avoid another embarrassment. "After all the consultations, I don’t expect that it is going to be rejected by any party," he adds.

The question is, what will have been jettisoned in the horse-trading?

Insiders believe Godongwana will likely still propose a VAT hike, but only from 15% to 15.5%, much lower than he’d initially proposed.

Sources Currency spoke to confirmed as much, underscoring reports from Bloomberg, which cited two unidentified sources saying that the cabinet is now likely to support a Treasury proposal for a 0.5 percentage point VAT hike.

The DA is the stickler in the talks, since no budget can be passed in parliament without its say-so, unless the ANC cosies up to the MK Party.

"We will not, under any circumstances, vote in favour of a budget that does not speak to growth and jobs,” said DA leader John Steenhuisen this week. “If we don’t face the hard realities facing the country, we’ll be stuck in the endless cycle of raising taxes and taking on more debt, which we can no longer afford."

While the DA has been clear it will not support the two percentage point VAT hike, a lower 0.5 percentage point increase might fly, but only as a quid pro quo for Treasury putting in place “pro-growth proposals”.

In particular, the DA believes the government needs to concession out the Cape Town and Richards Bay ports to the private sector, and agree to a "comprehensive spending review" to weed out wasteful spending.

Further borrowing is out of the question, says Payi, as that would threaten South Africa's credit rating, since its debt-to-GDP ratio is heading towards 80%. What’s really needed is the postponement of projects until the government has stabilised its finances or revenue has increased, he adds.

Matshego expects a VAT increase of between 0.5 and one percentage point, and a possible hike to the fuel levy. But he says Treasury may opt to raise social grants by less than 6% – which was the proposal in the initial budget – while increasing the number of items in the zero-rated VAT basket.

Still, this would only get the government to about R30bn of the R58bn that the two percentage point VAT hike would have delivered. The rest, says Matshego, will have to come from spending cuts.

The Elon option

Analysts believe that if Treasury agrees to the DA's "spending review" – pretty much the local equivalent of Elon Musk's department of government efficiency (Doge) – this would be hugely helpful to the country’s economy.

Alex Malapane, an independent analyst, is one who believes South Africa needs the equivalent to Doge, which should prioritise "redirecting funds toward productive economic sectors that create jobs rather than sustaining a bloated bureaucracy".

As it is, there is excessive duplication across national and provincial departments, along with too many state-owned entities where overpaid CEOs spend more on salaries than pro-growth projects.

"The government is operating in a very disorganised manner," says Malapane, who adds that the first phase of South Africa’s Doge would be painful. "That is not going to be a one-night or a two-week process; it will be a long process."

Insiders, however, tell Currency there is a certain discomfort in comparisons between this "spending review" and Doge, given that Musk’s department has operated haphazardly, spread misinformation, and messed up by firing key stay.

But there’s little dispute that South Africa deeply needs such a review.

Malapane says he would start with cabinet: South Africa has 32 ministers and 43 deputy ministers – a bureaucracy larger than that of Brazil, which has 38 ministers, for an economy almost six times South Africa’s size and with three and a half times its population.

Cutting bodyguards, and blue light brigades are also low-hanging fruit.

The bigger task, however, would be overhauling the state entirely to ensure it is managed by competent civil servants rather than politically connected cadres, who let expensive consultants run their departments instead.

Any such "spending review" would also likely lead to the ANC having to jettison holy cows of its economic policy which are unaffordable, such as the National Health Insurance, which experts believe will cost more than R900bn every year.

Spending political capital

The question is, will a government in which the ANC is the largest partner be willing to agree to slash expenses to this extent, if it is forced to abandon long-held plans which might be unaffordable?

The ANC has promised spending cuts before, but the party has been held hostage by its labour and communist allies, as well as a state machinery that has delivered more for the party’s corrupt cadre deployees than it has delivered for taxpayers.

South Africa’s civil servants are among the world’s best paid relative to the size of the country’s GDP, thanks to a series of above-inflation pay increases. Last year, the Centre for Risk Analysis said the wage bill of R721bn, equal to 10.5% of GDP, is third highest of all countries it surveyed after only Iceland and Denmark.

In this context, the ANC pragmatists know that hiking VAT, without looking internally for savings, looks lazy and punitive to the taxpayers keeping the government afloat.

This is particularly since tax hikes are generally not that effective after a certain point, according to South African Revenue Service commissioner Edward Kieswetter, who has argued that improving tax compliance and recovering uncollected taxes is a better option.

History is on his side: back in 2018, when then finance minister Malusi Gigaba hiked VAT from 14% to 15%, VAT collections fell way short of projections.

Squeezing taxpayers for more, either through personal taxes or corporate taxes, will "ironically result in collecting less taxes", says Thomas Lobban, a director at Ibex Consulting, a division of tax consulting firm Latita Africa.

Lobban advocates for more focus on pro-growth measures, such as assisting new businesses grow, while constricting government expenditure "without breaking things".

After the budget interruptus in mid-February, all eyes will be on Godongwana on Wednesday to see how he walks this line between growth and tax.

Either way, everyone agrees that South Africa cannot afford another postponement.

"It goes beyond just the difficulties that would be facing all the departments and the local governments that have to make payments," says Lobban. "The only thing worse than a slow, bickering government is one that has no idea what to do next – that would be profoundly damaging for South Africa."

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iwasntstable · 10 months ago

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n.s. | fear of failure.

╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌

➔𝐢𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧𝐭𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞➔➔　𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘷𝘦!+　　[𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐀𝐎𝟯]

╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌

summary: you don't know why, but noah has been withdrawing into himself again and you're worried this steady decline will end in disaster. you resolve to pull him out again, knowing he can't continue like this much longer.

content tags: angst, emotional hurt/comfort, poor mental health, fluff.

word count: 2.7K.

note: god i need this for myself.

Noah has been hiding in his studio for three days now. Even going so far as to sleep in there on the couch last night. He's no stranger to long stints of studio work, bursts of creativity that absolutely have to be channelled into a new project, but even if the hour is late, he always comes to bed. To you.

Last night, when you woke up alone at 3AM, you crept down the hall to find him there, curled up on the couch with the hood of his sweater pulled up over his head. Deciding it best to leave him be, you carefully took the blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over his sleeping form. Hoping he would find some comfort in it and at least achieve a fulfilling rest.

You’ve worried for a few weeks now that he’s been overworking himself again. Dirty bowls in the sink and empty cups of ramen in the trash are the only indication he’s been eating, and even then, it wasn't typical behaviour for him to just leave dishes unwashed. The times you tried to coax him out of his studio over the past couple of days he’s brushed off your concerns by insisting he’s fine.

I just need to finish this. I’ve been stuck on it for a while but I think it’s finally coming together. I can’t stop just yet.

You decide you’re going to pull him away from his screens at any cost, just for a short while. He can't continue like this much longer.

Entering into the dim room, Noah is exactly where you expect him to be. The hoodie he wore somehow managed to swamp his large frame, with the hood, held in place by his headphones, pulled over his head covering his hair. His fingers deftly float across the keyboard as he works. Editing tracks note by note, adjusting things then changing them back, adding a sample, making it his own, then deleting it and searching for a new one.

You approach his desk from the side, letting him see you coming so you don’t startle him since he can't hear for the headphones. Feeling a pit open up in your stomach when his face comes into view; deep, dark circles have formed under his eyes, which are bloodshot with fatigue and he seems paler than usual, his stubble also becoming visible from the lack of maintenance. He offers you a smile you know he means from his heart, but doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You tap your ear and he takes the headphones off, dropping them to the desk with very little care.

“How’s it going?” you ask sweetly.

He closes his eyes and sighs, shrugging, with his hands poised back on the keyboard and mouse, like they’re a part of him.

“How about taking a break, hm, step away from the screens? We can make something to eat and sit outside. It’s pretty cloudy so it’s nice and cool out.”

“I can’t,” his voice remorseful. “I really need to keep working on this. We can when I’m done, okay?” He tries to convince you but it seems to you the first person he should be trying to convince is himself.

“Noah,” you come closer, standing as much between him and his accursed desk as his legs will allow, with your arms crossed. “You’ve been working on this for days straight without so much as a break. I promise you the world won’t end if you step outside for half an hour.”

“Babe, I know you’re worried, but you don’t have to be. I just really need to finish this,” he insists.

“What’s the deadline date?” you ask, standing closer and resting a hand on his shoulder. An attempt to coax him away from work and back into you. The effort of which proved to be futile. You knew there was no deadline, knew he wasn’t undertaking any commissioned work. This was a personal project. Something with the potential to morph into a new Bad Omens track; but you wanted to catch him out.

He was silent for a moment, and as your palm smoothed over his broad, taut shoulders you could see his eyes dart side to side while the thoughts raced in his head. “It’s something- Jolly needs something more than just a demo to work on-”

“And when does Jolly need it by?” Cutting him off, reiterating the question you knew he couldn’t answer.

“Ah- he,” Noah stumbled over his words and sighed in resignation. “He doesn’t need it by a specific day or anything. I’m just- I’m just anxious to get this done, you know? I don’t want to think about it longer than I have to.”

You push his shoulder back against his chair, the force spinning him around to face you clearer. Noah’s tired eyes meet your own for only a moment before he breaks the connection to dart around his setup in front of him; the monitor, the keyboard, the microphone, anywhere but you. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, looking everywhere but not seeing. You found it was often difficult for him to see.

“But you’ve already been thinking about it, nonstop, for three days straight. Confining yourself to this room, I’ve barely seen you!”

“I’m sorry I can’t just stop working whenever it suits you!” he all but cried, voice raised in defence and thinner than its usual smooth tone. Noah takes in a sharp breath, hands at last separating from his keyboard and mouse, cracking his knuckles.

You say nothing, do nothing, except continue to watch him directly while he struggles under the weight of your confrontation.

Fiercely independent from a young age, Noah has never been the type to just roll over in the face of adversity. He expects too much from himself to allow his ego to take a back seat. Though in recent years, you’ve seen him discover the value in being humbled—not as often needing to prove his value to himself—but it seems this time his struggle is greater.

He blinks rapidly as your gaze burns into him, and curses before he pulls his hood down further in an attempt to hide from the reality you’ve brought into his studio. You couldn’t miss the unmistakable glint of tears in his eyes before he sinks down into his chair.

This man has brought so much joy and light into your life, happinesses you never thought you’d feel again, new highs you didn’t even know existed. To see your beacon in the dark dimmed like this cuts you deeper than any knife could.

You crouch down by him, seeking out again those eyes that you always found to be more intoxicating than any aged bottle of whisky, from where he was trying to conceal them. But Noah continues to hide.

Your voice adopts a more serious tone, one that Nicholas once called your ‘mom voice’. That comment earned him a throw pillow projectile to the face. “Noah, your health is going to suffer if you continue like this. Physical, mental… both?!” You throw your hands up and drop them to your legs with a muffled slap against your sweatpants. “I don’t want you to burn out. I can see you falling from the outside and I’m trying so hard to catch you before you hit the ground.” You rest a hand on his thigh. “Talk to me. What’s going on? Why is finishing this piece so important that you can’t take even a small break?”

His breath shudders and his shoulders shake. The glow from the desktop monitors, the only light in the room, cause his tears to sparkle as they drop to his chest.

It was barely audible, you swear you’ve never heard his voice sound so defeated, “I can’t fail.” He’s silent for a moment before continuing. “I can’t stop until it’s good, or all this time I’ve spent locked away working on it will have been a waste,” his voice cracks and he covers his face with his hands, inked fingers blocking his broken façade from your prying eyes.

You never see Noah cry like this. Usually he’s so stable, always fixed in place and ready to hold up everyone around him; you, the band, the crew. Letting out a deep breath, you brush his knee with your thumb. Taking a moment to think before speaking, wanting to be careful with your words here. You know all too well that holding back your emotions can only last so long before the dam breaks and threatens a catastrophe, but you’re determined not to let him get washed away in the flood.

Clearing your throat, you tap his leg gently, “are you listening?”

Noah takes a shuddering breath and nods, still hiding behind his hands.

“Okay,” you quickly shift position to ease the strain on your legs as they start to ache, resting one knee on the floor with the other pulled to your chest. “Not everything you make is going to be good, but it isn’t all going to be bad either. And the time you spend working on the things you consider bad is definitely not time that you’ve wasted. Even if what you were working on never becomes anything more than a draft on your hard drive, or if you decide it’s not good enough to see the light of day. The things you learned from it, those skills, are not a waste. And just because something you made is bad, doesn’t mean you’re bad. “Noah, you can’t keep punishing yourself for your self-perceived shortcomings by overworking and cutting yourself off. None of us doubt your abilities as an artist, and we don’t expect you to be a hit-making machine. We expect you to do your job, yeah, but not at the cost of yourself. You could write total dogshit for a year straight and you’d still be our Noah. We still love you.”

Both hands on his knees now, you continue to try to offer comfort. At least his shoulders have stopped shaking.

His voice comes muffled through his hands, a rasp to it, “I feel like I don’t deserve this sometimes.” Noah sniffles, balls his hands into fists, wipes his face and finally drops them to his lap, playing with his sleeves. Eyes puffy and rimmed red. “The success. I think, what if it’s all a fluke? Or what if this is it for me, I never reach higher than this?” He takes a deep breath, holds it for a couple of seconds, then releases it slowly. Something his therapist once taught him to help with anxiety. “Not in terms of charts or anything like that. What if I can’t make something as good as what I've made before? What if I lose it?”

“Lose what?” You ask, watching him swipe away fresh tears from his cheeks with the sleeves of his hoodie as soon as they appear. “The ability to create?”

He nods, face cast down towards his lap.

“Oh, my love,” you sigh and lean forwards, grasping his hands tightly. “That’s a reasonable thing to be afraid of.”

His tears are warm when they hit the back of your hands.

The fact that he could be feeling all of this, struggling with these thoughts and deciding he had to do it alone broke your heart. You've always been there for Noah, at least you thought you had. Maybe you needed to do more for him than you realised. Your own eyes were burning with the threat of tears, but you steeled yourself. He hated seeing you cry, and you needed to be his strength.

Both of you sit for a moment in the quiet, until something he told you back when you first met comes to mind. “I think there was a point in time, years before I knew you, where you were thinking this exact same thing.”

Noah raises his head a little, brows narrowed causing a small crease in his forehead.

“Am I right in thinking at some point there was a very young, teenage Noah Sebastian writing lyrics in secret, playing guitar in a band, self-publishing demos and thinking, ‘is this all there is?’”

He at last meets your eyes again, focusing completely on you.

“And would that kid believe you if you told him exactly where he’ll be in 10 years' time, exactly where you are right now?”

“I don't think he would,” Noah smiles a little at the thought, the corner of his lips twitching upwards unmistakably on one side.

He turns his hands over in yours to hold them properly. The way they surround yours entirely with no effort is something you don’t think you’ll ever get used to.

You remember first time he ever held your hand in the beginning of the relationship and the sense of total security that washed over you when he did; in a physical sense, you knew it was a sign he would always be by your side, that he wanted to keep taking little steps forward with you and with this relationship, but also emotionally, an action so subtly intimate and comforting. You knew from then on, he was someone you could always rely on. Now you need him to see he can rely on you.

“I'm sorry we all have to rely on you so much. That you feel the need to do this to yourself,” you tighten your grip on his hands and dip your head to make sure he maintained eye contact with you, which he did. “Will you let me help you?”

Tears welled in his eyes again until he blinked them away, and nodded.

You stand, stretching the ache out of your legs and pull him up to his full height with you. Relief floods your body as you wrap your arms around his middle and rest your head against his chest for the first time in days. Noah returns the affection, encircling your shoulders with his long limbs. He rests his cheek against the top of your head, and you sigh with content when you feel him sinking completely into you.

“Okay,” you say, the sound muffled against his chest before you pull back just enough to look at him. “Let’s go make some real food to eat that isn’t cereal or instant noodles. Or order something? Then we can sit and just do nothing. Maybe watch a movie? Anything you want.”

Noah nods, then pulls you back into him tightly and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Thank you,” he whispers.

Realising just how much you missed his touch, how much you needed it, you squeeze him back and hold him there in your arms as the time lingers on. Noah pulls back from the embrace this time, brushing stray hair from your face and caressing your cheek with his thumb, while the other arm remains looped around you. “I’m really sorry, for all of this,” he starts, but you shake your head and stop him in his tracks.

You sneak your hands up towards his face, palms sliding over his chest to hold him by the cheeks. “You don’t have to say sorry to me. I know you are and it’s okay. Just let me help you, yeah? Or any of the other guys? You can pass on some of your burdens to us, let us bear the weight with you. You don’t have to feel this way.”

“I will,” he affirms. “I promise you.”

“Good,” you say with a smile. Looping your arms around his neck, you lean up as high as you can go on your toes—though still needing to pull him down a little— to place a soft kiss on his cheek, right at the corner of his mouth.

He can’t help but smile too, a genuine smile that makes his eyes sparkle in the way you fell in love with. Leaning down after you, he captures your lips in a kiss equally as gentle as the one you gave him, stubble ever so slightly tickling your face.

Noah rests his forehead against your shoulder, holding you tightly by the waist when he whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you too. No matter what.”

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fluff #bad omens #noah sebastian one shot #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfic #one shot #my work #angst #fluff #emotional hurt/comfort #C:/PROJECTS/MYWORK/ONESHOT #C:/PROJECTS/SEARCH/TAG/FLUFF #C:/PROJECTS/SEARCH/TAG/EMOTIONALHURTCOMFORT

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arrow-guy · 2 years ago

Text

Within the Ashes (4/??)

Summary: You’ve spent your life working for someone else. You watch their back, you protect them, but you’re left feeling empty and unfulfilled at the end of the day. What happens when a freak accident transports you to a different dimension, very nearly identical to your own?

A/N: Alright, friends, back to the chaos! A little more sad than the last chapter, but not all around unhappy, I promise. Please enjoy!

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong

Pairing: StevexReader, background Spiderytorch

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Reed’s an ass, sad boys

part 3

"Are you honestly still cleaning the lab?" Sue asks. "It's been a week, Reed. Whatever's not clean can wait until you get (Y/N) back."

"I've been trying to pinpoint where it was she could've been transported to," Reed explains. "Those programs take time to work. I don't see why cleaning up in the meantime is a problem." Sue crosses her arms. "Besides, it's going to take longer to rebuild the machine than it did initially because (Y/N) isn't here. I won't be able to work as fast as I might normally be able to."

"You worked just fine before you had an assistant."

"I was taking on smaller projects. Of course I was working just fine."

"Why haven’t you asked Ben for help, if you need an extra set of strong hands?”

“No offense to Ben, Sue, but he’s not exactly suited to delicate work.”

“You never said you needed someone to do delicate work, dear. I've only ever seen (Y/N) pull you out of danger and lift things too heavy for you to manage on your own.”

"She did more than that," he mutters. After a moment of consideration he adds, "Sometimes."

"Uh-huh. Maybe there's a reason she was interested in finding another job."

"She's been saying that for years. She never followed through."

"Because she'd feel bad about leaving a job Johnny got her. You know they're close."

"Because of Peter."

"No, not just because of Peter. They met when she was still in college. (Y/N) mixed up the day she was supposed to meet Peter at a coffee shop and Johnny accidentally ran into her and spilled his drink down her sweater. They've been friends ever since."

Reed frowns. "What year was she?"

"Sophomore." His mouth forms a silent "oh" and Sue shakes her head. "She's been part of our lives in one way or another for the better part of a decade."

"I hadn't realized."

"I know." She sighs and turns on her heel. "Get to work, Reed. We need to put our family back together."

She doesn't stick around to hear whatever her husband mumbles at her back.

“Oh, Steve!” (Y/N) grins when she sees Steve poke his head into the room. “Didn’t think I’d see you today.”

“Figured I should give you the news,” he says.

“News?” He steps up to the edge of the bed and she sits up at attention.

“Yeah, I was talking with Tony and Natasha and we agreed that since you’re mostly recovered, it’s time to move you into a more comfortable room.”

“Oh?” The corner of her mouth quirks up. “Need to make room in the infirmary?”

Steve laughs. “No, it’s just clear that you’ll be here for a while. There’s no point in making you live in the hospital forever.”

"Oh, well thank you." She glances around before looking at Steve. "Is there anything I have to do in order to be discharged? Deadlift five hundred pounds? Run ten miles?"

Steve shakes his head and makes no attempt to hide his smile. "Nothing as strenuous as that. As long as you can walk in a straight line, I'd say you're good to go."

"I could do that drunk," she jokes.

"Can you even get drunk?"

"Not easily and not for very long." She hops off the bed on the side opposite where Steve stands. “But the amount of booze it’d take would be incredibly expensive, so it’s pointless, really.”

As a joke she walks across the room, arms straight out on either side. She then turns to Steve and touches her index fingers to her nose, one after the other. He presses his lips together to keep from laughing, so she raises her eyebrows and touches her nose again, this time while standing on one foot. When she wobbles dramatically, he reaches out and steadies her with his hands on her shoulders.

He laughs and says, "Okay, you passed, you can stop that."

"Are you sure?" she asks, eyes comically wide. "I could always recite the alphabet backwards."

"Can you do that?"

"Not that I know of, but I could give it a go." He rolls his eyes and she grins. "I'd offer up more drunk tests, but the only other one I know is a breathalyzer, and I'm pretty sure that one would be useless in this situation."

Steve chuckles. "Are you always this dramatic?"

"Only when the boss isn't looking," she says. "So yes. Most of the time."

“Somehow I don’t find that surprising.”

“I wish I could be offended, but I am fully aware of who I am.”

(Y/N) doesn’t miss the way he bites the inside of his cheek to hide his smile as he turns to go. Steve gestures for her to follow and she shoves her hands into her pockets and trails along behind him out into the hall. The entire time spent walking behind Steve (Y/N) can't help but compare everything she sees to the Baxter Building. It's eerily similar, but entirely different at the same time. Every bathroom matches up and occasionally there’s a potted plant in the same place as the Baxter Building. She mentally ticks off everyone’s rooms as they pass until Steve stops at an all too familiar door, two doors up from the end of the hall. She stops, looks around, and confirms that she is, in fact, exactly where she thinks she is,

“This is where you’ll be staying,” Steve says. She just stares at the door. “Is something wrong?”

(Y/N) shakes her head. “It’s just that this is actually my room.” At his immediate confusion she clarifies, “In my reality, I mean. From what I’ve seen of the building so far, it’s the same there as it is here. I’ve been counting the doors. This is my room.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah…” She jerks her thumb towards the door. "Should we go in?"

“Right, yeah.” Steve clears his throat. “Of course.”

He reaches past her and opens the door.

Peter sits at the head of the bed and watches Johnny pace the floor at the foot. He doesn’t want to say anything before his boyfriend gathers his thoughts. Eventually, Johnny flops, face down on the bed and groans.

“What’s on your mind, hot stuff?” Johnny mumbles something that’s further muffled by the comforter. “Try that one more time.”

Johnny visibly sighs. He then folds his arms under his chin and meets Peter’s eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“I know.”

“Reed literally blew her up. There’s no trace of her. How can he be so calm?”

“I don’t know.”

“How are you so calm?”

“I’m not,” Peter admits. “I just know that it’ll set you off if I’m freaking out non stop.”

“Aw, Pete…”

“She’s the closest thing I have to a sister, y’know? If Reed’s wrong and she’s not out there somewhere-” Johnny’s face blurs, obscured by the tears in Peter’s eyes. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

“I know. We wouldn’t be here right now, if it weren’t for her.” His face crumples and Peter immediately reaches out and wipes his tears away. “And she wouldn’t have even been here if I hadn’t asked her to take the job. Like I just wanted to keep her around because I’m selfish and now she could be with people who want to kill her, or floating in space somewhere, or dead.”

“It’s not your fault though. It’s not like (Y/N) never learned to say no. She wanted to take the job. There was no way for any of us to know it’d suck as much as it does.”

“If we get her back, she’s gonna quit.”

“Probably.”

“I wouldn’t blame her.” Very softly he adds, “That doesn’t mean we’d never see her again if she left.”

“I know.”

“But you have to admit, she kind of has to leave for her own safety, at this point. I mean she’s been stuck healing from injuries she never should’ve gotten, simply because Reed doesn’t listen to her.”

“Sue’s had a talk with him.”

“Yeah, she's had several "talks" with him. But when has he ever listened?”

“Good point.” Peter squeezes Johnny’s hand. “If she’s out there, we’ll find her. I’ll make sure of it.”

“You’d better.”

“Your crush is disturbingly obvious,” Natasha says.

Steve rolls his eyes. “It’s not a crush, Nat.”

She raises her eyebrows. “It’s not?”

Steve scowls. “Not yet.”

“Mhm.”

“She’s interesting. That’s all.”

“That’s all?”

“She’s clever, funny, and dramatic-”

“And pretty.”

“Natasha.”

“And strong. Physically and emotionally. And it seems like she likes you-”

“Nat!”

“What? I’m only stating the facts. You know I’m right.”

“She’s still recovering. And I doubt she’ll be with us long, especially if her boss is as smart as she says he is.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t flirt while she’s here.”

“That assumes I could ever flirt to begin with.”

“You do a passable job.”

“Passable doesn’t mean it’s effective. And I’m not gonna flirt with (Y/N). Especially when what she needs right now is a friend. Not a nuisance.”

"Whatever you say."

"Have you even talked to her yet?"

"No, but I've been watching her."

"Yeah, not the same."

"Never said it was. I'm just waiting for the right time."

"There is no "right time", Nat. She's been here for over a week."

"We don't know her, Steve."

"No, but we're not strangers to her. She won't be surprised to see you around the tower. If anything, she'll be more surprised if you wait until whatever it is you define as the perfect time. Usually that winds up turning into an ambush."

"It's effective though."

"It's terrifying."

"It's supposed to give me the upper hand, not comfort the target."

"Yeah, no ambushing (Y/N)."

“You’re no fun.”

“Nat.”

“I won’t ambush her.” Natasha pushes herself up from the couch. “I promise I’ll just talk with her.”

“Thank you.”

“If she can handle me, she can handle just about anyone in this tower.”

“She held her own against Tony.”

“Then she should be just fine.” Before she walks away, Natasha says, “You’re allowed to like her, you know.”

Steve nods. “I know. But that’s where it ends.”

Natasha just skirts around the couch, pats Steve on the shoulder, and heads to the elevator.

Part 5

Ooo, Stevie has a crush! Can any good come of it? Who knows, but hopefully it’ll be a good time

As always, I’d love to know what you thought of this chapter! Do you think Reed is an ass, or is Sue expecting too much of him? How do you feel about Peter and Johnny preemptively mourning their friend? What do you think of Steve’s crush on the Reader character? Is Natasha getting ahead of herself teasing him about it? Be sure to reblog, comment, and/or shoot me an ask and tell me all about it!

Tag List:

@ghostlyhamlet, @claws-of-vibranium, @imagine-assembling-the-avengers, @buckysendoftheline, @ptprocrastination, @1950schick, @amayasymone23, @arfrona-and-marvel, @ek823, @fanaticfangirl001, @furrywerewolfcollector, @kissofvenom922, @dawn-phantomhive, @fangirlwithasweettooth, @mairhof1, @starryeyesbadguys, @trap-house-homiecide, @buckywhitewolfbarnes, @kaepm981, @howdoesoneadult, @pcdmesamidala, @thefandomplace, @sian22redux, @skeletoresinthebasement, @lady-thor-foster, @feelmyroarrrr, @jazzcutie, @gaytonystark, @hermionie-is-my-queen, @darling-loki, @geeksareunique, @nyxveracity, @lemonadeorange73, @sad-darksoul, @tofeartheunknown, @queenoftheunderdark, @avengerscompound, @patzammit

This Fic:

@brattymum96, @vicmc624

#steve rogersxreader #readerxsteve rogers #steve rogers x reader #reader x steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers #steverogersxreader #readerxsteverogers #reader insert marvel fanfiction

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weasleywinchester · 3 years ago

Text

Slow Motion - Ch.4

My World is Standin’ Still

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

Who am I updating two fics on the same day?? Hope y’all enjoy this chapter, we get a little serious, a little steamy and a whole lotta cute 💙 enjoy!

Series Summary:

I mean, love at first sight has to exist for some people. Guess you’re one of the lucky ones. Bob had said it so nonchalantly. Like it was a thing that could, did, happen in real life. And yet here he was, Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw, falling for you faster than his plane could take off. But even if everything felt slow motion, was it possible the two of you were moving too fast?

Chapter Summary:

First dates: that thing most people fret about so much they get nervous. But for you and Bradley it’s just something that needs to get out of the way. This feeling like you were made to be together only gets stronger by the day, but it seems like the universe needs you to stand still before you can take off.

We have a smut warning for this one 👀 (hand job, both receiving)

A Week Later

Tuesday

“Talk to me Phoenix.” Mav excitedly whispers as he catches Phoenix walking down the hall. He was so excited when Bradley wasted no time in planning the perfect first date.

“Rooster had to cancel.” She sighs, opening the door and gesturing for Mav to walk ahead.

“What, why?” He turns to face her, walking backwards down the hall.

“We had to do a diagnostic flight. It took way longer than we thought.” She hands her paperwork off to an officer passing by and gestures for Mav to follow.

“How’d she take it?” He gently puts his hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes for any hidden answers. Phoenix opens her mouth to answer when Bob walks over.

“She’s totally fine. They got another reservation at a different place for tonight. So, fingers crossed.” He nods.

“Rooster was pretty upset. He had the whole thing mapped out. And he apparently pulled every card he could to get the reservation.”

Mav nods in agreement; dinner at a fancy restaurant by the beach, new suite and a giant bouquet of flowers in your favorite color. Rooster had even roped him into helping clean the Bronco spotless so it was a worthy first date car.

“Small hiccup. It’s the first date, they’ll mosty remember the feelings, not necessarily how fancy the place was.” Mav shrugs it off. “It’s not like lightning strikes twice.

_______

Wednesday

“Bob.” Mav shakes the WSO by the shoulders, his grin wide at the excitement of hearing how your date went.

“Red had to cancel this time.” He sighs. “How do you not get this information from them?” He laughs at Mav’s disappointed look.

“Been helping Penny at the bar. Also afraid that if I ask too much I won’t get any of the good details.”

“The entire time Red’s been here she has never been trapped in a meeting!” Phoenix exclaims as she walks up to the pair.

“How did she get stuck in a meeting? She's the queen of leaving on time, no matter what.” Mav asks. Your philosophy is that you’ll work overtime during an audit, a huge deadline on a project and before major holidays, that’s it.

“Admiral’s putting her on the project we were all called in for.” Bob answers. Mav and Phoenix share a knowing look; you’d do anything to work with the group.

“Well, at least they’ll be on the same work schedule.” Mav smiles. “And Bradley didn’t come home last night…”

“And he wasn’t in the barracks.” Phoenix laughs. They are falling so hard for each other.

“They’re trying again tonight.” Bob smiles, showing the text from you.

“They act like their life depends on this date…” Phoenix shakes her head, letting out a small laugh.

“Think they just want the first date jitters to be over.” Mav smiles.

_______

Thursday

“If you feel like you can’t keep a clear head on this mission…”

“Admiral, I’ll be fine. If anything, it'll make me work harder.” You smile, gently thumbing through the files of classified information.

“Admiral Cain should be here on monday. You think you’ll be able to have notes for us by then?” He stops in front of his office door, his face neutral but you can see he needs everything to go as smoothly as possible.

“I’ll start my reading tonight.” Well… maybe tomorrow morning. Actually scratch that, tomorrow evening.

“Excellent. Meeting Friday after lunch, before we bring the rest of the team in.”

Tomorrow morning reading it is then. You give him a nod, which he returns and steps into his office. You quickly return to your desk, cleaning up the mess of papers you left earlier.

“Ready?” Bradley knocks on the wall next to your desk.

“Let me send this email and sign off…” You type as fast as your fat fingers will allow and quickly gather your things.

“Ok. Let’s cross our fingers we make it this time?” You laugh, holding both sets of crossed fingers up and Bradley does the same.

“Made the reservation for much later this time. We got this Red.” He reassures you, both of you breaking into a smile and taking each other’s hand as you quickly bolt to your cars. The drive seems faster than the last three days, whether that be from the speed you both drove or the lighter traffic… who knows.

“Ooo! I almost forgot.” You shout as both of you get out of your cars. You grab a box off the workbench and hand it to him. The butterflies in your stomach flutter as he carefully slides the lid off.

He smiles down at the garage remote nestled in the box with a note: Left side reserved for Captain America.

“I know we’ve just started dating, but considering we’ve been living at work I thought this would be easier for you to just park the Bronco in the garage. No need to worry about street cleaning or trash day.” You shrug. You don’t want it to feel like it’s a big deal, because it honestly feels totally normal, like when you gave Mav a house key.

“Wow...” He smiles at the remote, gently taking it out. He clicks the button and the garage door starts sliding shut. “No house key?” He shoots a grin at you.

“How about we go on a date first?” You wrap your arms around his middle, tilting your face toward him.

“That’s fair.” He chuckles, pressing his lips to yours.

“Get dressed… very quickly.” You giggle as you pull away; he hums in agreement, keeping his arms firmly around you as you unlock the door to the house and shuffle the two of you inside. You run to your bedroom and Bradley runs to the guest room. You told him to just leave his stuff here since you weren’t sure when this date would actually happen. And since you both had to be at work at the same time this week, he might as well just stay here. Unfortunately you both have just ended up falling asleep on the couch instead of making it anywhere near a bed. Date, focus on the date first (Y/N). You shake off all the negative energy from the week and walk out into the living room.

“What do you think?” You twirl so he can see a 360 view. You’d had this dress sitting in your closet begging to be worn for something fancy (which you hardly ever did anything fancy), but it makes you feel perfect and judging by the way Bradley is looking at you, it was very much true.

“Babe you look-“ you both frown as his cell starts blaring. He glances down at it and sighs.

“Admiral.” He says curtly into the phone. He gives a few small nods before his eyes shift to you. “Yes sir. Right away.” He hangs up and walks over to you.

“Beautiful.” He finishes his original sentence, gently putting his hands on either side of your neck and pulling you into a kiss..

“You have to go to work?“ You mumble as your phone starts ringing and you quickly answer.

“Admiral.” You nod just the same as Bradley. When you hang up you give him a sad frown.

“Looks like we both get to go back to work, again.” You place your hands on his chest and sigh.

“Can I hitch a ride?” He chuckles, placing a kiss on your temple. “The Bronco looks too nice in its new spot to move it.”

“Ya. And we better change.” You grab him by the lapels of his jacket and press your lips to his for a few seconds before playfully pushing him off.

“Wasn’t expecting your lipstick to taste so good Red.” He chuckles, his lips chasing after yours.

“Get dressed Bradshaw.” You push him towards the guest room as you head back to yours.

______

“We’re late.” Your curse under your breath as you both walk through the door to find everyone there. Rooster can feel everyone’s eyes looking both of you up and down.

“Did we interrupt something?” Admiral Simpson asks, eyeing your hair and makeup.

“Yes, but-” you habitually say, instantly regretting it.

“No Sir.” Rooster says a little louder than you.

“No sir.” You correct, giving the admiral an apologetic nod; you and he have had a good back and forth banter, but sometimes you forget he’s your boss and an admiral .

“Sorry for the inconvenience. Wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important.” He says quietly to you.

“I know sir. Just frustrated with timing.” You nod, hoping he understands you’re ready to work.

“Everyone, this is Admiral Cain.” He gestures to the man Hangman was chatting with. All of you nod, and turn back to Simpson.

“The Admiral comes with an updated brief on our current mission. As you are all well aware, you have all been asked here because of your exceptional skills, both as individuals and as a team. Admiral Cain, we're glad you can finally join us in person and earlier than we expected.”

“Thank you Admiral Simpson.” He nods and everyone takes a seat. He begins his slide show, talking through each point on what naval intelligence has gathered.

Out of the corner of his eye Rooster sees Admiral Simpson hand you a packet. Your pen instantly starts moving as you furiously scribble notes. He looks up and catches Bob’s eye, both puzzled by the amount of scribbling you’re doing in a simple debrief.

“And that is our plan of attack. We have two months or less to prepare. We will assume less.” He nods.

The pilots all share a look, it was one thing when Maverick gave an impossible plan, but this seemed a bit out of reach, even by his standards.

“Miss (Y/L/N), thoughts?” Admiral Simpson asks.

“Permission to speak freely?” You ask Simpson, eyes shifting to Cain.

“Permission granted.” Simpson answers.

“It would be a good last resort plan.” You sigh, flipping through your packet, searching once more to see if you misunderstood something.

“It will complete the mission in the timeline we need it to.” Cain strongly states, irritation clear in his voice. Everyone can tell he’s wondering who the fuck you are to question him.

“Yes, I agree.” You state, Simpson opens his mouth to interject, but you shoot him a look. “The current plan puts the plane in a difficult position, banking on the fact that the pilots in this room won’t accidentally put the nose into the ground while inverted.” You hold your hand out for the presentation remote, which Cain begrudgingly gives you. You quickly flip back to the defense system layout, rolling the screen up so you can draw on the whiteboard behind it.

“If there’s a S.A.M. here on this ridge, then they’ll probably be one here too.” Your marker squeaks in the silence as everyone closely pays attention. “That means your first plane will be easily struck down. And depending on how close and fast the second one is coming behind, it may result in losing the second one.” You turn to Cain waiting for his retort.

“Who are you exactly?” He asks, coming to stand a foot in front of you so he can peer down at you.

“This is Miss (Y/Full/N). She’s been working here as a flight risk analyst for a few months.” Admiral Simpson answers, giving you a silent warning about staying in line.

“Civilian. You think you know combat missions better than the people in this room?”

“No sir. That’s why my opinion has been asked for. I point out things most military personnel overlook.”

“Sometimes soldiers are lost in the line of duty; a concept you should get used to if you plan on continuing to work for the Navy.”

“Sending your soldiers into battle and expecting to lose half of them is not something I will ever be ok with.” You point the edge of your packet into his chest. “You and I, Admiral, we are the ones who die trying to get these soldiers to hit their target and come home.”

After a moment of staring you dead in the eye he gives a small nod.

“Then what do you suggest?”

“Bring Maverick in. He’s done the impossible over and over. If that plane is going to be inverted for that long, it’s going to have to be a little farther off the ground.” You sigh, looking at the white board. “Like I said, this is a good last resort. But we’re the fucking United States Navy, we will do better.”

“Very well.” Cain concedes, giving you a look of understanding.

“We will reconvene tomorrow at 0900. Get some rest everyone.” Simpson announces, showing Cain out the door. When it clicks shut you can hear someone’s chair roll and spring up as they stand.

“Damn Red, didn’t know you had it in you.” Hangman applauds, gently squeezing you to his side.

“Only for you guys.” You sigh, letting all the tension flow out of your body as you squeeze him back.

“Or maybe when the Navy keeps screwing with your plans.” He chuckles loud enough for only you to hear. You roll your eyes at him, a smile playing on your lips as you gently shove him away. Rooster walks over and they share a nod before Hangman walks out with everyone else.

“If we hurry we might be able to change and make it to the restaurant.” He whispers. The smile is quickly back on your face as he takes your hand and guides you back to the car.

_______

“Hi, ugh, reservation is under Bradshaw.” Bradley breaths out. His lungs are on fire, but anything to make this date happen, especially after the way you stood up to Admiral Cain.

“Oh, looks like your reservation was for an hour ago…” the hostess sighs. Bradley tries to convince her to let you in, explains that you both got called to work.

Your phone buzzes and you see Bob sent a few texts.

Have fun!! Not too much fun though 😉

You roll your eyes and text him back that it looks like another day will go by without the official first date.

“No worries, we understand.” Bradley tells the hostess, backing away from the counter.

“We’ll try again tomorrow.” You smile at him, lacing your fingers in his.

“I got to see you in that dress twice in one day.” He grumbles into your ear, kissing you on the cheek. Both your phones buzz, Bradley glances to see a text from Phoenix:

Meet us at the Hard Deck?

He turns to you as you turn to him.

“Hard Deck?” You ask in unison. You both laugh, making your way to the car.

_______

“Penny, can we ask you a favor?” Phoenix asks over the noise of the crowd.

“Sure. What’s up?” She looks between Phoenix and Bob.

“Rooster and Red’s date got postponed again. And the restaurant gave away their spot because they didn’t show.” Bob tells her.

“We were wondering if you could help us set up something for them right now?” Phoenix pleads.

“Now?” Penny gasps, shaking her head as she tries to figure out something.

“What about now?” Hangman squeezes between his friends, curious about what’s happening.

“Trying to do something nice.” Phoenix raises an eyebrow at him.

“Care to elaborate Bob?” Hangman’s eyes shift to him.

“Rooster and Red’s date has been canceled every day this week. We wanted to see if we could do something tonight.” He answers, ignoring Phoenix’s glare.

“Tell me what you need me to do.” He grins.

_______

“We can count this as a first date…” you suggest as Bradley opens your car door.

“If we’re going by that standard then it would be our second date.” He counters, throwing his arm around your shoulder, happy when yours wraps around his waist. “The bonfire would have been the first.”

“That means I could give you a key…” you tease. He wraps his other arm around you, giving you a squeeze as he gently shakes you around until you squeal for him to stop.

“Messed up my hair Bradshaw.” You fake pout.

“Good thing you look so beautiful all the time anyways.” He smiles back. The two of you step around the corner and Bob is waiting out front.

“Hey Bobby.” You smile.

“Sorry to hear about the restaurant.” He takes your free hand in his giving it a squeeze.

“No worries. Tomorrow’s a new day and another chance.”

“Well… maybe you don’t have to wait until tomorrow.” He smiles, gently dragging you to the side of the Hard Deck.

“Where’re we goin Bob?” Bradley chuckles. But Bob doesn’t elaborate, just leads you to a little blocked off section of the outside deck. He swings one of the room dividers out of the way to reveal a little table set for two. There’s some fairy lights strung from the dividers, creating a beautiful ambient glow.

“A table for two, at the best restaurant we know.” Bob gestures for the two of you to take a seat.

“How? When?” You giggle as Bradley helps you sit.

“When the Navy is sent on a mission, we make sure it gets done.” Phoenix answers, setting a basket of bread on the table.

“ And we can’t let the only love at first sight any of us have witnessed die down because of a little thing like a government mission.” Hangman adds, handing you both a glass of whiskey. You and Bradley look at each other and then back at your friends. How are we this lucky?

“Penny will be out with food in a minute, but we will make our exit.” Hangman grabs both Phoenix and Bob by the backs of their necks and leads them back into the bar.

“I know work has gotten in the way of everything this week…” Bradley shakes his head.

“But we also have to thank work for giving us the best friends we could hope for?” You finish.

“To family.” Bradley raises his glass.

“Both the ones related by blood, and the ones we choose.” You clink your glass to his. Penny comes out moments later with your usual order, shooting you a wink as she leaves. It may not have been the date Bradley had planned but you both quickly realized it was perfect. The stars will twinkling above, the waves of the ocean lapping at the shoreline and the bar unusually quiet for so late in the evening.

When you both were done Penny and Hangman shooed both of you away, telling you to not worry about a thing and go home. You both give them each a hug, waving to Bob and Phoenix who step outside as you walk back to your car.

“Think my car’s a bit easier to be romantic in.” Bradley chuckles, leaning across your center console to kiss you.

“I agree. Your seats are much more makeout friendly.” You mumble against his lips. Your mouths move lazily against each other until you can feel yourself falling asleep.

“Let’s get home before I knock out.” You whisper, giving him one last peck before starting the car and driving home.

When you open the garage door Bradley smiles at the sight of his bronco sitting in its new home. You both are quiet, trying to keep the dred of waking up early off as you enjoy the last bits of bliss.

“Goodnight baby.” Bradley mumbles as you stand in front of the guest bedroom.

“Goodnight.” You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close. Your mouths collide, moving slowly at first; his hands slowly moving away from your waist until each has a handful of your ass. He hums in delight at how soft and squishy it is, he can only imagine what it would feel like without your dress in the way. He slides his tongue into your mouth as he presses you into the wall, hiking one of your legs up onto his hip.

“Bradley.” You halfheartedly push him away. You don’t want him to stop, but you’re dead tired and the stress of tomorrow is already creeping in the back of your mind.

“Bit carried away. We’ll save that for later.” He grins, pressing one more kiss to your mouth before unwrapping himself from you.

“Goodnight.” You whisper, a dazed smile on your lips.

“‘Night Red.” He winks, walking into the guest bedroom. He listens to you pad down the hall, waiting until he hears the shower start before he moves to do the same. He sadly washes the smell of your perfume off and gets ready for bed. As he sets his alarm a soft knock comes from the door. He opens it to see you leaning against the doorway with a sleepy smile.

“You know, I barely make my own bed; and my guest room has looked so nice and clean for only a few months…”

“I can assure you I can make a bed.” He scoffs playfully, leaning against the wall so your faces are close to each other.

“I don’t doubt it.” You gently take a handful of his shirt. “But we can’t cuddle if you’re here and I’m all the way down the hall...”

“And we can’t have that.” He smiles, letting you drag him into your room. You both jump into bed, checking that alarms are set for the morning before settling under the covers.

“Come ‘ere” he whispers, patting the space next to him. You lay your head on his chest, pushing your body flush against his side. You both lay in silence, the gentle whir of the ac mixes with the muffled sound of the ocean and you can’t help but think this is perfect. Dinner was perfect, Bradley is perfect and him next to you is perfect. You can feel his breathing even out, the arm around you falling to the bed.

“We can’t let the only love at first sight any of us have witnessed…” Hangman’s words ring in your ears. Love at first sight. It’s right here that you decide to stop wondering why it’s happening to you and to just let it sweep you off your feet.

“I love you Bradley.” You whisper to the dark. You love him. Simple in theory, and impossible to explain.

“I love you too (Y/N).” He whispers back. You sit up so you can look at his face, well try to look at his face anyways.

“You don’t have- I don’t want to freak you out.” You can feel the panic start to rise in your chest.

“I’m not, I promise.” His hand gently cups your cheek, bringing your face to his as he sits up to meet you halfway. It’s a gentle kiss, warm and fuzzy and full of love.

______

One alarm blaring is bad enough, but two scares the daylights out of you.

“Take it easy baby.” Bradley chuckles as he quickly taps his off.

“Why is yours so loud?” You playfully whine as you shut yours off.

“Sometimes I’m dead asleep so i don't hear it. But I set it early, so we don't have to get up quite yet.” He pulls you to his chest, pressing himself flush against you.

“Dreaming about me last night.” You tease, wiggling your ass against his morning wood.

“Been dreaming about you since that night at the bar.” He mumbles into your neck, placing a string kisses down it as his hand slides under your shirt to play with your boob. He gently kneads it, pinching your nipple until it’s hardened.

“Well, that’s flattering Lieutenant.” You giggle.

“You tellin me if I reach into your underwear right now, you’re not dripping for me?” His fingers softly brush against your side, palm settling against your hip, scrunching your shorts higher and higher until his fingers reach the hem of your underwear.

“Bradley, please.” You whisper, hooking one leg over his so you’re spread open for him. His hand moves your underwear aside, cupping your mound, gently teasing the curls before running one finger through your folds.

“Fuck…” he breathes out, hips automatically bucking into your ass. His fingers start gently rubbing your bud, trying a few different things.

“Like this.” You take his hand and guide his finger around just the way you like it. Your back arches in anticipation, fingers reaching for his hair. He gently rocks against your ass, loving the way you're wrapped around him.

“Faster.” You whisper. He’s not sure if you mean his fingers or his hips so he does both, which by the moan that pushes past your lips he knows was correct.

Your body jolts as your orgasm hits, the warmth spreading through you like hot tea on a cold winter's day. He slows his hand as he feels you relax. “Bradley…” you croak.

“Mmhmm?” He hums against your shoulder.

“You gotta finish too.” You smile, grinding into him.

“No, I’ll be fine.” He whispers. You can tell he’s practically willing his body not to push himself over the edge, but you won’t stand for it.

“Bradley, if you don’t cum like this, I’m going to turn around and stick my hand in your pants.” You feel his smile against your shoulder but he doesn’t say anything. You roll your eyes, unhooking your leg and trapping his hand between your thighs as you flip to face him. “Or is that what you want? To cum in my hand.” You tease. He gives a nervous chuckle as your hand slides down his toned stomach to his very pronounced erection.

“What was your dream?” You whisper into the shell of his ear, your hand slowly working up and down his length. “I want to know.” You hum, kissing his neck.

“Thought about what it would feel like to be inside y-you.” He groans as your hand picks up speed. “How pretty you’d be when I make you-“ his hips jerk into your hand and you feel the stickiness of his cum cover your palm. “-cum.” He sighs, pressing his mouth to yours. You hear his second alarm go off and unattach your lips.

“Maybe we can find out later?” You smile. He eagerly nods as the two of you get out of bed to get ready for work.

_______

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