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likea-silhouette · 3 months ago

Text

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

rating: mature

word count: 2.8k

summary: Harry was once the boy you loved and wanted to spend your life with. The funny thing is that addiction is something that is never predicted. What happens when you run into your ex-boyfriend years after your breakup that was due to his vices?

*based on the song Complex by Katie Gregson-MacLeod*

tagged: @imaginexxharry Read Part One | Read Part Three

The moment you step inside you feel a warmth and familiarity, almost making you completely forget about Harry and the uneasiness you had felt just moments ago.

This home. You’d spent so many wonderful days and nights within its confines. Whether watching movies and trashy TV shows with Nadia or playing board games that you only half understood, nevertheless still enjoyed. It felt like another home to you. “There you are!”, Nadia squealed above the music that wasn’t too low or high in volume, but just right. Immediately, a smile overtook your lips as you outstretched your hands to envelope your best friend in a warm embrace.

“God, am I glad you’re here”, Nadia said as she lifted her drink to her lips.

“Why? What’s wrong?” You looked at her quizzically as you tried to convince yourself it had nothing to do with your ex-boyfriend. Not everything revolved around him, yet, at this very moment, your mind was so preoccupied with him and only him that it was hard not to associate Harry with every subject that came to mind.

Nadia moved next to you and rested her elbow on top of your shoulder as her knuckles held her chin up.

“I swear I only know like three people here. I’ve just been walking around aimlessly trying to find a buddy to gossip with.”

You chuckled lightly as relief swept over you. “Well, I’m here now so consider yourself buddied up.”

Nadia smiled and rolled her eyes playfully in relief, “Thank-fucking-god.”

Eventually, the both of you wandered over to the kitchen where various alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages were being created by a hired bartender.

“Wow, you really splurged on this.”

Nadia’s lips curled into a smile as she shrugged, “Only the best for my guy.”

Once a gin and tonic was comfortably situated in your and your friend's hand, the both of you maneuvered through the decent volume of friends and family that had arrived in the time it took for you to browse and pick out a cocktail. Thankfully, refuge in the living room was close as you and Nadia took a seat on a sectional sofa that was free for the taking.

The conversation naturally flowed between the both of you as you caught up on new developments in the other's life that had occurred since you last saw each other a week or so ago.

Suddenly, mid-sentence, Nadia’s eyes widened as a smile spread across her face. This wasn’t any ordinary smile - it held something behind it, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Cautiously, you turned around to look in the direction Nadia’s eyes were focused on. You breathed a sigh of relief as you saw the familiar face of her husband, instead of the face of the phantom you had once loved.

You were safe. It wasn’t him. “Babe!”, Nadia called out, but with the larger volume of people chattering, combined with the music, her call went unnoticed.

Nadia stood from the sofa with both hands cupped over her mouth as she attempted once again to gain his attention with a shout of his name.

This time it did the trick.

Abruptly, Her husband turned around as his wide eyes searched the crowd. Once he caught sight of his wife, he instantly softened with a small grin on his mouth.

You watched as both he and Nadia exchanged glances of puppy love that were still present even after several years of being romantically intertwined. This very admiration had you mesmerized - maybe a little too mesmerized in fact.

The depth of enchantment that you felt from their love kept you easily distracted, so much so that you hadn’t noticed him initially until his eyes were melting craters in your face that were impossible to not feel the burn of.

Your breath caught in your throat as your gaze and his met for the first time in so, so long.

His eyes felt both foreign and familiar all at the same time.

Unbeknownst to you, Nadia stood by your side with a grin as she watched from the corner of her eye as your mind pieced together the reality of what was happening whether you wanted it to or not. Honestly, you weren’t sure what you wanted.

Your mouth fell agape and eyes blinked rapidly, testing to see if this was your imagination playing tricks on you or if the man who once held your affection was actually walking towards you in tow of Nadia’s husband. Of course, It was the latter.

“There’s the birthday boy!”, Nadia beamed as she placed her hands on either side of her husband's face.

“You saw me like an hour ago baby.” You would’ve cooed and awed at the couple were it not for the distraction that was now standing directly in front of you with eyes that shamelessly remained in a trance that was solely for you.

Nadia and her husband both shared a mischievous smirk as they reveled in their front-row seats to your and Harry’s reunion. Not that you even thought about tearing your eyes away from Harry to take note of the not so subtle expression the couple were sharing.

“Hey! I’m so glad you could come.” Nadia’s husband greeted as he wrapped you up in a warm hug. Thankfully, this brought you out of the staring contest that Harry had trapped you in.

With closed eyes, you put on a best-effort smile as you returned his friendly gesture.

“Of course! Happy birthday.” You hoped the joy in your voice didn’t sound too forced.

“Oh, and this is for you,” you dragged your last word slightly as you outstretched the envelope in your hand in his direction.

Harry’s eyes followed your arm which was filled with new tattoos he wasn’t familiar with. He wondered what else had changed with you. Were you in a relationship? Did you have some fancy job with an even fancier apartment? Were you happy?

Were you happier without him?

“You know you never have to get me anything”, Nadia's husband spoke, breaking Harry from his thoughts that wondered if there was still a resemblance of the lover he never forgot.

Harry watched as you shrugged and said, “I know,” with a slight smile. This made him feel butterflies flapping in his stomach.

Nadia’s husband said his thanks with a final side hug and Harry found himself continuing to stare at you in your most sincerest of form. Celebrating with friends and exchanging gifts; something so deeply simple, yet watching you being wholly yourself had Harry’s heart beating so fast, he swore one would’ve seen it through his shirt.

“You always did love giving gifts.”

Three pairs of eyes turned to look at Harry after he spoke. Only then did he realize he said those words out loud instead of in the deepest parts of his inner narration.

Your eyebrows raised and your mouth slightly fell open as you took in the absolute music to your ears that was his accent and tone - it felt like pressing play on your favorite song for the second time in a row. You wanted more and more and more and couldn’t see yourself tiring of it for quite some time. The temptation to close your eyes and sway your body in complete contentment as you replayed the way his voice sounded crossed your mind. God damn it, you missed him.

Meanwhile, Harry’s eyes desperately searched his surroundings. He had to find an excuse to either leave this reunion of sorts or change the subject entirely.

Thankfully, his eyes caught sight of the empty glass in his hand.

“I’m uh-”, his hand slightly raised his glass in the air, “-going to get some more to drink.” “Help yourself, Harry. The non-alcoholic drinks should all be in the fridge in the kitchen.”

Harry nodded with avoidant eyes and turned his back to the group with a chest that breathed heavily with each step he took.

You, however, were still dwelling on the drink suggestion Nadia had directed Harry towards. “Does uh-” God, it was embarrassing. Why did you want to even ask? You weren’t supposed to care anymore.

“Never mind,” you said with a soft, yet tensed smile. “I’m a little low on my drink too. I’m going to go catch up with Harry”, Nadia’s husband spoke with his hand lovely running along Nadia’s back.

“I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

You watched as he weaved through the crowd, taking a nearly identical path to the one Harry followed toward the kitchen until he disappeared behind a group of people. Quickly, you and Nadia fall back into casual conversation, avoiding discussing the ever-present elephant in the room. You’d be lying if you said you could focus on a single conversation topic that carried on between the both of you. Your body was still very much here, but your head was deeply submerged underneath the thickest of clouds. Eventually, a party guest, that you weren’t too familiar with besides remembering their face from Nadia’s wedding and past gatherings, joined in on your and Nadia’s conversation circle. You felt a swell of relief at the fact that you wouldn’t need to maintain subpar attention on the topic being discussed. Now, you were free to get lost in your thoughts and allow Nadia and the party guest to take the lead on the discussion. Your lips met the cold of your glass as you guzzled down the remainder of your cocktail.

Thank god - an excuse to get some fresh air.

“I’m going to grab another drink and get some fresh air. It's so nice to see you again!” You cheerfully waved to Nadia and the other guests, who gave you waves and friendly smiles in return. The moment your back was to the pair, the fake smile etched onto your lips slid off of your face as your mouth pursed and a light puff of air released from your cheeks.

The walk from the bar to the outside was a paranoid one. Every unknown noise had you gazing in its direction of origin as you searched for his familiar brunette hair and green eyes behind every crevice and corner.

Thankfully, the outside proved to be a serene place. It smelled of wood smoked to ash and shimmered from the large string lights cascading across the entire backyard. The sun was nearly half set, making the sky a dark purple that perfectly paired with the easy music playing from the speakers in the outdoor space. As your eyes took in your surroundings, you caught sight of where the smell of burnt wood was coming from. Immediately, your feet carried you to the circle-shaped fire pit that was tucked in a back corner and all by its lonesome.

The warmth of a flame blanketed your body as you sat in one of the chairs strategically placed around the burning orange hue.

Once comfortably snug, you allowed yourself another deep, deep breath. This time with eyes fully closed you reveled in the peace and stillness that only the nighttime could bring.

However, your peace was short-lived as the sound of glass breaking caused your eyes to shoot open and everyone to quiet their conversations.

Quickly, your eyes searched for the source until you fell upon an image that felt eerily familiar.

A couple - a man who was inebriated times ten and a woman desperately trying to calm the man’s erratic movements and loud tone of voice. He held a once full glass, yet now was sloshed with clear liquid on himself and the ground.

The distress on the woman's face was evident as she tried to calm the man by soothingly rubbing his upper bicep and, I’m assuming, whispering words that were at the age level of how one would talk to a toddler who was throwing a tantrum.

I knew that routine all too well. The sound of the glass breaking was still ringing in your ears like a sharp knife clawing into a chalkboard, until, in the blink of an eye, you found yourself back in time. The bar was lit by only a few warm lightbulbs. The Saturday night bar crowd was in full swing as you found yourself nearly shoulder to shoulder with anyone you came across. However, Harry’s voice booming over the noise level of every other bar attendee had you briskly walking away from the bar and over to your boyfriend - well, boyfriend at the time. “What the fuck is going on?” You yelled over the music as Harry poked his finger into the chest of a man you’d never seen before. “Babe who is this? What are you doing?” Harry’s larger-than-normal pupils looked at you. You swore you could’ve seen steam coming out from the top of his head by how red his cheeks were and the flare of his nostrils. “This guy was checking you out!” he half slurred, half yelled. Your eyes moved to the guy who looked scared shitless with both of his hands pressing in front of his chest. “I swear man, I wasn’t looking at her. Swear to god” “Fuckin’ liar!”, Harry spat at the guy. “Harry who gives a fuck. The guy said he wasn’t looking,” I tried desperately to pull him by his bicep in the direction opposite of the innocent man. “I give a fuck! He was looking at you like he wanted to fuck you right in this bar for Christ sake”

“Nah man, I haven’t even seen her bef-” “If you were smart you’d shut the hell up before I make you.”

You gasped at Harry’s harsh words that were hard to hear, both due to the volume of the music, the chattering of conversation, and the amount of vodka he’d had in the last hour that made his lips move too fast for his words to get out cleanly.

“Babe please,” I whined desperately, using all of your strength to pull Harry by the arm again. However, it was no use. Harry slipped out of your grip with his glass shattering to the ground as it slipped out of his hands. You watched in horror as Harry suddenly got much closer to the man, their faces a foot or so apart, as his shoulders stood up straight in a much more defensive manner. What had started as a night of fun and drunkenness, quickly turned into Harry once again taking it too far - both with his alcohol consumption and his anger, though the two almost always went hand in hand. Tears started prickling out of your eyes as you watched Harry bump his chest against the other guy who was now squaring up to Harry and making himself look just as intimidating. He promised. He promised this would never happen again and yet it’s happened so many fucking times -more than you can even count.

Not even a brisk escape from the scene Harry had created at the bar and a cigarette between your lips could ease the pain. With your head resting against the outside brick wall of the bar, you felt your tears gently and freely roll down your cheeks as you puffed smoke from between your teeth.

That night, you remember asking yourself if you could do this forever. If you always had to be the one to pick up the pieces that Harry tore up in a drunken haze. If you always had to be the one who was strong even when you felt like the thinnest, soggiest, piece of paper that was left to disintegrate in the rain all by your lonesome.

You weren’t sure how long you’d fallen back into this memory that clearly stuck to your brain for a reason. However, you knew what brought you out of it and back to reality. His laugh was infectious and uniquely deep and hearty. There always was a slight rasp to it as well. You remembered it so damn well. Except this time, it wasn’t just a memory. It was very deeply real and current. Instinctually, your eyes searched for him in the backyard until his tall frame came into your view. Harry was standing in a group of people with that warm and amused grin on his face that always looked so good on him. You were only allowed a moment to admire his candid expression until his eyes met yours - as if you were magnetized to one another. Harry’s tongue peeked out of his mouth to briefly run along his bottom lip as his eyes focused back on the group. He spoke some words you couldn’t make out before extending his hand in a polite manner to each of the people surrounding him in the circle - as if he were excusing himself.

Then, with his left hand in his pocket, and his eyes looking directly at you, he began walking in your direction.

To be continued.

#one direction #fine line #harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harrys house #hslot #my writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader

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uracutieraka · 2 months ago

Text

My dear Rex,

You never showed up, and now, after looking at the newspapers I understand why.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Angst no comfort. implied situationship. spoilers for S3.

Rex Sloan x F!reader

You and Rex had a falling out months ago, over something so severely stupid. In the moment it wasn't. But now that you're standing here looking down at the hole six feet deep into the ground? It was so stupid.

I don't imagine you will receive this letter but I nonetheless must send it.

Text after text, and still no response from him. It had been hours since he promised to be here.

'You only turn 20 once!' he had said before shutting your apartment door, heading off to fight some villain.

You had been sat on the curb of this super fancy restaurant that he swore by for at least two hours, in hopes that maybe, just maybe, he'd show.

Eventually the staff had to shoo you away like a dog. You cried the entire taxi ride back to your small studio.

Finally after hours of crying and drinking whatever leftover alcohol you had in your freezer you had knocked out on your bed.

You woke up to the feeling of your mattress sinking in, turning around, still drunk, you see Rex.

"What the fuck Rex?"

He winces and slowly opens one eye, looking over at you with a guilty smile.

"I know, I know..." He starts but you quickly throw the covers off of you and stand up, crossing your arms and glaring at him.

"You stood me up!"

He pouts and tries to reach out for you but you snatch your arm out of grip.

"No! Don't touch me!" Your words are slightly slurred and your vision begins to blur. How could he do this? On your birthday of all days?

"Hey, hey, I got caught up with Kate after work s'all..."

You now feel the tears spill down your face, Kate? The girl he used to have sex with?

"Kate?" Your voice is quiet when you ask, even though you only said one word he knows what the call of her name means.

"We just went out for a few drinks to catch up! She had a rough day and need a familiar shoulder to cry on."

He says it like it's just that simple! Like abandoning you on your special day was okay because his old fuck-buddy had a rough day.

"More like a familiar dick to hop on..."

Rex now quirks his brow up at you.

"Fuck did you just say?"

You look up from the floor and back at the man in front of you.

"I said," You make a point to sniffle and wipe your tears away before finishing. "More. Like. A. Fa-mil-iar dick. To. Hop. On."

Rex now scoffs and stands up, facing you from the other side of your bed.

"Are you serious right now Y/n?"

"Are you? You ghosted my on my birthday to get drinks with your old hookup!"

It's like realization sets in on his face when you say those words, and you feel your anger grow.

"You forgot it was my fucking birthday, didn't you?"

"Y/n I am so fucking so-"

"Forget it Rex. Forget all of it. Just get the fuck out."

You turn and sit on the edge of your mattress, facing away from him.

"You're kicking me out?" His voice is quiet, obviously hurt.

"I guess I am, yeah."

You don't look at him but you could practically see his face in your mind. The disappointed look he would have on it if you had turned around.

You just listen as he gathers his stuff and walks out your front door.

Rex, oh, Rex. I was just starting to dream the silliest and softest of dreams.

"Put me down!" Your laughter and shrieks fill the air of the quiet, secluded beach.

"Not happening sweetheart!" Rex lightly smacks the back of your thigh as he runs towards the ocean with you thrown over his shoulder, struggling to escape his strong grip.

Once his feet break through the surface of the salty water you know it's game over.

"Rex, don't!" You squeal as you're suddenly launched off his sturdy shoulder and flying down towards the coldness below you.

You pop back up a moment later, gasping and wiping water off your face. A laugh escapes your lips as you look over to Rex, who's clutching his sides in an attempt to calm down his own laughter.

"No, Rex, Don't throw me!" He mocks you.

"You're so annoying!" You say, though your words have no real malice behind them.

"Mmm, not too annoying if you kept me around this long though." He says, slowly making his way closer to you, wading through the water like a shark.

"Pretty annoying though..." Your voice is softer now as he closes the distance between you two, his large hands gripping your hips under the water and pulling you closer to him. You wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist as he does this.

"Eh, debatable." He shrugs and gives you a dopey grin.

"Whatever..." You whisper before closing the distance, kissing him softly.

I miss you, and I will always miss you but I cannot live like that, and it seems you cannot live any other way.

"I can't just give this up Y/n!" Rex's voice booms through the small apartment.

"I did!" You look up at him from your spot on the couch. He's pacing around in front of you, running his hands through his hair, obviously frustrated.

"I'm not you! This is all I have!"

Silence fills the room and he stops pacing, looking back over to you.

"You have me..." Your voice is quiet and he quickly notices the way your voice cracks and falters.

"I know, I didn't mean it like that...," He now sits next to you, pulling you towards him. He kisses the top of your head before continuing. "This is just all I've ever known. I can't just quit."

"I know." You respond, because you did know. It was stupid to try and ask him to give up being a hero.

When I am with you, the world makes sense

Rex is sprawled out across your couch, lazily flipping through the channels on your television.

You're sat across from him, glasses low on your nose as you grumble to yourself about this pointless project you have due soon.

"You okay?"

You now look up and over to the sound of the voice. Rex is sitting up looking at you, eyes squinted to study your face.

"M'fine." You grumble and go back to stressing out over the assignment.

Rex sighs as he stands up and walks over to you. He stands behind you, one hand grabbing the back of your chair as the other lies flat against the cool surface of your table.

You lazily let your head lull back to look up at him.

"You gonna help me or something?" Your eyebrow pops up.

"Mmmm, maybe, or I'll just kiss you until you get annoyed and forget that I came over here to help you, because this shit looks complicated as fuck."

You just roll your eyes and pucker your lips expectantly.

He leans down and connects his with yours quickly. He repeats this action at least 15 more times before you shoo him back to the couch with a giggle and one more kiss 'for luck' you say.

but when we are apart, I see clearly that your world is not a world from which one can escape.

"Rex?" You call, your voice echoing off the barren walls of the hospital as you run, frantically looking around.

You run to the front desk, slamming your hands down against the linoleum.

"Rex? Where is Rex Splode- Sloan- fuck! What room is he in?" Your eyes are wide and your obviously frazzled. The lady behind the desk is quickly trying to figure out what room the man was in when a voice stops the both of you in your tracks.

"Y/n."

You turn around slowly, anger seeping off you.

"Cecil..." You begin stepping towards the old man.

"Y/n." Another hand grabs your shoulder and when you turn to smack whoever thought it was okay to touch you, you don't.

"Rex! Oh my god! You're okay!" You throw yourself into his arms.

"I'm okay. I'm okay..." He strokes the back of your head as you sob into his shirt. He shares a knowing look with Cecil before pulling you off of him.

"Let's go somewhere private to talk, yeah?"

You nod and follow him as he leads you through the sterile halls.

That's how you two ended up here.

"You're really giving us," you point between you and him a few times "up because Cecil told you to?"

He groans and grabs his face with his hands.

"No! I'm going away for a while because I need to focus on my work..."

You just grab your purse and shove past him. He calls after you but you turn around quickly.

"Just, call me whenever you're done 'working on yourself' or whatever it was you called it." With a flick of your hand to dismiss him, you walk off and he just watches as your figure disappears.

I am so sorry, for everything long ago and for starting up that business again.

Rex's phone has been ringing for the past ten minutes. He groans when he realizes it probably wasn't going to stop until he answers it.

His heart drops when he sees your contact on the screen. He hadn't seen it in months.

"Hello?" He says quizzically into the speaker.

Music thumps in his ears loudly and suddenly your voice breaks through.

"Rex? Hello?"

His breath hitches, he hadn't heard your voice since the day in the hospital.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Oh, thank god!," You let out what he assumes is a choked sob. "Can you come get me? I-I'm at some club and I'm drunk and this guy I came with just left me here because I told him I didn't want anything serious!"

That's all Rex needed to hear. He was there in 20 minutes.

He finds you sitting on the sidewalk next to the bouncer.

You look up at him as he approaches and his heart breaks at the sight.

Your hair is shorter than when he last saw you, and your makeup is smeared all over your face.

Your eyes light up as you see him and you struggle to get up.

"Rex!" You say as you throw yourself into his arms. He stumbles back a bit before grabbing your waist and pulling you off him.

"How much have you had to drink?"

You just frown at him and instead of answering his question your hands find their way to his hair, pushing it behind his ear and out of his face.

"Missed you." You say and he sighs, moving to wrap his arm around your waist. He leads you back to his car and helps you in.

On the drive he sneaks small glances at you. Your head is leaned against his window as you have your eyes closed, humming to the sound of music that's softly playing on the radio.

You were so beautiful, how could he ever give you up for work?

He's going to make it up to you and prove himself this time.

There's a good man within you Rex, but he is wrestling with a giant, and the giant wins. Time and again.

"Are you serious?" Your words slice through the air like knives and Rex jumps at the sudden noise.

"Y/n! It's not what you think!" Kate says.

Rex slides off her and rushes over to you.

"Not what I think? I think you and Rex were just fucking on my couch while I was at work!"

Kate looks down at her lap in shame as you scoff and push Rex away from you.

"You're both whores." You say, pushing your way towards your bedroom.

"Get the hell out of my apartment." You say before your bedroom door slams shut.

You've broken my heart, again and I fear I have broken yours.

"Rex, you should just leave..." Your voice is hoarse and raw, eyes swollen and face red from crying.

"Please, fuck- please don't make me." Rex sobs out, obviously drunk.

"You're drunk a-and I just can't deal with this right now."

"I'm sorry I forgot your birthday! And for the Kate shit! And all of it! Please, please, please."

You sigh at the desperate man at your door step.

"Rex, I don't even know what you're begging for."

"You." His answer is quick, and his eyes are bloodshot and wide.

"Go home Rex." You shut the door in his face, ignoring the way he keeps knocking and begging for you to open it.

Rex never came by again after that.

For that, I will never forgive myself but you must let me go now.

"Rex has been seeing Rae for a bit now, but I'm pretty sure they're trying to keep it a secret."

Your friend Rudy's voice seems to trail off as he continues talking about the rest of his team, filling you in on updates of their lives since you had been too busy between work and school to stop by yourself.

"Wait- Rex is with Rae?" You shake your head and put your hand out as a bewildered look is on your face.

"Y-yes...Y/n? Are you okay?" Rudy asks, looking at you closely.

"Yeah, I'm fine.," You say taking a sip of your coffee. "Good for them."

I enclose a ring you gave me many years ago, when we were both young, not because I don't like it, but because I care for it far too much and it reminds me too much of you.

You look down at the giant hole in the ground where the coffin is now lowered in.

You run your fingers over the smooth material of the envelope in your hand.

With one last look you toss it in, it clinks against the hard wood and you watch as it slides off, wedging itself in the crack between the wood and dirt.

"What was that?" Rudy whispers to you once you finally look away from the coffin and make your way over to the group.

You softly smile at the memory that play though your mind.

"The mood ring's Rex had gotten for us during some mission, I thought they were dumb but he, uhm...," Your voice cracks as tears well up. "He said that it was only dumb if we thought about it too hard." You dryly chuckle, barely being able to get the words out.

Rudy just nods in understanding.

You look back one more time before making your way out of the cemetery.

I hope, one day you will find some people in love who can use this, for it kept me thinking of you all these years, and I hope by returning it to you I can finally be free.

goodbye,

Y/n

#x reader #fanfic #rex splode #rex sloan #rex splode x reader #invincible #invincible season 3 #invincible show #invincible spoilers #invincible fanart #invincible comic #oliver grayson #mark grayson #invincible x reader #invincible x you #invincible x oc #atom eve

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jungkoode · 2 days ago

Text

死 KKANGPAE | #16 死

† shooting range and dinner †

"When his insomnia slips out, you decide being a useful fuck buddy is part of the arrengement. Even if sleeping is not exactly what you want to do tonight."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 9,3k.

content: jeon taking a nap in j-hope’s office and hobi having none of it, verbal fights between friends, bestie plans being cancelled, shooting range practices that feel like lame excuses to touch, insomnia confessions, sleeping arrangements where both of them fail to simply sleep.

☠ author's note ☠

Y'ALL I'M SCREAMING. Look at my boy Jeon being all emotionally constipated and sleepless and GRUMPY! I cannot with him sometimes (⁠╯⁠°⁠□⁠°⁠)⁠╯⁠︵⁠ ⁠┻⁠━⁠┻

So I'm really exposing my kinks here, but the whole "let's sleep together but actually sleep" trope is just *chef's kiss* perfect. Insomnia-ridden boy who can only sleep well with you nearby? GIVE IT TO ME INTRAVENOUSLY, THANK YOU.

And J-Hope being all "I'm your friend whether you like it or not, you stubborn asshole" is everything I needed today. Their friendship is so beautifully dysfunctional I want to frame it and hang it on my wall.

Meanwhile, you guys in the comments are like "show us Jeon's POV!" and I'm over here like "fine, take his whole entire trauma-riddled brain, are you happy now?!" The answer is yes, you're all trauma vultures just like me. No shame in our game.

I had so much fun writing the shooting range scene though! That whole "let me adjust your stance" trope where they're basically just looking for an excuse to touch you? ICONIC. I will never get tired of it. Sue me.

And don't even get me started on that dinner scene. Jeon actually eating with another human being and not hating it? CHARACTER GROWTH, PEOPLE!

Sorry for leaving you hanging with the spicy bits but... actually no, I'm not sorry at all. The slow boil to explosion is the best part and I'm savoring every moment of your collective suffering (◕‿◕✿)

See you next chapter, you magnificent disaster enablers!

⚔ socials ⚔

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

"Again, Jeon?"

J-Hope's voice hits him as soon as he walks in, but Jungkook can't bring himself to care. His body feels heavy, mind foggy with exhaustion.

The medical ward has become too familiar lately—the sharp smell of antiseptic, the soft hum of medical equipment, the way the afternoon light filters through the blinds.

He grunts in response, already making his way to his usual spot. The stretcher's not comfortable, not really, but it's better than lying awake in his own bed.

"You can't come here every afternoon, you know. I have shit to do and your snoring is not precisely helpful."

Jungkook almost rolls his eyes. He doesn't snore—never has—but arguing takes energy he doesn't have.

"Then put some background music."

"You—"

He doesn't wait for J-Hope to finish, just rolls onto the stretcher, facing the wall. The vinyl covering is cool against his arm, and somehow it's grounding... perhaps in a way he doesn't want to examine too closely.

"Are you for real right now? This is the third day in a row you're taking a nap in my office."

"You said yourself I should nap from time to time." His voice comes out muffled, face half-pressed into the thin pillow.

"Yes, but not in my goddamn office!"

The silence that follows is heavy.

He can picture J-Hope without looking—probably pinching the bridge of his nose, that look of exasperated concern he gets whenever Jeon's being particularly difficult. He hears the medic's chair creak as he leans back.

"Look, Jungkook." The use of his real name makes something in his chest tighten. J-Hope only uses it when he's about to say something Jungkook won't like. "I don't wanna be the one saying this to you, but you need to get your shit together."

"Well I am trying to fall asleep right now." The deflection is weak and they both know it.

"That is not what I mean you dimwit." There's that familiar mix of frustration and worry in J-Hope's voice. "Believe me, I'm glad you're finally trying to get some proper rest. But this—in my office? Just why."

Jungkook quiet, hoping J-Hope will drop it. He doesn't want to think about why he keeps coming here, why his own room feels too empty, too quiet. Why he can't sleep unless he can hear someone else breathing nearby.

(He definitely doesn't want to think about how he slept better in that tent, with y—)

"Jungkook."

Not his real name again.

Something in him snaps.

"Fine. I don't fucking know, okay?" The words come out sharp, defensive. He glares at the wall like it's personally offended him. "I just seem to sleep better in company."

"In company?" He can hear J-Hope's brain working, trying to piece together this new information. "Okay, what—? Elaborate right now."

"No."

The word is final, heavy with all the things he refuses to say.

Like the nightmares that wake him up gasping. Or how silence fucking makes his skin crawl. Or how being alone with his thoughts is becoming unbearable.

About how he hasn't had a decent night's sleep since—

"Whose company, Jungkook? This isn't about little bed-hopping habits, is it?"

It's offensive, the question, really.

But all he does is stare at the wall, trying to ignore how his mind immediately conjures up images of you. Of how he actually slept through the night in that tent.

No nightmares, no cold sweats. Just... sleep.

Four fucking years of insomnia, and the solution was this s̶t̶u̶p̶i̶d̶ simple?

"No, it's not." His fingers curl into a fist against the stretcher, leather creaking under fingers—and the sound grates on his nerves, already frayed from lack of sleep. "I ain't talking about it. Drop it, Hoseok."

Using J-Hope's real name now is a low blow, but Jungkook is too tired to care. He just wants to test his theory—see if sleeping near someone, anyone, will keep the nightmares at bay. He doesn't need J-Hope playing therapist, doesn't need him picking apart why this might be working.

Because that would mean thinking about you, about that night, about how for the first time in years he actually felt—

No.

"I'm your friend, Jungkook. And as a member of the Council of Nine, I have to know if anything... or anyone is becoming a weakness."

Jeon almost laughs.

A weakness? No. This isn't about feelings. This is about finally getting some fucking sleep without having to relive—

He cuts that thought off too. Focuses on the antiseptic smell of the medical ward, the equipment, anything but the memories threatening to surface.

J-Hope's concern is misplaced. This isn't about compromising the gang or breaking rules. It's about finding a solution to a problem that's been haunting him for four years.

So if sleeping near someone help? Fucking fine. He'll take what he can get.

Even if it pisses him off that it took this long to figure it out.

"There is no fucking weakness, you got that?" His eyes feel like lead weights in his skull. "I just need some goddamn sleep. I've gotta be sharp for the mission. That's all you need to know."

He can feel J-Hope's eyes on him, searching for cracks where light would shine through.

There's none.

It's been a long time since there's none.

But the medic knows too much, has seen too much. Was there that night when everything went to shit, when V—

"And after the mission? What then? You keep coming back here for your afternoon siestas or are you gonna be sleeping with that company?"

The implication slices through without sugarcoating. There's another word hovering in the air between them, pressing down on the air like a goddamn vacuum.

Traitor.

It sits there like poison, like the taste of copper in his mouth from that night.

Jeon pushes himself up, muscles tense, anger corroding his veins. His head is pounding from lack of sleep, making everything sharper, harder to control.

"I'll deal with it when it comes. Besides, who the fuck will notice? You gonna bitch about it to the rest of the crew?"

"Watch it, Kook." The use of his nickname is a warning, one that would mean more if he wasn't so fucking tired. "I'm trying to help you, not rat you out. But if you become a liability..."

"I ain't no fucking liability."

He's on his feet now, wrath burning through the exhaustion. His fists clench until he can feel his nails biting into his palms.

The suggestion that he'd risk the gang again, that he'd let himself be compromised like that... He does not appreciate it.

It makes something dark and ugly twist in his chest.

"You think I don't know the stakes? You think I'd let myself become another Sylvia episode?"

"Surely you're more intelligent than that."

The words hit exactly where J-Hope means them to. Because yeah, everyone thought he was intelligent back then too. Look how that turned out.

Jungkook holds J-Hope's gaze, something ugly settling in his chest.

For a moment, he considers telling him about you, about this arrangement that's purely physical—no strings, no complications, just a solution to his sleepless nights.

But the words catch in his throat. Because J-Hope isn't just asking for himself, is he? He's asking for AD too. AD, who still carries Sylvia's ghost like an open wound, who took her death even harder than he did.

Who trusted her, protected her, only to watch her choose Jungkook—and then watch her die for that choice.

The guilt sits like lead in his stomach. He can't do that to AD again. Can't make him watch from the sidelines as another woman gets tangled up with Jungkook, always wondering if history's about to repeat itself.

The weight of Sylvia's death is still a chain around his neck, dragging him down every time he closes his eyes.

So he swallows the truth, lets it burn on its way down. This thing with you—he'll handle it himself. Keep it contained. Control it before it becomes something he can't take back.

His face settles into careful blankness as he meets J-Hope's searching look.

"I fucking am. I don't need your nagging."

It's not even a lie. This isn't like Sylvia. He won't let it be. You're different—safer. You know exactly what this is.

"You sure you don't?" J-Hope's voice rises. "Because from what I recall, you've been a messy piece of shit ever since she's gone."

Something dark and ugly coils in Jeon's chest. "Watch how you sling that shit at me, J-Hope."

"Keeping an eye on it, always. Seems we all gotta tiptoe with our words 'round you, huh? Drop one mention of her, and you're all about throwing punches, no thoughts, just rage. Done you a lick of good, has it?"

"Shut your mouth!"

The words rip out of him before he can stop them, raw and ragged.

Because J-Hope's right, and that's what makes it hurt so much.

Four years, and he still can't hear her name without feeling like he's drowning in it all over again.

"Pull yourself together, Jeon!" J-Hope's voice cracks with frustration. "You've been haunted by those fucking nightmares since she died, and now what? Using someone else's body to quiet them down? Jumping from one disaster straight into another and expecting me to just watch?"

Jungkook's eyes feel like they're burning. "No one's asking for your fucking two cents. Always sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

He wants J-Hope to hit him, to hate him, to stop looking at him with that mix of concern and disappointment.

So his next words are not something he's proud of. But something he feels he needs to do.

"Why don't you go find a bottle to crawl into?"

It's a low blow, and he knows it. Watches J-Hope's hand shake, sees the muscle jump in his jaw.

"Don't you fucking go there, Jeon." The warning in his voice is clear. "I see what you're doing—spiraling because you're losing control. But I'm not playing that game. I'm not V."

"Right, you're not." Jeon's laugh is hollow, bitter. "At least that bastard's honest about not giving a fuck about anyone but himself."

"Jesus fuck, Jeon. You're not the only one carrying shit, you know that?" J-Hope's laugh is all broken glass. "Is that what you want? Me to knock your teeth in? You think that'll fix whatever's going on in that fucked-up head of yours?"

"Whatever. I don't give a shit."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day you'll actually believe it. Pushing everyone away—that's about the only thing you're good at anymore."

"Don't need anyone. Do just fine on my own."

"Really?" J-Hope's voice is sarcasm. "That why you're trying to sleep in my fucking office?"

"Fucking hell, man. Just drop it and let me rest. I'm not digging into your shit, am I? Let me handle mine." His voice comes out raw, desperate, and he hates it.

"You might not see it, but some of us actually give a shit about you, you stubborn asshole." J-Hope's voice softens, and that's worse somehow. "I might share that council seat with you, but I'm also your friend—whether you like it or not. I'm worried, okay? This isn't how you deal with your demons."

Jeon closes his eyes, exhaustion settling into his bones. "Maybe it's exactly how I deal with them."

Maybe he deserves them.

He doesn't say that.

"It's a shit way of dealing with anything, Jungkook." The softness bleeds out of J-Hope's voice, and something in Jeon's chest loosens.

Anger he can handle.

Concern?

That's harder to dodge.

"Fuck, I'm not watching you spiral down that rabbit hole again. You can hate me all you want, but I won't stand here and watch you self-destruct. Not a second time."

"I get it. Like I said—not your cross to bear."

Jungkook can feel J-Hope's eyes on him, cutting through his bullshit like always.

"Fine, Kook. Hoard your secrets. But the moment it fucks with the mission, you're answering to me—and the Council."

Jeon knows that tone. It's not just a threat—it's a lifeline J-Hope's throwing him, begging him to get his shit together before everything falls apart.

The anger sits like acid in his chest, but he swallows it down.

This isn't about him and J-Hope anymore. This is about the mission. About the gang. About not letting his f̶e̶e̶l̶i̶n̶g̶s̶ weakness compromise everything like last time.

"Got it," he mutters, dropping back onto the stretcher and turning to face the wall. The stone is cold against his face, grounding in its indifference.

Behind him, J-Hope's chair scrapes against the floor as he turns back to his work. The sound is harsh, angry.

But it's okay if he's angry. Better that than worried. Better that than watching Jeon like he's a bomb about to go off.

"Fucking Sylvia," J-Hope mutters.

Then, silence drops.

For all his crankiness, J-Hope won't kick him out. Can't, maybe, because under all that anger is the same guy who dragged Jeon's drunk ass home after Sylvia, who patched him up when he picked fights he knew he'd lose.

J-Hope's right to be worried—secrets in Kkangpae have a way of turning lethal. One wrong move, one slip, and everything goes up in flames.

Again.

(But this thing with you isn't like Sylvia. It isn't. He just needs to figure out how to sleep through the night without—)

Jeon closes his eyes, lets the antiseptic smell of the medical ward fill his lungs.

Maybe if he lies here long enough, sleep will finally come.

Maybe this time, he won't dream.

𝚂𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝟻. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚛.

The message glares at you from your phone screen, all business and no explanation. Typical Jeon.

𝙹𝚎𝚘𝚗?

．．．

𝘚𝘦𝘦𝘯

Great. He's seen it and can't be bothered to reply. Fantastic.

You stare at your phone, trying to will a response into existence. Nothing. Just that stupid "seen" mocking you. It's like talking to a brick wall, except the wall probably has better communication skills.

Jeon and his one-word texts. The man's got a gift for saying absolutely nothing while still managing to ruin your plans. You had a whole evening of doing absolutely nothing planned, and now? Now you're apparently going to the shooting range. Yay!

You toss your phone onto the bed; angry, petty. It bounces once, screen still lit up with Jeon's oh-so-eloquent message. His profile pic is just a blank space. Of course it is. God forbid he show an actual human emotion. Or, you know, a face.

With a sigh that could probably be heard three floors down, you drag yourself to the bathroom. For once, it's empty. Small mercies, right?

You tie your hair back into a ponytail, all business. Can't have stray hairs getting in the way when you're handling firearms. That's a safety hazard or whatever. Plus, you know Jeon would probably lecture you about it.

Mr. Safety-First-Unless-It's-About-Emotions.

The mirror shows you a face that's equal parts annoyed and resigned.

This is your life now—dropping everything because Jeon decided to grace you with a whole six words. Six! He's feeling chatty today.

You stare at your reflection, wondering for the millionth time how you ended up here. Not just in a gang, but at Jeon's beck and call. The man's like a black hole—impossible to ignore, drawing you in whether you like it or not.

(You like it. You hate that you like it.)

Time to go play with guns, apparently. Because nothing says "fun night out" like potential bullet wounds and Jeon's silent judgment.

This better be good, you think. But with Jeon? It's always a toss-up between mind-blowing and mind-numbing.

Guess you'll find out which one it is tonight.

You finish tying your hair back and grab your phone, typing out a quick message to Yunjin. Your fingers hover over the keys for a second because ugh. You were actually looking forward to dinner with her.

𝙲𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛. 𝙶𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖. 𝚁𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚔?

The card reader beeps when you swipe your ID, sound echoing through the empty hallway like some ominous warning bell.

The elevator ride feels like you're being delivered to your doom, each floor passing with total indifference to your impending crisis.

Ding.

Third floor. You step out into a corridor that feels way too quiet. Your sneakers barely make any noise against the floor, which just makes your heartbeat sound louder in your ears.

You reach the shooting range and—because you're not a complete idiot—you don't just barge in. Instead, you peek through the reinforced glass window like some s̶t̶a̶l̶k̶e̶r̶ cautious person.

And fuck.

There he is, in his own little world of violence.

He's wearing his usual dark t-shirt, fabric's stretched across his shoulders in a way that's honestly unfair for every other man. His combat pants are doing that thing where they show off every muscle without being obvious about it, and his boots are planted like he owns the ground he's standing on.

He hasn't spotted you yet. He's too focused on the gun in his hands, handling it with the kind of familiarity that reminds you he does this for a living. The protective gear—ear muffs and glasses—should make him look dorky, but nope. In your brain that simply catalogs as hot.

Each shot he fires is like... well, it's like watching someone who knows what they're doing. Which, you suppose, makes sense.

The recoil doesn't even phase him—his body just absorbs it like it's nothing. Spent casings hit the floor with little metallic pings, and you find yourself weirdly fascinated by the way his fingers adjust on the grip between shots.

(You're definitely not thinking about what else those fingers can do. Absolutely not. That would be unprofessional.)

You watch him reload—movements quick and methodical—like he could do this in his sleep. Probably has, honestly. This is Jeon's comfort zone, after all.

You step inside, and it hits you again how different the air feels in here. Smelling like gunpowder and that underlying tension that always shows up when you're around him.

Jeon doesn't turn around, too focused on whatever target he's destroying. You can't help the little smirk that tugs at your lips because finally—a chance to catch Mr. Perfect off guard. He's so zeroed in on his shooting that he might actually not notice you for once.

(You should know better by now, but hope springs eternal or whatever.)

Your sneakers don't make a sound on the rubber floor as you creep closer. You're already planning it—maybe a sudden clap, or yelling his name. Something to make him jump, even just a little. The thought sends this weird thrill through you, like you're about to get away with something.

You take a deep breath, ready to execute your master plan, when—

"Don't even think about it."

Motherfucker.

He doesn't even turn around. Doesn't move a muscle. Just keeps standing there like some statue of Perfect Shooting Form, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

It's not fair how he does that—makes you feel like you're being predictable without even looking at you.

"You got radar in your head, or what?" you ask, trying to play it off like you weren't just caught being an absolute child.

Your voice comes out light, playful, which feels kind of wrong in a room designed for practicing how to kill people efficiently. But that's kind of your whole thing with Jeon, isn't it? Finding these little moments of tomfoolery in between all the violence and duty.

Sometimes you wonder if he lets you get away with it because he needs those moments too.

Jeon turns around, and as usual, there's this look in his eyes. Could be the fluorescent lights, could be him being a smug bastard.

He sets down his gun with this final-sounding click that somehow makes the room feel too quiet.

"Let's just say I've got a good sense of when someone's lurking in my blind spot."

The corner of his mouth twitches, and you're starting to think he practices that almost-smirk in the mirror.

You watch as he moves to the gun rack, all fluid movements. He picks out this pristine semi-automatic that gleams under the shitty range lights like it's showing off.

"Come on." His voice drops the playful edge. "If we're going to have your back in the field, you need to be able to hold your own. No hesitation this time."

This time.

The words bring back memories of your first shooting lesson with him—how your hands shook, how the gun felt too heavy with the weight of what it could do. You weren't ready then.

But now, with this mission hanging over your heads like a guillotine, you don't have the luxury of not being ready.

You step forward, closing the gap between you. When he hands you the gun, his fingers brush against yours, and even that tiny contact sends electricity up your arm. The metal's cold against your palm, but you grip it like you mean it. Like you're not thinking about how those same hands felt on your skin just days ago.

"Good." He nods, and something warm unfurls in your chest at his approval. "First, your stance—it's all about balance. Feet shoulder-width apart, one foot slightly ahead of the other."

You follow his instructions, hyper-aware of his eyes on you. It feels like being under a microscope, but like, a really hot microscope that you maybe want to kiss again.

You plant your feet, trying to look like you know what you're doing.

"Now, grip. Not too tight—imagine holding someone's hand. Firm, but you're not trying to crush it."

He moves closer, and suddenly the air feels thicker. His comparison makes your brain short-circuit because now all you can think about is holding hands, which leads to thinking about holding other things, which—yeah, nope.

Can't think about that. Not while you're holding a deadly weapon.

His hands come up to adjust your grip, and it should be clinical. Professional.

But there's this undercurrent of something between you, like static electricity looking for a place to ground itself. Like every little touch is loaded with meaning.

You find your rhythm with the breathing, in and out, as Jeon steps back to give you space. He's watching you with that unreadable expression of his, but his eyes are intense, like he's trying to will you into not fucking this up.

"Align the sights." His voice drops low, and fuck, it shouldn't affect you when he's teaching you how to shoot people. "Focus on the front sight—everything else is just background noise. Breathe in, breathe out, and on the exhale—that's when you squeeze the trigger."

You narrow your eyes, zeroing in on the target downrange.

It's not just a paper outline anymore—it's a test.

Another thing you need to prove you can handle in this life you've chosen.

You let out a slow breath, and with it goes some of that nervous energy that's been making your hands shake.

Right now it's just you, the gun, and this need to show Jeon—and yourself—that you're not out of your depth here. That you belong in this world of his, even if it's just at the edges.

The shot cracks through the air like a whip, and the recoil hits your palms. It's jarring but real, solid proof that you're actually doing this. That you're becoming whatever it is you need to be to survive in Kkangpae.

Jeon gives you this little nod, like yeah, okay, maybe you're not completely hopeless. But then—oh. Then his mouth does this thing, curling up at the corners into what might be the most dangerous smile you've ever seen.

"Good job."

Two. Words.

Just two fucking words, but the way he says them—all low and pleased—makes heat pool in your stomach.

It's not fair how he can do that, turn a simple phrase into something that feels like innuendo, voice wrapping around you like smoke, seeping into places it has no business being.

You're starting to think weapons training with Jeon might be hazardous to your mental health. And not for the obvious reasons.

Because the fucker is not just hot—though fuck, he absolutely is—he's something else entirely.

The way he handles a weapon, the easy confidence, how he makes everything look so effortless? It's doing things to you. Things that have nothing to do with training and everything to do with how his hands looked wrapped around that gun.

"Let's try again. This time, focus on consistency. You want to be able to replicate that shot every time."

He moves behind you, and suddenly breathing becomes severely underrated.

You try to focus on the target, but your brain's too busy cataloging every tiny detail—how his breath stirs the baby hairs at your nape, the way his chest is just shy of brushing against your back.

You take a deep breath to steady yourself, but that's a mistake because now all you can smell is him.

Pine and wood and leather.

Jeon.

The gun feels heavy in your hands as you line up another shot, and your attention is split between the target downrange and the way Jeon's presence seems to fill up all the space around you.

The shot immediately cracks through the air, perfect center mass.

You should feel proud—and you do—but mostly you're trying not to think about how close he is, how easy it would be to lean back just a little...

Because you know he's all business, laser-focused on getting you ready for the mission. Completely professional. But there are these tiny tells—the way his fingers linger when he adjusts your stance, how his eyes sometimes drift from the target to your face, staying just a second too long.

It's driving you insane.

Like there's this invisible line neither of you is willing to cross first, even though you both know exactly where this tension is heading.

You've been there before, after all. That night in his tent wasn't that long ago.

You lower the gun, trying to ignore how your hands are shaking—partly from adrenaline, mostly from something else.

The way Jeon's looking at you right now.

"Just like that. Keep it up."

You manage a nod because words? Not happening. Your throat's too dry, and honestly, you're afraid of what might come out if you open your mouth.

Another shot rings out, and you can't help wondering if Jeon feels it too. This crackling tension that makes your skin feel too tight. Or maybe you're just losing it, getting all hot and bothered over a man who's literally just teaching you how to shoot people.

"Reload. Keep your focus sharp."

He hands you a fresh magazine, and your fingers brush against his again—and honestly?

This isn't fair.

You're supposed to be learning important gang shit here, not mentally cataloging how good his hands feel.

Your brain keeps replaying every tiny touch, every moment his body was pressed against yours while "correcting your stance."

Which, by the way? Totally unnecessary.

You're pretty sure proper shooting form doesn't require his chest being that close to your back.

Focus, you tell yourself. You're here to learn how to handle a weapon, not daydream about handling... other things.

You need to prove you belong here, that you're more than just another recruit who can't keep it in their pants around the hot Chief.

(Even if said Chief is making it really hard to think straight right now.)

You grip the gun tighter, channeling all that frustrated energy into your next shot. The bang echoes through the range, and you pretend it drowns out the voice in your head that keeps suggesting alternative uses for this private training session.

The magazine clicks into place with maybe more force than necessary, but whatever. You're determined to get through this without embarrassing yourself. More shots follow, each one a desperate attempt to focus on anything except how good Jeon looks when he's in instructor mode.

(It's not working, but at least you're hitting the target.)

You're about to take another shot when something catches your eye.

Jeon looks... off.

There are shadows under his eyes that makeup can't hide, and his movements are slower than usual.

Most people wouldn't notice, but you've been trained to spot weaknesses.

"You look like shit."

The words slip out before your brain can filter them. Because you're such a professional, apparently. But now that you've started digging this hole, might as well keep going.

"When's the last time you actually slept?"

Dark eyes snap to yours, and you swear something raw flutters behind his eyelashes. Doesn't last long-as never anything really does with him. The walls come slamming back up.

"I'm fine."

His tone screams drop it; the voice in your head screams 'don't.'

Good thing you've always been good at hearing yourself first.

Besides, this isn't exclusively about him anymore.

You set the gun down, turning to face him fully. "Look, I get it—we all have our shit. But if you're walking around half-dead, that's not just your problem. That's how people end up getting killed."

He gives you a death stare, and you're pretty sure he's about to pull rank and shut this conversation down. But then he exhales, and something in his posture just... gives.

"Insomnia's an old friend." An admission that comes out rough, like he had to force the words past his defenses. "Been dealing with it for years. It doesn't affect my work."

"Bullshit." You shouldn't push, but your mouth's apparently on autopilot today. "You slept fine in the tent—"

His eyes narrow, and okay, maybe that was too far. But you're not wrong. You remember how peaceful he looked that morning, no trace of the tension that's radiating off him now.

"That was different."

His voice drops low, warning you away from this topic.

But there's something else there too—like maybe he's trying to convince himself more than you.

He doesn't deny it though.

So you nod, letting the subject drop. But you tuck that little piece of information away like a secret—Jeon sleeps better when he's not alone. When he's with you, specifically. You're not sure what to do with that knowledge yet, but it feels important somehow.

Silence falls. You turn back to the range because it's easier than trying to decode whatever's happening here.

The gun in your hands is simple, straightforward. Point, shoot, repeat. No complicated feelings or midnight revelations to deal with.

You cycle through the weapons Jeon's laid out, each one different but serving the same purpose. Pistols feel natural now, like they belong in your grip. Shotguns still kick like a mule, but you're getting better at handling them. Each shot echoes through the room, filling the space where words should be.

It becomes almost meditative after a while. Load, aim, breathe, squeeze. The routine helps quiet your mind, pushes away thoughts of Jeon and sleep and whatever's going on in that cold brain of his.

You're here to learn how to stay alive, not psychoanalyze your Chief's sleeping habits.

When you switch to the rifle, you can't help sneaking a look at him. He's lurking in the shadows like some kind of sexy gargoyle, watching your every move. Even exhausted, he's still intimidating as hell.

But there's something different about him now—like seeing him tired makes him more... real. Less Chief of Tactical Assassinations, more just Jeon.

The rifle's recoil brings you back to reality. You line up another shot, remembering everything he's taught you.

Breathe in, hold, squeeze, exhale. The bullets hit close together, forming a tight group that would definitely ruin someone's day. Jeon gives you this tiny nod that shouldn't make your stomach flip, but it does anyway.

The sun's starting to set, painting the room in long shadows. Empty casings litter the floor around your feet like tiny brass confessions. Neither of you has said much, but somehow it's not uncomfortable.

You've learned two things today: how to shoot better, and that Jeon trusts you enough to show you some of his cracks, even if he doesn't mean to.

You're not sure which lesson is more dangerous.

(Probably the second one.)

You start packing up, going through the familiar motions of cleaning and storing the weapons.

"It's getting late," you say, mostly to break the silence.

When you turn around, Jeon's standing there with his arms crossed, staring at nothing. Or maybe at something only he can see. He doesn't react to your voice, like he's been aware of every move you've made since you started cleaning up.

The lighting in here is shit, but it's not bad enough to hide how exhausted he looks. The shadows under his eyes are getting deeper, more obvious. You think about what J-Hope would say if he saw Jeon like this—probably something cranky and concerned wrapped in medical jargon.

"If it helps," you start carefully, like you're approaching a wild animal, "we can sleep together again. No bullshit—just sleep. Seems like you could use it."

For a second, his face goes completely blank. It's that perfect mask he wears when he's processing something he doesn't want to deal with.

Then—there.

His shoulders drop just a fraction, like someone's loosened a wire.

"I don't need charity."

The words come out defensive, but they're missing that sharp edge he usually uses to keep people at a distance. You recognize deflection when you hear it—you work in the Seduction Division, after all.

"It's not charity." You click the last weapon case shut, buying time to choose your next words carefully. "Consider it... part of our arrangement. We're no good to each other tense or half-awake."

The silence stretches out so long you start to wonder if you've fucked up. Maybe you pushed too far, got too personal. But then he nods, just barely, like he's trying to convince himself he's not giving in to anything.

"I'll think about it."

His voice is gruff, but there's something else there—a hint of relief, maybe. Like you've given him permission to want something he thinks he shouldn't. You pretend not to notice how his eyes linger on you as you finish packing up, like he's already made up his mind but isn't ready to admit it yet.

You glance at the clock, and shit—it's really fucking late. The castle gets quiet around this time, most people already finished with dinner or working night shifts.

Speaking of dinner... you were supposed to meet Yunjin, but someone had to drag you to impromptu target practice.

A thought hits you, and you can't help the little smile that tugs at your lips. It's probably stupid, definitely pushing your luck, but...

"By the way," you say, closing the weapons case with a satisfying click. "Since it's already so late... How about grabbing some dinner together at the cafeteria?"

Jeon looks at you like you've just suggested robbing a bank in your underwear.

There's this tiny flicker of surprise in his eyes that would be funny if it wasn't kind of sad. Like the concept of eating with someone is completely foreign to him.

"Dinner? I eat alone."

His voice is flat, but it's as though he's actually considering it, even if he'd rather die than admit it.

"I know, but it's late." You shrug, going for casual even though your heart's doing this weird skippy thing. "Few people will be there, and I had plans that got... rearranged."

You give him a pointed look because hey, this is technically his fault.

"Don't feel like eating by myself."

He stares at you for what feels like forever, face doing that blank thing he does when he's processing something unexpected. Then his mouth quirks up at the corner.

"I don't usually do dinner dates."

You actually laugh at that. "You wish.Think of it as a tactical debriefing over food. Can't strategize on an empty stomach, can we?"

His smirk gets a fraction wider—the Jeon equivalent of a full grin. It's rare to see him look actually amused, and something warm unfurls in your chest at being the cause.

"Tactical debriefing, huh? That's a new one."

"Come on, Jeon. It's just dinner." You try to sound nonchalant, like you're not weirdly invested in his answer. "Besides, you're probably starving after all that shooting."

He does that thing where he goes all still, like he's running risk assessments in his head.

Finally, he nods. "Alright, but this isn't a habit we're starting."

"Of course not, you have a reputation to maintain, thundercloud."

You can't help the smirk as you head for the door. The nickname slips out before you can catch it, but whatever. You're already in deep.

"Not like anybody would believe you anyway, sunshine." He rolls his eyes, but follows you out.

The way he says sunshine—like it's both an insult and something else—makes your stomach do a little flip. But you're not going to think about that.

This is just dinner. Just two gang members having a totally normal, professional meal together.

The walk to the cafeteria is weirdly peaceful.

Neither of you says anything, but it's not that awkward silence that makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

It's just... quiet. Your brain's still processing everything—the training, the arrangement, the fact that you're actually going to dinner with Jeon of all people.

The cafeteria's practically empty when you walk in. Just a few night owls scattered around, most of them looking like they're running on coffee and spite.

It's nice, though. No curious eyes, no whispers. Just the soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant clink of dishes.

The buffet spread looks like heaven. Your stomach reminds you that you haven't eaten since lunch, growling at the sight of steaming bulgogi and kimchi jjigae. The castle chefs don't mess around—everything looks magazine-worthy, even at this hour.

You load up your tray like you're preparing for hibernation: bulgogi because duh, japchae because the noodles here are actually insane, kimchi fried rice because comfort food is a thing, and those spicy braised potatoes that make your mouth water just looking at them.

Jeon, for his part, goes straight for the protein—galbi ribs, bibimbap loaded with meat, and bossam like he's got something to prove.

You're about to head for a table when you catch him adding even more bulgogi to his already meat-heavy tray.

"Got enough protein there?" You can't help the teasing tone. "Or are you planning to feed a small army?"

Jeon's mouth does that thing where he's trying not to smile but failing.

"I need to keep up my strength." His eyes flick to yours, dark. "Never know when I might need to pin a smartass against a wall."

The laugh that escapes you is only partly nervous. You lead the way to a corner table, far from the few other diners. It feels weirdly intimate, having dinner with someone who usually eats alone.

The food works its magic. You feel the day's tension melting away with each bite, and even Jeon looks more relaxed. That permanent frown he carries around is smoothing out as he tackles his galbi like it's his division's target.

"Holy shit, this is good," you mumble around a mouthful of noodles.

The chefs here could probably work in any five-star restaurant, but instead they're cooking for a bunch of criminals. Life's weird like that.

Jeon makes this little grunt of agreement, cheeks full like a hamster's. He swallows before speaking because apparently assassins have table manners.

"Only decent perk of this place."

You fall into comfortable silence after that, both focused on demolishing your food.

It's strange how normal this feels—just two people sharing dinner, like you don't kill people for a living, like you haven't had your hands all over each other hours ago.

"That rifle technique you used today was solid. Got good instincts."

Coming from Jeon, that's practically a love letter. You hide your smile behind another bite of food, but can't resist poking the bear.

"Well, I have a good teacher. Even if his people skills need work."

He snorts, stabbing another piece of meat with maybe more force than necessary.

"I don't coddle. You get better by doing, not talking."

"True, but positive reinforcement helps too." You gesture with your chopsticks. "I'm only human, thundercloud."

The look he gives you could melt steel. One eyebrow goes up, and there's something dangerous playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Hmmm. Almost sounds like you want to be coddled, sunshine."

The way he says it makes heat pool in your stomach. Because that wasn't about teaching at all, was it?

You laugh to cover the way your breath catches. "In your dreams, Jeon."

You ball up your napkin and throw it at him, which he catches without even looking because of coursehe does.

Show-off.

"Still," he says, ruining the moment like he's allergic to peace, "your reaction time needs work."

"I'll keep practicing." You shrug, aiming for casual. "Can't have you worrying about me in the field."

"Who said anything about worrying?" But his eyes give him away—that split-second flicker before his face goes blank again.

"Oh please." You wave your chopsticks at him. "You were watching me like a hawk in there. Probably counting my breaths or something equally anal-retentive."

He just shakes his head, suddenly very interested in his food. But you're on a roll now, feeling brave or stupid or both.

"Admit it, you care about my progress." You lean forward, grinning. "It's almost sweet."

Jeon looks up then, and oh. His gaze is intense.

"I care about not getting shot because you can't handle your weapon, sunshine."

You can't help yourself. Really, you can't. "Mhm? Thought I was getting better at handling weapons, thundercloud."

His lips twitch, just barely, but you catch it. It's fascinating, really, how you've somehow stumbled into this easy back-and-forth with him. How beneath all his sharp edges and your sass, there's this... thing.

This rhythm that shouldn't work but does.

Dinner's winding down, and you notice something different about Jeon. The tension he usually carries—the one that makes him look like he's ready to snap someone's neck at any moment—has eased up. Even his face looks softer, less murder-y than usual.

"This was... not terrible," he says, like admitting it physically pains him. His eyes meet yours across the table. "The food, the company... both exceeded my low expectations."

"Oh my god." You press a hand to your chest, going for maximum drama. "Was that a compliment? Should I call J-Hope? Are you feeling okay?"

He snorts, and there's this little uptick at the corner of his mouth that you're starting to recognize as his version of a smile.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get used to it."

"Too late." You stand up, gathering your plates. "I expect this level of praise at every meal now. Maybe we can work up to actual sentences by next week."

"Don't push your luck, sunshine." But he's still got that almost-smile as he gets up too.

"I mean, you already admitted you don't hate my company. That's practically a love confession by your standards."

Jeon shakes his head, but there's something soft in his eyes.

"You're really something else, you know that?"

"So I've been told."

You drop off your dishes, and both head for the elevator, falling into comfortable silence.

You reach for the elevator buttons, aiming for the fourth floor where your room is. But Jeon's arm suddenly appears in your peripheral vision, his chest almost brushing your back as he leans forward. There's this tiny pause—blink and you'd miss it—before he hits the button for the fifth floor instead.

You turn your head just enough to catch his eye, raising an eyebrow. No words needed.

You both know what this is: him taking you up on that offer to help him sleep. Simple as that. Like picking up takeout or scheduling target practice.

The elevator starts moving, and holy shit why is it so slow? The silence should be awkward, but it's not.

Maybe because you both know exactly what this is. No bullshit, no complications. Just sleep. Like you said in the training room—you're no good to each other half-dead from exhaustion.

It's probably stupid, spending the night with your Chief. But you've already crossed that line in his tent, and honestly? If sleeping next to you helps with his insomnia, then whatever.

You're already fuck buddies—might as well be helpful ones.

The doors finally open to the fifth floor, and Jeon steps back. He's giving you space, making it clear this is your call. Which is... weirdly considerate, actually. You step out because why not? This isn't some dramatic decision. It's practical. Logical, even.

The walk to his room feels longer than it should. Your feet are dragging because yeah, you're fucking tired. Today's been a whole thing—training, dinner, and now this weird arrangement that somehow makes perfect sense.

Jeon stops at his door, giving you one last look. Checking if you're sure, probably. You nod because duh. This isn't complicated. You're both adults who sometimes fuck and apparently now sometimes sleep (just sleep) together.

The door clicks shut behind you, and you get your first look at Jeon's private space.

So this is where the Chief of Tactical Assassinations sleeps. You can't help but snoop—it's basically in your job description as a member of Seduction Division.

The room is... exactly what you'd expect from Jeon, honestly. It's like someone took his personality and turned it into interior design.

Everything's black, white, or gray, like he's allergic to color. It matches his whole aesthetic—the guy who sees the world in shades of gray, making calls about who lives and who dies. Maybe the monochrome thing is some kind of metaphor. Or maybe he just really likes black.

There's this massive king-sized bed against one wall, all black sheets and dark gray duvet. The bed's made diligently, but you can see the slight wrinkles that mean he's actually slept in it. Unlike some people who just have fancy beds for show.

Next to it is this super minimal nightstand with just a lamp and—oh. An ashtray. Right. His stress-smoking habit.

The furniture could be from one of those fancy minimalist catalogs. Everything's black wood, clean lines, no fuss. There's a dresser that probably holds his endless supply of black t-shirts, a desk that looks barely used, and a chair that seems more decorative than functional.

What really gets you is how empty it is. No photos, no personal stuff, nothing that says "someone actually lives here."

It's like a really expensive prison cell or one of those model rooms in furniture stores.

You spot a door that has to lead to a private bathroom, and fuck, that's not fair. You're sharing a bathroom with like five other girls while Mr. Chief here gets his own shower? The perks of rank, you guess.

The floor's spotless—like, you could probably eat off it. Not a speck of dust anywhere. The whole place is as buttoned-up as Jeon himself, like maybe if he keeps everything perfectly ordered, the rest of his life will fall into line too.

"Well, it's very... you," you say, because what else can you say about a room that looks like it was decorated by a very organized ghost?

"I don't need anything else." He shrugs.

You hover by the bathroom door, suddenly feeling weirdly out of place. Being in Jeon's private space is... different. Not bad different, just different. Like seeing your teacher at the grocery store, except your teacher is a hot assassin you occasionally fuck.

"Hey," you start, trying to sound casual, "mind if I grab a quick shower first? I always wash up before bed, especially after training." You scrunch your nose. "Pretty sure I don't smell like a spring meadow right now."

Jeon's eyebrow does that thing—that infuriating arch that makes you want to either kiss him or kick him.

"What, you saying I stink, sunshine?"

"We both worked up a sweat today, cloud." You roll your eyes, but you're fighting a smile. "No judgment, just stating facts."

He jerks his head toward the bathroom door. "Go ahead. Towels and shit are in there."

You can't help yourself—really, you can't. As you pass him, you throw out: "Maybe take a page from my book and grab one yourself after. You know, freshen up a bit."

The snort he lets out is almost a laugh. "Watch yourself. I don't take orders in my own quarters."

But his eyes are doing that thing where they get all dark and playful, and you know that look.

Intimately.

"Just a suggestion between... friends."

You draw out the last word, letting it hang there like bait. Because that's what you are now, right? Friends who sometimes sleep together. And sometimes fuck. But tonight's just for sleeping.

(Sure it is.)

"So pushy." His smirk should be illegal. "What, you wanna shower together now? Could've just asked, sunshine."

You roll your eyes because it's easier than admitting how tempting that sounds. "You wish, thundercloud. I can handle washing myself just fine."

You head for the bathroom, but pause at the door because apparently, you hate yourself.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you add: "But you know... my back is kind of hard to reach..."

"Nice try." His voice has dropped lower, rougher. "But we said only sleeping tonight. Go get cleaned up. I'll be here when you're done."

The way he says it—like a promise and a threat wrapped in one—makes you seriously reconsider this whole "just sleeping" thing.

The bathroom is exactly what you expected—black and white everything, minimalist as fuck. It's like the room outside but with more tiles and chrome.

You turn the shower on hot enough to steam up the mirrors and step under the spray, letting it pound against your shoulders.

The water pressure is amazing. Of course it is—Chief privileges and all that. Your shared bathroom on the fourth floor can barely manage a decent drizzle, but this? This is heaven.

You take your sweet time, enjoying the luxury of a private shower where no one's going to bang on the door telling you to hurry up.

When you finally emerge, wrapped in one of Jeon's obscenely fluffy black towels (seriously, where does he get these?), steam billows out behind you like you're making some dramatic entrance. Your hair's twisted up in another towel, water still dripping down your neck.

You feel Jeon's eyes on you before you see him. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, and the weight of his stare makes your skin prickle.

His face is doing that careful blank thing, but his eyes? They're giving him away.

"Shower's free," you say, aiming for casual even though the tension in the room is thick enough to choke on. "You know, if you want it."

He just makes this low humming sound that absolutely does not make heat pool in your stomach.

Instead of moving, he just... looks at you.

His eyes track down your body, slow and deliberate, like he's memorizing every inch.

Like he's thinking about what's under that towel.

You refuse to squirm under his gaze. Two can play this game.

"Like what you see?" You cock an eyebrow, channeling your inner seductress (which is technically your job, so).

His mouth curves into that dangerous almost-smirk. "Maybe I'm just waiting to see if you'll drop that towel."

"You wish."

You turn your back on him (which is definitely not just an excuse to give him a better view) and head for his dresser.

The drawers are organized because of course they are. You find his t-shirts, all neatly folded like some department store display.

"I'm borrowing this," you announce, grabbing a shirt that looks big enough to work as a dress. You glance over your shoulder, catching his eyes again. "Unless you'd prefer me naked?"

His smirk grows, and fuck, that should be illegal.

"Be my guest."

The invitation in his voice makes your skin feel too tight, but you're not giving in that easy. This is a game of chicken now, and you're not about to lose.

Even if losing sounds really, really tempting right now.

You unwind the towel from your hair and toss it at Jeon, aiming for his face but hitting his chest instead.

"Just sleeping, remember? Go shower."

The towel slides down his front, and you catch this tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth—like he wants to smile but his reputation won't let him.

He stands up in that way he does, all fluid grace and barely contained power. Without a word, he heads for the bathroom. The door clicks shut, and soon you hear water running.

You grab his brush (because of course he has one, Mr. Perfect Hair) and start working through your damp hair.

It's weirdly domestic, sitting here in Jeon's room, wearing his shirt, using his stuff. The brush is probably expensive—it glides through your hair like it's made of silk or something.

Speaking of his shirt... You pull it on, and fuck. It smells like him—pine, wood, and smoke.

The fabric drowns you, hanging off one shoulder, falling to mid-thigh. There's something stupidly thrilling about wearing his clothes, like you're getting away with something.

Once your hair's somewhat tamed, you twist it up into a bun. The mirror catches your eye—one of those full-length ones that probably cost more than your monthly salary. You can't help checking yourself out, tugging the shirt down a bit because apparently, you still have modesty or whatever.

That's when you see him in the reflection.

Oh.

Jeon's fresh out of the shower, water still beading on his chest, towel riding low on his hips like it's trying to start something. He's got another towel in his hands, drying his hair as he sits on the bed, but his eyes?

His eyes are locked on your ass like it's his favorite meal.

The mirror gives you a perfect view of his face, and holy shit. The way he's looking at you—it's not subtle. At all. His gaze is heavy, hungry, like he's thinking about all the ways this "just sleeping" arrangement could go very, very wrong.

(Or very, very right, depending on your perspective.)

The temperature in the room spikes, and it's definitely not from the shower steam. You can practically feel the heat of his stare through the mirror.

So much for keeping things platonic tonight. A smirk tugs at your lips as an idea forms. Because if Jeon wants to play this game?

Well, two can definitely play.

You reach up to your bun, pretending to mess with the hair tie.

Oops—it "accidentally" slips through your fingers, falling to the floor with a silent grace that would make your Seduction Division trainers proud.

"Oh no," you say, channeling your best innocent voice. The one that fools absolutely no one but works anyway. "How clumsy of me."

You turn your back to Jeon, and fuck, you can practically feel his eyes burning into you.

Bending down—slowly, because you're nothing if not thorough—you give him a view that you know from experience he can't resist. The borrowed shirt rides up just enough to be interesting.

You take your sweet time "looking" for the hair tie, even though you can see it right there. Your fingers trail across the floor like you're putting on a show, which... yeah, you absolutely are.

When you finally grab it, you throw a look over your shoulder.

Jackpot.

Dark, obscure eyes pin you in place. Absolutely hungry. You'd bet good money that towel isn't hiding much anymore.

"See something you like?" Your voice comes out honey-sweet, but there's nothing innocent about the way you're looking at him.

Before he can compose himself enough to answer, you straighten up and sashay over to the bed. The sway in your hips isn't natural, but who cares about natural when it makes Jeon's breath catch like that?

You slip under the sheets, turning away from him because you're evil like that. The mattress dips as he lies down next to you, and you have to bite back a smile.

"We should get some rest." You keep your voice light, casual, like dismissing every inch of space between you. "Long day tomorrow."

He makes this grunt that could mean anything, but you know him well enough by now to recognize the sound of him wrestling with his self-control.

You can picture his face—brow furrowed, jaw clenched, probably glaring at the ceiling like he wants to shadowbox with it.

You wait, barely breathing.

Maybe you read this wrong.

Maybe he's actually planning to be good tonight.

Maybe he really does just want to sleep.

That's fine. Totally fine. This was his idea anyway, right? Just sleeping.

You're about to give up, admit defeat, when the mattress shifts.

Jeon rolls toward you, and suddenly his chest is pressed against your back, all heat and hard muscle. You fight back a shiver as his hand finds your hip, his thumb drawing lazy circles that make your skin buzz. His breath fans hot against your neck, and fuck, this is so much better than sleeping.

"I need to ease some tension, sunshine."

His voice is pure sin, rough and low right by your ear.

Heat pools in your stomach as you roll onto your back, meeting his gaze. His hand tightens on your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel how much he wants this.

"Oh?" You hold his stare, watching his control slip. "I thought you'd never ask."

You're definitely not getting much sleep tonight.

But hey, that was kind of the point, wasn't it?

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cherryblossomcowgirl · 3 months ago

Text

Sun To Me

WC: 2.5k

Warnings: Death of spouse; mentions of accident; grief; angst; FLUFF

“Uncle Mav!” My son runs as fast as his little legs can take him towards the beach football game. Maverick turns around, beaming, “AJ! Get over here!” He picks him up and spins him around. AJ is belly laughing and I walk up, “Hi Mav.” He sets down my son and wraps me in a hug, “Hi kiddo.” The beach is crowded and Maverick laughs, “Sorry, squad bonding. Thought we’d throw the old pig skin around.” I smile, “I’m just happy to see you … and the sun. Don’t get much of that in Washington.” Maverick laughs, “Yeah, make sure you use sunscreen. You are pale as a ghost.” We laugh and he checks his watch, “I’m having my squad over for a cookout, do you guys want to come? It should be close to your rental.” AJ starts pulling on my leg, “Please Mommy? Please?” Part of me wants to go back to the rental and not be surrounded by aviators for the night. Part of me also knew what I was getting into when I took the contracting job here. I chuckle, “Sure buddy. Just for a little bit.”

Maverick’s house is the same as always. Minimal decor and piles of work papers. “Everyone is out back, want a drink?” I nod, following him to the cooler. AJ grabs a juice box and starts running around the backyard. Penny sees me and walks over, “Y/n, it has been too long!” I hug her, “I know, Pen. How are you?” “I’m good. How are you, honey?” I take a second, “Better. We will be okay.” She looks at my hand and sadness washes over her face. I give her a weak smile, “I put the rings in a memory box when we packed up everything. It was too hard seeing them everyday.” Penny nods, “How is AJ doing?” I look over at my son. He’s only 4 but he is so tall, just like his Dad. I sigh, “He’s doing good. Asks about him a lot. It’s getting easier to tell him stories.” She hugs me, her eyes watery. There is a moment of silence before we walk over towards the group of people near Maverick. AJ runs over, so I pick him up for a squeeze. Maverick calls out, “Daggers, this is Y/n and her son AJ. She’s going to be working on our radio communications for the next few months.” The aviators wave and some introduce themselves to me. Then the back gate opens and Bradley walks through. He beelines to AJ, “Little man! You need to slow down, you’ll be taller than me soon!” AJ giggles, “Uncle Roo, you literally are so big that’s IMPOSSIBLE.” Bradley turns to me, “Hey, Y/n. It’s good to see you.” He wraps his arms around me and I breathe in his familiar scent, “Hey, Roo. You too.” Penny takes AJ in to play with some toys while I sit with Bradley and Maverick, catching up after a year of being apart. Their work has been crazy, as always. I tell them that mine is as boring as always, so I am happy to be here. “Need another beer?” I nod, following Bradley to the cooler. On the way we pass a few men who are standing close, talking in hushed voices. A man with dark hair motions to me and murmurs, “Yeah… that F-16 that went down last year? That’s the guy’s family.” I freeze. Part of me knew that they might know my husband, but another part of me was hoping they didn’t. Bradley turns around, eyes filled with worry, “Are you okay?” I nod, “I just need a minute.” I head towards the back of Maverick’s yard to get some air.

The waves are crashing on the sand. I close my eyes, taking a moment to breathe. Seeing Roo is still hard for me. He became best friends with my husband during their time at the Academy. Best man at our wedding. God father of our child. How did it end up like this? I look to the sky for an answer, but I’m met with the same stars I see every night. Roo stands beside me and drapes his arm around my shoulders, “AJ is growing up so fast.” “I know. Did he tell you he knows all the planets?” He laughs, “Yeah he sang me a song about them. You should be proud of yourself, you’re doing such a good job with him.” Tears sting my eyes and I whisper, “I have no clue what I am doing.” Sadness fills Bradley’s brown eyes, “But you’re doing it. I should’ve been around more and I’m sorry. Now that you guys are here, I want to help.” “You don’t have to do that.” He looks up at the sky, “I need to… for Archie. I remember the day he asked me to be AJ’s Godfather… you had just found out you were pregnant. Archie knew it was going to be a boy.” I throw my arms around Bradley, squeezing as tight as I can. We stand like this for a minute, then little arms wrap around our legs. “Mommy! Uncle Roo! Up!” I wipe my tears and bend down, picking him up. He wraps his little arms around me and Bradley. AJ looks up, “Uncle Roo? Will you come over to our new house?” Bradley smiles, “Of course! How about I pick you up from school one day this week.” AJ’s eyes widen, “Mommy, can he? Can he please?” I look at Bradley and AJ, both staring at me with pleading eyes. I laugh, “Okay, deal. But Uncle Roo has to get a car seat for the Bronco.” They celebrate their victory and I check my watch, “AJ baby, it’s time to head home for bed.” He whines and Bradley chuckles, “It’s okay bud, I’ll see you soon. I promise.” We say our goodbyes and I take him back to our little rental. He falls asleep immediately and I drift away right beside him.

The first week of the new job was busy, but I like it. It doesn’t give my brain any time to wander. Seeing the jets lined up at the hangar brings a lump to my throat. AJ’s teachers say that he is adjusting well. Every day he tells me stories about his new friends and what they did in class. Friday rolls around and Bradley texts me a photo of AJ in a car seat with a text that says “See you soon, Mommy!” I smile and set my phone down on the kitchen counter. The Bronco pulls into the driveway and AJ comes running through the door, “Mommy! Uncle Roo bought me a baseball glove AND A BALL! He’s going to play catch with me!” Bradley walks in behind him, holding the baseball gear. I hug AJ, “Did you say thank you?” Bradley smiles, “He did about a million times.” “Well you boys go play, dinner will be ready soon.” AJ runs out the back door and Bradley follows, grinning from ear to ear. I watch them from the window. My heart is aching and happy at the same time. Of course Archer picked the best Godfather. I open the back door, “Okay boys, dinner is ready! Wash your hands!” They come inside and AJ cheers, “Yay! Spaghetti night!” We sit down to eat and AJ tells us all about school. Bradley talks to AJ about work. AJ finishes and asks if he can go play, running into the living room to build his puzzle. Bradley looks at me, “When was the last time you had a night without AJ?” I think back, “Before Archer. I’m used to the quiet nights.” Bradley shakes his head, “The squad is going out tonight and you’re coming. Amelia can watch him. We can head over once he’s asleep.” I try to protest but Bradley stops me, “You are allowed to have a life, Y/n.” I look at my hands. I know he is right. Amelia is great and would probably like the extra money. I stand up, “Okay, let me start his bedtime routine. Then I’ll need half an hour to get ready.” Bradley smiles, “Deal. I’ll call Amelia now.”

An hour later, AJ is asleep and Amelia is in the kitchen chatting with Bradley. I walk out and they smile at me. I leave Amelia my number for emergencies, following Bradley to his Bronco. On the ride to the bar, he clears his throat, “When was the last time you played pool?” I shrug, “A long time ago. I’ll be rusty.” He laughs, “Well, your rusty will wipe the floor with my squad. Just don’t take too much of their money, okay?” I smirk, “I’m not making any promises.” We pull into the parking lot of Penny’s bar and I follow Rooster inside. Penny smiles, “Amelia was so excited you called! Good to see you.” I smile and grab the beer she set on the counter, “She is sweet for coming last minute.” Bradley pulls me towards the pool table, his squad is standing around chatting. Everyone says hello and Bradley hands me a cue, “Warmup round? You and me?” I smile and nod. The Daggers watch as I absolute demolish Bradley. He throws his hands up, “I surrender. I don’t understand how you’re so good at that.” I shrug, “It’s just angles.” He laughs and shakes his head. The rest of the squad takes turns trying to beat me. Pheonix is good, Bob is okay, but Jake almost beats me. I sink my final solid and then the 8 and he chuckles, “Back home they’d call you a pool shark, darling.” I laugh, “No, that’s only if I was taking y’all’s money.” He smirks, stirring up an odd feeling inside of me. The night continues on, filled with chatter and laughs. A woman comes over, asking Bradley to dance. He glances at me, “Go! I’ll be fine.” I sit down, checking to see if Amelia has texted. I take a breath, I know he is perfectly fine and probably sleeping like an angel. Jake walks over to the table and holds out his hand, “C’mon, a pretty lady shouldn’t be sitting down when there’s a slow song playing.” I think for a second. He’s Bradley’s friend, so he’s probably just being nice. I would be lying if I didn’t say he is very, very attractive. Guilt gnaws at me and I push it down. I take his hand, “Why not.” He pulls me onto the floor and we two step. It has been so long since I have danced with an adult and I love this song. I hum along and Jake smiles, “Zach Bryan fan?” I nod, “I have his vinyl. Been trying to teach AJ how to dance.” Jake chuckles, “How’s he doing?” “Good, the height difference makes it pretty difficult.” He spins me around and pulls me back in. His cologne surrounds me, earthy and citrus. My focus is on his hand, holding my waist with a calm but steady force. “You liking it here?” “Mhmm. I get to see the beach everyday and it’s nice being closer to Roo.” He raises an eyebrow, “How is it that you know Rooster?” I look in his green eyes and see genuine curiosity. He doesn’t know. I clear my throat, “He was best friends with my husband.” Jake’s eyes are still curious, “Was?” Weirdly enough, the question doesn’t upset me, “Archer, my husband, passed away last year. He went through all of his training with Roo.” His face falls, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” I give him a small smile, “It is okay, you didn’t know.” Jake spins me again and finishes the dance with a dip, “Thank you for the dance, Y/n.” He grins from ear to ear. I blush and head back to the squad. Bradley rejoins the group and nudges my arm, “Saw you dancing.” “Oh hush, it was nothing.” Bradley chuckles, “If it was nothing then why are you smiling like that?” I elbow him, “Drop it.”

The next morning, for the first time in a long time, I wake up in a great mood. I decide to take AJ to the beach. He cheers as I pack things into our car. I drive a few miles, until we reach a spot that isn’t too crowded. I set up a tent and AJ starts building sand castles. “Mommy, look! I made a tower like Tangled!” “Good job baby.” I lay beside him, picking out seashells for his castles. The waves crash on the shore. The smell of the ocean calms my soul. A southern accent brings me back down to Earth, “Y/n?” I look up to see Jake, shirtless and glistening. “Hey, Jake!” AJ looks up, “You were at my Uncle Mav’s house.” Jake leans down and smiles, “Yes sir. I work with Maverick.” AJ hums and keeps building, “Do you want to build sand castles with me?” “Oh honey, Jake is probably busy.” Jake shrugs, “I was just running. I would love to help you, buddy.” He gets down to AJ’s level and starts collecting sand. I smile as I watch him interact with my son. He could’ve kept going about his day, but he didn’t. Instead he is indulging a bossy 4 year old. Jake’s green eyes meet mine, “Funny running into you, I was just thinking about you.” I blush, hoping he doesn’t notice, “You were?” He nods, “I had fun last night.” “I did too.” AJ looks up from his castle, “A fun night? Did you watch a movie?” I chuckle, “No baby, but movies are fun!” Jake nudges him, “What’s your favorite movie?” AJ taps his chin for a moment, “Beauty and the Beast.” Jake raises an eyebrow, “Why’s that?” AJ shrugs, “Because my Mommy is just like Belle.” I smile at my son and Jake glances over at me, “Maybe we should watch it together sometime.” My eyes widen and AJ stands up, “Yes! At my new house! Mommy you need to buy popcorn.” I take a second, analyzing what just happened. Jake wants to spend more time with us? Watching a kids movie? The same odd feeling I had last night happens again. A weird feeling of warmth spreading through me. Jake leans closer, “I don’t want to overstep. You can always say no.” I take a breath, “Of course you can come over for a movie night.” AJ climbs on Jake’s back, “My bedtime is 8 so come over before that.” Jake chuckles, “Yes sir.” I look over at him, “I’m sure you have other plans on a Saturday night. It was already so kind of you to build castles with him.” Jake shrugs, “No other plans, besides what could be as fun as movie night with AJ?” They high-five and AJ starts dancing around, overjoyed by the evening’s new plans.

#glen powell x reader #jake seresin x you #hangman x reader #hangman x you #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x reader #top gun maverick #hangman fic #top gun #bradley bradshaw x reader

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have-you-seen-my-sanity · 6 months ago

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Please I beg u, I am in desperate need of jealous Poe! 😭😩🤧 can be fo! or resistance, doesn't matter. No pressure ofc!!

Ooh! I'ma go with Resistance Poe because FO!Poe would probably just kill that person and punish reader for not telling that individual off lol.

Not on my watch

Poe Dameron x fem!reader

Wanna get tagged?

Summary: The new recruit was flirting with you. Poe did not like that.

Cw/triggers: Nsfw, jealous and possessive Poe, p in v, oral (fem! receiving).

The new recruit who had just been at the base a couple of days, was helping you out of your X-Wing, grasping your hand gently, too gentle in his hand, looking at you with lovesick expression.

"Thanks." you gave a friendly smile.

"You're welcome. Gotta say, didn't expect some pilots to be as gorgeous as you." he winked, having no intentions of releasing your hand yet.

Both of you were unaware of BB-8 zipping around nearby, catching that guy's obvious flirtation with you.

He gestured towards your helmet. "Oh, mind me holding that for you?" without waiting for your answer, he unclasped and gently moved it off from your head.

Suddenly BB-8 rolled up beside you, tilting its dome up and beeping curiously at you.

Just a second later, a familiar voice boomed through the hangar.

"Hey, you there!"

Poe approached you both, already looking displeased.

"That's your helmet?" Poe asked, his voice was filled with venom but he kept calm.

The recruit just smiled. "No, it's her helmet. I thought I'd be a gentleman for our pretty pilot."

Poe stared him down, his blood boiling up. "Well, I don't know if it works that way, buddy."

"And who are you?" The recruit scoffed, turning to face Poe, still grasping your helmet in his hands.

"Who do you think I am, recruit?" Poe tested him, arching his brow up.

The recruit scrutinized Poe, his eyes widened in realization as he spotted the rank tag.

"Oh, you're the com–"

"Yeah, the commander, that's right." Poe nodded, putting his hands on his hips.

The recruit literally swallowed down his cockiness and ego.

"Sorry about that, sir, I-I won't bother you again.." he stammered, handing you back your helmet then turned to leave, giving off how exposed and embarrassed he is.

Poe turned his attention to you. "Who was that guy?"

"A new recruit apparently." you shrug.

Poe arched his brow up once more. "And you let that guy get you out of your cockpit and almost pamper you?"

"I did not let him– wait, how do you know that?"

"BB-8 saw everything."

BB-8 confirmed Poe's statement with a proud beep.

"Anyways, you showed him his place. He won't annoy me anymore."

Poe cracked a cocky smile. "Yeah I did," he nods, then his demeanor turned more serious "and later I will show you yours too."

Not sure if you've heard him correctly, you blinked at his words. "Excuse me?" you gave a confused smile.

Poe's cocky smile turned into a grin. "I know you heard me, baby."

"Poe, it was just a recruit not knowing where his place was until you showed up." you giggle.

Poe looked around to see if he could catch the recruit again, seeing him carrying a crate, then stepped closer to you, leaning in for a hug, making sure to make it obvious so the guy would look.

Once Poe saw the recruit looking, both of his hands slid down your back to cup your ass, giving a soft squeeze.

"Well, he tried charming the wrong person. You're my girl, nobody gets to pamper her except me." he whispered into your ear, glancing back at the recruit, who's mouth was agape.

Seeing that reaction from the recruit, Poe couldn't help but smirk before he upped the game by planting kisses along the side of your neck.

"Poe, we're in the hangar." you chided softly but unable to hide the smile.

Only now did Poe pull away. "I know. Gotta make sure everyone knows who you belong to, right?" he smirked.

Later that day, Poe stormed into your quarters, sparing no second to get you undressed on the bed and on top of you.

"Baby, imagine that prick seeing me worshipping you rightnow."

Poe licks his way downwards your stomach, your belly, making you squirm and buck up as he changes his way to your inner thigh.

"You still can't get that guy out of your head?" you chuckle.

Poe smirks against your skin. "After all he was flirting with my girl, of course."

"You're being ridiculous–"

He didn't gave you another second, latching his mouth onto your dripping hole, sucking and licking until it was impossible for you to think straight.

"Maybe I am." he mumbled against you, dipping his tongue inside as far as possible. Then looked up, seeing your beautiful face contorted into pleasure, your fingers gripping the sheets so hard your knuckles were white.

Poe smirked, knowing he had you where he wanted you - underneath him, with the only thing on your mind being the pleasure he's giving you.

You got ripped out of the intense feeling he gave you when he abruptly stopped, making you whine at the loss, only so Poe could free himself.

Poe got between your legs, aligning his dick with your hole and leaning down to your ear.

"But hey, sometimes it's my job to make sure people know you're mine."

He started thrusting into you, slowly at first to get you riled up some more, increasing his movements as your moans got needier.

Suddenly Poe stopped, his mouth went next to your ear, letting you feel his hot breath against your skin.

"Tell me you're mine, sweetie..." he whispered huskily.

Your mind couldn't really comprehend what he just said due to you still being numb from all the ecstasy.

"W-what- wait what?" you gasp, bucking your hips up to get some desperate friction.

Poe chuckled lowly, thrusting into you all the way until he was fully sheathed, then proceeds to grind his pelvis against you, driving you mad with pleasure, then stopping again.

"Come on, baby," in a tortuously slow movement, he started thrusting again, knowing it will make your mind go blank "say it."

"P-Poe, you're killing me!" you whine, but it sounded more like a moan.

"That's not what I wanted you to say, honey." Poe chuckled, figuring you must be close due to your desperation.

You bucked your hips again, feeling your peak approaching. "I'm yours, Poe. All yours." you blurt out, your imminent orgasm made you sound so desperate.

Poe grins, starting to pound into you, sending your mind spiraling. "There you go, baby." he pants, his movements got sloppier with every thrust.

You came first, with Poe only a second behind before he released himself into you.

With both of you laying on the bed together afterwards, you couldn't help but ask. "Did you calm down now?"

Poe took you into his arms. "No chance, sweetie." he chuckled, giving you a lingering kiss. "If I catch that prick flirting with you again then I don't know what I will do."

---------------------------

With this fic I'd like to introduce my very new taglist! :)

No pressure, only if you're interested! <3

@nekoyin @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

#star wars #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron smut #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

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cher-rei · 6 months ago

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Hey babe

Your such a good writer please more lamine yamal fics im acc begging there literally none🙏🙏🙏🙏😪

the sitter— lamine yamal [ l.y ]

met you at the right time. this is what it feels like– feels like [gracie abrams]

pairing: lamine yamal x fem!reader

summary: a rushed call from lamine's mother to babysit kenye turns into more than just a regular afternoon

genre(s): toothrotting fluff (have your dentist on standby)

[w.c: 2.8k] masterlist

notes: I wrote this instead of watching the real sociedad match to cope with the fact that we're losing. I got a bit carried away with this one but I hope you like it <33

as you stepped into the familiar house, not even having to ring the doorbell you were greeted with the smell of fresh baked cookies and comfort. you shut the door behind you and easily walked through the familiar hallway.

when she saw you, lamine's mother's shoulders relaxed a heavy amount along with the breath of relief she let out. “my saviour,” she said with a smile and pulled you into a tight hug, her gratitude evident. “I'm so sorry for calling on short notice but I have an emergency— ow!”

she bit her tongue in frustration and looked down to see the toy car that she stepped on, her head spinning at her son's carelessness. “never have kids, you’ll regret it eventually,” she said half-joking and hurriedly led you to the living room where kenye was sitting on the floor, a toy car in his hand while he watched tv.

she didn't even have to call out to him, the second he saw you he was up and in your arms with a toothy grin. “hey, buddy. didn't expect to see me today did you?”

the older woman watched with a smile as you interacted with her son, the moment being cut off by her ringtone. she didn't even bother to look at it and instead grabbed her purse and made a beeline for the front door, yelling out instructions and goodbye's as if you hadn't been doing this for a year already.

“and thank you, sweetheart! I owe you! kenye, behave!”

the door slammed shut, leaving you to the 5 year old's energetic grasp. you quickly settled into your usual routine, skipping the snack part because he had his breakfast already since it was only after 10 am.

you took your usual seat on the carpet with him because he was usually full of energy this early and jittery. so to get it out of his system, you played games with him— built some lego, played with his toys and so on.

an hour had passed and you found yourself trying to make his yogurt seem edible. it was never an issue to get him to eat, all it took was one “hereeee comes the airplane” and he was more than compliant.

“there you go,” you said with a smile and lifted the final spoonful of yogurt to his lips, the boy clapping alone happily when it was finished. “you took that like a champ.”

that didn't last long however and he was starting to grow antsy again, his suffocated whines piercing your ears. it was obvious that he was sick of the house and needed to get out, so without another thought you cleaned him up and took him out to the backyard.

it was any kid's dream back there. a playhouse, jungle gym with a slide, a ball pit and his personal favourite— the mini football net that was more of a self indulgent addition from his older brother.

you'd known lamine for over 3 years now seeing that you attend the same high school but it was a cute coincidence that his mother picked you for the babysitting job. the job wasn't even needed, you were just bored and needed something to do on weekends, there wasn't even a proper answer for how she found you.

as you and kenye played in the sun-drenched backyard, laughter and joy radiated from your every move. the mini football net, a testament to lamine’s passion for the sport, stood like a sentinel awaiting kenye's energetic kicks. your eyes sparkled with delight as you cheered him on.

the air vibrated with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass, infusing your playtime with an idyllic charm. kenye's giggles echoed throughout the yard, mingling with the chirping of the birds.

meanwhile inside the house, lamine stirred from his sleep, rubbing the remnants of sleep as he descended the stairs to look for his mother. he called for her a good few times but she didn't reply, so naturally he searched the kitchen and her bedroom only to realise that the house was awfully quiet.

she would of said something if she had something planned today, and the tv was still on so someone was definitely home. then he entered the living room, his feet padding on the tiled floor as his eyes adjusted to the light from outside.

with a yawn, he neared the sliding door to check the backyard, but just as he was about to open it his hand froze on the handle. his mind blanked, his immediate reaction to seeing you play with kenye being to hide behind the curtain.

his thoughts were reeling, not expecting you to come over today. in panic, he took one last peep outside which only made his pounding heart thump even louder at the sight of you passing the ball to his brother so effortlessly.

run. that's what he did when he got the clearance, not wasting a second to rush back upstairs and grab his phone and hit the facetime button in the group chat. after 3 rings, hector and pau were on the line with him— their confused faces synced as they watched the boy lock himself in his bathroom and start pacing.

“what happened to ‘hello'?” hector said, judgement evident in his tone but lamine didn't have time to fight his snarky comments.

he propped his phone up against the mirror and rushed to get his toothbrush, his palms sweating against the toothpaste tube.

“bro, are you going to tell us what's going on or is this some type of ‘get ready with me’ gimmick?” pau spoke up finally and put another spoonful of cereal his mouth, quickly getting distracted by the cover on the box and commenting on it.

“she's here. she's not supposed to be here today so I don't know why!” lamine muffled out through his mouth full of toothpaste but his friends got the gist of it. perks of knowing each other for nearly their entire lives.

hector couldn't suppress his laughter, his smile on the screen teasing lamine. “this is even funnier because it's actually never that deep.”

pau joined in on the laughter. “imagine asking why your brother's babysitter is over to babysit,” he snorted. “it's been a year, you're insane.”

lamine finished rinsing his mouth, double checking to see if there was anything in his teeth before splashing cold water on his face. “does it look like i just woke up?” he asked and touched up his hair. “is it giving ‘I just woke up and look this good’ or ‘I freaked out and had a panic attack in my bathroom’?”

his friends went silent, their jaws on the floor at the amount of overthinking that he was doing. he's liked you since he could remember. at first it was simple attraction, and then came the longing to know you more personally, and when he did that's when everything went to shit.

you were beautiful, that's for sure but you had this natural charm that he couldn't get enough of. you made an effort to talk to him, to help him with anything that he needed and your selflessness was barely the tip of the iceberg. family was the most important thing to him, and the fact that his family loved you and treated you as their own had him on his knees.

“it's giving, ‘I can't talk to girls I'm actually interested in'” hector deadpanned and pau was quick to follow.

“I got a better one,” he said in between his laughter. “It's giving, ‘professional winger by night, but professional wreck by day.”

the bathroom echoed with pau and hector’s non-stop laughter, both boys having rolled onto their sides by now while lamine stood with his head in his hands to try and calm himself down.

worst wingmen of the year, he liked to call them. the only advice he got was to breathe and not trip over his own feet. it was pathetic of him to let his attraction towards a girl make him this… messed up? but what was a teenage boy to do?

he put on his game face and made his way downstairs again, a smile tugging at his lips when he saw that you were watching kenye as he played in the ballpit.

when you turned around you saw him there, your heart skipping a beat as he opened the door with a warming smile. it was your turn to take a deep breath. “hey, I didn't know that you were home today,” you greeted cheerfully, you confidence oozing.

“yeah, we got the day off so I took the liberty to sleep in,” he answered a took a seat beside you on the grass to greet his brother who immediately threw one of the plastic balls at him.

laughter tickled at your throat as you watched lamine playfully throw them back at him but kenye took it personally and began hurling them at him. “we're going to have to put a warning sign on him or something,” you joked in between laughter and lamine scoffed.

“the real threat is his ability to kick a ball,” the footballer said with this lips pursed.

you playfully rolled your eyes at his comment. “oh, please, you're just mad because he already has better dribbling skills than you.”

lamine's face was contorted with mock offence, and he leant back on his hands to look at you. “are you talking about the same guy who won the kopa trophy less than 2 weeks ago.”

you couldn't shake off how laid back he looked in that moment. the way he was looking at you with such ease and playfulness made your head spin. “yes, yes I am.” you answered confidently to which he put a hand over his heart.

“you wound me,” he joked. “I'm going to start making you nurse me back to health.”

funny. he was joking. right?

kenye, thrilled by the attention hurled another ball at lamine to which his older brother caught and tossed it back at him with a gloat. “nice try, but we already have the backyard champion sitting next to me right now.”

you smile faltered for a moment. “that's only because you let me win.”

lameye's eyes twinkled as he took notice of your slightly flushed cheeks and he thought that maybe he was doing something right. “you literally crushed me.”

you shook your head at his retort, ready to counter his argument as you put your hands in the air, and swiftly as if it were second nature lamine gently took them into his own to stop you from talking further. “consider my ego bruised, you're just too good,” he joked with a shrug, his hands still holding yours.

it was for a moment that you stopped breathing, unable to function properly until you realised that kenye fell asleep in the ball pit. his light snores took the attention off from your banter and onto his peaceful figure that lamine effortlessly picked up and carried to his room.

when he came downstairs again, the house had gone quiet while you cleaned up kenye’s mess that he eventually helped with. “oh wow, okay mr house husband,” you teased and tossed one of the toys at him, his smile not wavering as he continued to help you in comfortable silence.

after lunch the two of you found yourselves in the backyard again, chatting as per normal while lamine kicked the ball at his feet. he ended up stopping mid sentence to propose an idea that you weren't too eager about. a rematch at what cost? your embarrassment?

unfortunately for you, he was persuasive as hell.

“what do I get if I win?” he shrugged at your question with a knowing smile.

“anything you want, amor.”

you nearly choked on air at the term of endearment that came from literally nowhere. he didn't seem fazed by saying it though so you were almost certain that you heard him wrong and pushed it to the back of your mind and focused on the little tournament in front of you.

the sun was high, the barcelona heat was warm on your skin as you watched lamine ready the ball. the game wasn't supposed to carry on for as long as it did, but both yours and his passionate calls for cheating and distractions played a huge role in the 40 minute rematch.

“okay, this is the last round I swear,” you said with a tired huff which he was more than happy with. the ball was at your feet for a split second before you felt lamine's hands on your waist, holding you close to his chest as he sneakily took the ball and shot it into the back of the net with ease.

you jaw dropped at the utter foulness of the round. “you cheater!” you said in shock and turned to look at him, but he was too busy relishing in his glory to care. he let go of you with a proud laugh and picked the ball up again, giving it one last kick.

“I didn't cheat,” he said through a cheeky smile and took a few steps towards you. “it's a contact sport, so it's fair.”

you rolled your eyes jokingly at his counter, still in disbelief that he'd go that far. but you weren't a spoilt sport so you congratulated him on his win, fair or not and he humbly thanked you.

you turned back with a smile and began heading inside but his hands were on your waist again, the familiar tingle setting your body on fire as he turned you to look at him, the smile on his face making your heart race.

“I'll be taking my prize, thank you,” he said with a boyish grin and let his lips gently brush your cheek, a gentle, fleeting kiss that had your knees weak for a split second.

he craned his neck to look down at you, a blushing mess and he couldn't help but coo even thought he was internally jumping off buildings. “aw, don't get shy on me now.”

you quirked your brow at what you took as a challenge, mild irritation clear in your eyes that were fluttered shut seconds later when your lips met his for what was supposed to be a quick peck.

keywords: supposed to be.

the feeling of your lips on his sent a surge of electricity through his body, and he couldn't waste the opportunity. he dropped the football that was underneath his arm and pulled you in, one hand resting on your cheek and the other on your waist as he relished the taste.

the long-awaited kiss finally came and it was everything that he hoped for and more. the way you melted into him, sent a warmth through his chest that had his head spinning and hoping that you'd never let go.

when you eventually pulled away to catch your breath, your lips tugged up into an amused smile at his lovestruck look and flushed cheeks. “isn't that a better prize?” you joked, your hands still loosely wrapped around his neck.

“I want a rematch, now,” he said immediately after, and pulled you back into the yard, his eagerness getting the best of him because he was not going down like this— “if I win then you have to marry me.”

“what?!”

#cherrei writes #footballer imagine #footballer x reader #football imagine #fanfic #lamine yamal fanfic #lamine yamal x reader #lamine yamal #lamine x reader #fc barcelona x reader #barcelona fc #fc barcelona imagine #barcelona x reader

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vigilskeep · 1 month ago

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going off your arcane bolt post and how it becomes spirit bolt in 2, what do you think is the distinction between the arcane and spirit schools? it's interesting that spells which were spirit in dao were moved to arcane to fill it out for da2 (mind blast, crushing prison) and the sort of overlap where both include various shielding methods 🤔

OUGH good question

so for reference for those less familiar, the arcane tree in dao is the very basic single tree with arcane bolt and arcane shield, and spirit is an entire school with two anti-magic trees, the walking bomb/necromancy tree, and the excellent and delightful telekinetic tree. in da2, arcane is a full tree featuring arcane shield, but also elemental weapons which it stole from the elemental/primal schools, and the telekinesis tree (mind blast, barrier, and crushing prison) which it’s stealing from spirit. the spirit tree has spirit bolt (the stolen version of arcane bolt), and then the spells it’s always had like dispel magic, death syphon, and walking bomb.

when you read the codex entries about the schools of magic in origins there are very distinctly four schools: primal, creation, spirit, entropy. the first thing i’d like to establish about my understanding is that these are artificially created distinctions and are not “real”, in the sense that mages trying to understand magic have created classifications to argue about as people love to do. by the way, i absolutely believe these arguments take place in-world, and i as the person who sticks their hand up in the back of the lecture and says “well school distinctions aren’t even REAL so—” am the annoying student that all senior enchanters hate to see coming

the second point i’d like to make is that even by the people who treat these classifications as fact, the school of spirit has the least clear boundaries of the four. it is described as an “esoteric” field of study and “the school of mystery, the ephemeral school”. translation: we don’t know what the fuck we’re talking about here. the school of spirit is said to draw its power from the fade itself, but of course that’s how all typical magic works, so theoretically all spells belong to the school of spirit. (now i sound like a spirit magic student who has beef with evokers who think they’re better than me.) but broadly spells that get categorised into the school of spirit tend to be ones where you’re not interfering with or creating anything “real”, you’re working directly with “magic itself”. so in origins it’s the spells that work directly with combating or destroying or stealing another mage’s magic reserves, it’s the necromancy tree which as we’ve seen with a lot of detail in later games uses spirits, and it’s the telekinesis tree which throws, crushes or protects with invisible force.

(with regard to the telekinesis tree and also the force magic specialisation: i have a pet theory that many centuries later when thedas discovers modern physics, we’d see a split between the school of spirit and some kind of school of forces now that we acknowledge the force crushing prison applies as something “real” rather than “just magic”. i don’t know enough about physics to develop that line of thought and i also wonder if the study of magic would have thrown away the entire system of schools by then but it’s just funny to me to imagine.)

another point to be made is that there’s also a lot of crossover between the school of spirit and the school of creation, the latter for example inexplicably containing the spell to have a wisp buddy in dao. and those two schools actually get fully put in the blender together for the diabolical dai approach to it all. but that’s a whole other can of worms.

to return to the arcane vs spirit question, you’ll have noticed that arcane is not any of the four basic schools, it doesn’t count as a school. you’ll also have noticed that arcane bolt and arcane shield, working purely with fadestuff and protective force, are absolutely spirit magic on the same grounds as the telekinesis tree. a tree which is so similar to arcane it gets recategorised as arcane in da2! i actually do not think there is any academic difference between arcane & spirit and i think arcane spells all get folded into spirit by anyone who is writing essays in-world (and it constantly pleases me that people are definitely writing essays in-world). so what is the difference, you ask? why are they separated in my skill trees? for practical application and training!

the real difference between arcane and spirit to Me is that arcane contains the fundamentals every single mage should know, and spirit is for eccentric researchers who crawl out of their libraries with a finished book once a decade, and who definitely aren’t even slightly possessed, they promise. arcane has the basic attack, the basic defense, and in da2 also contains the basic support. these are technical fundamentals. they’re going to be the first lessons you sat through as a kid even if you specialise in something else and never touch them again. and they are spirit spells because drawing on the power of the fade is the most basic definition of magic, even if the spells that requiring deeper understanding of the fade are also the most complicated field of study. when i’m assigning spells with character in mind (and i always have character in mind) i tend to put points in arcane for quite rigid/technical casters who would rely on those fundamentals and then points in spirit for those who truly study the fade. most mages would never have points in spirit but the type of mages who are in a protagonist’s party are not representational

so that’s what i think. in the normal number of paragraphs. and to get slightly meta my favourite hc about the da2 skill trees less exactly matching the academic rigour of dao skill trees is that you and your mage companions are all apostates and the way you think about magic is different and more fluid even if it draws on the same principles. ok thats my stance cutting myself off byeee

#thank you for indulging me and also being niceys on my post i rlly appreciated ur tags!! 🩷

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fuji-sen · 7 months ago

Text

the 'evil imposter' just wants to be a baker!

Prologue: The Foodie turned Imposter?!

Part 5: Burning Pinecones

[ part 4.5 ] || [ masterlist ] || [ part 6 ]

divider is made by @/saradika-graphics

warnings: the usual violence/blood for sagau fics.

"Traveller, would you like to accept a personal quest from me?"

Aether stared dubiously at the man in front of him, which the Cavalry captain noticed "Come on, aren't we friends?" The blond and Paimon stared at him incredulously, then the two travelling partners stared at each other, engaging in a mental conversation.

'Do they not trust me that much?' Kaeya felt a bit hurt but brushed it off when the duo turned to him once more. "You're not going to ask us to hunt down this 'imposter' are you?"

It was the blue haired man's turn to stare at them flabbergasted "My, you think so little of me. Haven't you heard the saying Innocent until proven guilty?" "We know that!" Paimon huffed "it's just. . you're still in the knights of Favonius, We're surprised you haven't gone all. ."

"Murderous" Aether offered.

"Yeah! It's a surprised you aren't as murderous as Jean and Lisa were with this lookalike." Paimon pointed out. "That's fair, but I would prefer knowing all the details before acting."

Aether sighed, "all right, then I'm guessing you want us to track down the lookalike and gather information to help decide whether they are the imposter or not. . right?"

"Astute as ever dear Traveler" Kaeya clapped with a Cheshire like grin. "Why can't you do it though?" The traveler questioned "You're more familiar with the region as a resident of Mondstadt."

"Be that as it may, I am a member of the Knights. I expect Jean will be ordering all of us in a mandatory man-hunt for the 'Imposter.' You two on the other hand have a chance of not partaking in it in the guise of already being on a separate quest."

Aether and Paimon frowned, "are they really set on killing them?" He asked, he did not like this, he did not like how they were acting. Upon first meeting them, they seemed reliable and level-headed, now they seemed like. .

"Faith does a lot of things to a person traveler, Paimon. You will find that once word spreads across Teyvat that person will no know peace, even if they end up really being the Creator. So hopefully you find them first."

Golden eyes stared into periwinkle eyes. "Should I warn them about everything?"

Kaeya combed his locks "I'll leave that decision to your judgement in character. I should go now, I have a feeling that Jean will have someone call for me soon."

"Then me and Paimon will head out now, but. . have you any idea where they might be?"

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

Thanks to the effort of the Samuchurl and the other hilichurls you had recovered quickly. All though the scars remained littering your body, still the pain that lingered was gone, you were no longer bothered by the lingering effects of electro from Lisa's attacks.

Your stomach was no longer empty and you were no longer in tattered clothes. The Pajamas although salvaged was now in a rucksack, you debated on whether throwing it away but seeing as it is your last memento of a life so far away from your grasps. . you decided to keep it in the end.

Now however, what draped your body was clothes that you could only describe as traditional or ethic, the type of clothes you'd see hilichurls wear. Luckily it fitted you and covered you properly considering hilichurl clothings usually cover the lower half of the body if you compared it to the in-game models. It reminded you of Claude's first attire in 'who made me a princess'*.

However the Hilichurls did not wear shoes so you had were still going to be walking barefoot. Dvalin or rather in the current timeline, Stormterror, had not returned to the area, you assumed he would be with the abyss mages or terrorizing mondstadt so you weren't scared for your safety (not like Dvalin would ever hurt you but you don't know that-) and you could stay with the hilichurls and your pyro buddy who were the best company right now!

Still. . you can't help but let your eyes linger away from the hilichurl camp. Despite the trauma that would no doubt haunt you for a long time, you still wanted to just. . explore Teyvat and everything it had to offer, well except for the people, you wanted to try the cuisine, wear there clothes and if it seemed like you'd be stuck here till you die. . maybe open up a shop or find a permanent home.

Inazuma would be nice as it would be based on Japan, but Liyue's culture also caught your eye. . but then Mondstadt's scenery, Fontaine's architecture and fashion. . .

"So while the hilichurls were busy you decided to take a walk, of course, some inkling inside you knew to avoid any humans and since your choices were either the brightcrown canyon teeming with enemy mobs or go south and find your way to dawn winery and then wolvendom. .

Brightcrown canyon was your choice of course.

"What-" you stare at the pyro slime that was angrily bouncing in front of you, as if stopping your escape. "I'm just going to take a walk."

It's stare was unnerving, clearly not wanting you to go anywhere else but the hilichurl camp. "I'm not going near any mondstadters if that helps my case!"

It stopped, blinking and then began happily prancing around you in circles.

You chuckled at the cute pyro slime as you scoped him in your hands, you didn't question how you weren't harmed by its flames, you were afraid to know what that means for you after all. Would that be considered proof of being an imposter?

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

"Okay so last that anybody has heard of this creator lookalike, is that they fell off the cliff behind the headquarters of the knights and landed in Cider Lake" Paimon repeated as she and Aether were just outside of the city, across the bridge and in front of a fork in the road.

The left road would lead back to the whispering woods then to the lake, then the beach where they came from when Aether first came to Mondstadt. The middle one would lead to Wind rise and farther off would be cape oath. Then the path that led to the right of them would lead to a small village named Springvale, then to dawn winery and Wolvendom and the farthest place there would be Stormterror's lair.

They stared at the map that Kaeya had kindly given them, marked with numerous locations that were well known in Mondstadt. "Okay then what happened after is that Stormterror came during the commotion which led to a chance for the person to escape. . then when they fell into the lake, followed by soldiers trying to catch them. . Stormterror took a sip or rather bite out of the lake and ate the people there?"

Aether continued with a distraught looking expression as he tried to imagine it, well he didn't have to imagine it for long because due to a commotion near the lakeside he turned, finding Amber and a few knights pulling a net which contained fish, clothes and . . dismembered limbs.

Paimon paled, floating behind him as she covered her eyes.

Despite the nauseating feeling he approached to inquire about the bodies, it would be bad if the creator lookalike had been eaten by Stormterror. "Oh Traveler come here!" Amber waved over as he gulped but nonetheless reluctantly got closer. The smell of iron filled their noses, nauseating them.

"A-are you finding the 'lookalike' I heard they fell into the lake?" Aether offered, trying to ignore the close up looks of the bodies in his peripheral vision. "Yes, we are looking for the 'imposter' we need to make sure they're dead." The outrider corrected, with a disturbing look the travelling duo could not quite place for a lack of better terms.

The blond haired boy scrutinized the outrider in front of him, sure they had a rough first meeting when Amber was very suspicious of him but he got past that because she was doing her job, this however. . hunting down a person just because of the face they were born with, was this her job as well as an outrider? as a knight of Favonius? This was not the person he respected, and that made it all the more disappointing.

This entire situation flabbergasted him, perhaps it was because he was not of this world but. . was it common sense to hunt someone down and kill them on sight for having the face of a God? would there be no trial? no interrogation or due process? He understood the appeal to devote ones self to the Creator, for he felt their lingering warmth and love even from an inanimate statue in their image.

He also understood that there was a prophecy of an imitator, a devil disguising themselves as the creator and being a sign of chaos, and sure Mondstadt was in a chaotic state but what if the prophecy wasn't real? prophecies weren't exactly reliable anyways and was it worth risking the chance of harming and offending their Creator if that person wasn't an imposter??

"What got you so quiet?" Amber noticed as the boy flinched, "nothing, it's just the smell is bothering me."

"Oh- that's fair, Sorry for making you come closer I should have approached you instead" she at least had the nerve to be sheepish about it "This is the first time Stormterror killed someone. Mostly they have been causing disturbances with the storms and some injuries here and there, but this would be the first recorded casualties."

"Does that mean, Stormterror's gotten ticked off by something?"

"Probably, it's probably because of the Imposter" the brown haired girl's lips had thinned considerably "I guess Stormterror has a bit more common sense to attack the Imposter as well. That's nice at least, if only he had finished the job."

Aether forced himself to laugh awkwardly, "well, I uh see. . anyways I need to go. I have a quest to fulfill."

Not really noticing his behavior, Amber offered something with a smile "Oh where are you headed? I'll be going on a search and exterminate party with a small group of knights maybe we could join together and help each other."

"Maybe some other time-" Paimon finally spoke, cutting Aether off "Sure! Where are you headed?" Amber who brushed off what Aether was originally going to say "We're going to comb the areas around the lake, if Stormterror didn't managed to kill the imposter then it's likely that they were able to swim to the shores."

"Wait-" Paimon quickly elbowed her friend before turning to Amber "then uhh, we'll pick the farthest one, it's more important that we find the Imposter after all, right Aether?"

"I- oh yeah, I guess." he quickly said after realizing why Paimon was agreeing to the suggestion.

Paimon's eyebrows had ticked in annoyance at the subpar acting Aether possessed. Honestly, could he not be so obviously weird about the imposter-lookalike situation!

Amber meanwhile smiled "That's great!" she was none the wiser "It's nice to see you prioritizing the more important things in life!"

She unrolled the map as she let them take their first pick, Paimon and Aether glanced at each other, wondering which place should they take.

Their outrider friend(?) was called away by a knight so they spoke in hush whispers. "where do you think they'd go. ." aether hummed as paimon whacked him in the head, "hey!" he hissed "what was that for!"

"For you terrible acting, could you be anymore obvious?? You know we have to find them first!" Paimon complained tugging at his ear, "right look sorry!" he swatter her much smaller hand away "but we have to choose now."

Paimon bit her lip "but what if we picked the wrong location and Amber and the others find her first. ." The traveler sighed "It's a risk we have to take, hopefully. . her luck doesn't run out."

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

"I need some herbs and spices, oh and some more sweet flowers and berries. . It'd be nice if I could catch some meat too." You absentmindedly said, as your pyro slime friend stared at you curiously, you love food after all so it's not entirely weird to be collecting ingredients.

The rucksack on your shoulder was already filled with mint, mushrooms, matsutakes, pinecones, sweet flowers and a few carrots. It was getting fairly heavy but still, you were excited to begin cooking with the ingredients and food that Teyvat had to offer. Would the mushrooms taste even slightly different from the ones in real life? is sweet flower sugar a better type of sugar than the one in real life as well? what about pinecones? how do they taste? she actually tried biting it but it wasn't any good, since the description of the item in-game was about having oil-rich seeds you assume it was either a substitute for cooking oil or the seeds are actually eaten or could add a taste to the few recipes that used them in the game like the hash browns.

"Want one?" you offered an apple to the pyro slime who shook in your hold, "so that's a no. Do you prefer sticks and coal? or what about pine cones?"

The pyro elemental being stared at the pinecone you handed him, and proceeded to eat it, simply by burning it inside of him. "Oh. ."

Luckily he seemed to like it enough when he jiggled like a happy jello. "We really need a name for you!**" you smile, petting him. There was a couple that went to your mind however before you could decide you stop by the coast or shores of the lake, you could see Mondstadt in the distance where the city was under dark gloomy skies.

'serves them right'

your eyes widened, surprised at your own bitter thoughts, one part of you loathed the city that traumatized you and rejected you but a part of you couldn't help but think of the poor people. .

"it's going to be okay, the traveler will save Dvalin and everything will be fine."

You basked in the sounds of the water and the chirping of the birds, as the smell of burning pine cones and freshwater filled your nostrils. You felt a sense of calm despite seeing the city under a blanket of darkness, from the looming dark clouds above it.

*snap!* body freezing up as you hear footsteps and the shaking of bushes. Your pyro slime friend jumped out of your hands, wiggling threateningly at the direction of the noise.

Turning slightly, you see two people getting out of the bushes. A boy with long blond hair, braided neatly and another, much smaller, floating near the other with silver hair.

Aether and Paimon. .

*this is claude, of course the clothes are not that open so your chest is covered (tho depending on you there may be a side-boob view (based on the shirt cut meme)) ** I will be posting a poll for the pyro slime's name, you are free to recommend names here, and if a name has been chosen, the person who gave the idea can request for a special chapter from this series (that can happen canonically, or not, or in a diff region.) however if a name I have suggested for has been chosen then I'll give a list of ideas for special chapters you can vote on that will be written.

ONE ACCOUNT IS ONLY ALLOWED TO SUGGEST AT MOST 2 NAMES (this applies to me)!

Current compiled suggestions: Fuji_Sen has suggested! Lava Cake or "Java" based on the food / coffee" Fuji_Sen has suggested! Monsieur Creme Brulee or "Creme" based on the food. @Fantasyhopperhea has suggested! Soleil or "Sol" @Cactus4226 has suggested! Ruru (Py-ro, ro -> ru -> ruru)

taglist: @fantasyhopperhea @rhoswen-drake @cchiiwinkle @aman3kkun @coffee-or-hot-cocoa

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glasvera · 1 month ago

Text

Cold Brew

Adam Warlock x Fem!Reader

Description: (Part 3 of this series, sequel to Dream and Sugar!) Adam's been gone for quite some time, and your coworker is tired of you moping about. Clearly, the answer is going on a date with the guy your coworker introduced you to. What could go wrong?

Warnings/Disclaimers: Angst. Date guy is a serious dick, name calling, shoving, etc. Adam causes property damage. Angst turns into fluff at the end though, I promise!

A/N: This one took a while (over a month??? damn my bad) because I'm actually developing a... *gasp*... plot! Also because I rewrote the cafe bit at least half a dozen times. But yes, things were getting so teeth-rottingly sweet in here that I had to throw in some conflict and angst to balance it all out. We will return to your regularly scheduled fluff in the next installment.

Word Count: 3.9k

When Peter Quill was greeted by the familiar albeit irritatingly perfect golden visage of Adam Warlock, he assumed it was for a lecture on his recklessness in their last little voyage. Adam doesn’t seem to visit him for much else. Not that he was antisocial, of course. The golden man was simply straight and to the point in almost everything he did.

That’s why it’s such a surprise when Adam mentions you.

“Wait, wait… sorry. I just gotta take this in,” he laughs jovially while spinning about in the cockpit seat. “The being made to be humanity’s best--no, beyond humanity’s best--is asking me for love advice?”

“Do not make me regret this,” Adam groans and pinches the bridge of his nose betwixt his fingers. “I do not know if such a thing exists for me. I only know that I… when I am with her, I feel… lighter? And yet there is an indescribable heaviness all the same. It is simultaneously the most wonderful thing I have ever felt and the most uncomfortable sensation I have ever experienced.”

Star-Lord digs his heel into the ground, bringing his spinning chair to a halt and slapping his hands on his knees. He quirks a brow at the perfect man. “You’re totally in love with her.”

“I have only met her twice,” he admits bashfully. “Is it not wrong to feel so strongly after so short a time?”

Star-Lord sighs, swiveling to the side and propping his feet up on the console. His eyes trail absentmindedly up to the ceiling and his lips purse to one side.

“Adam,” he starts, drawing the man’s milky white eyes to attention. There’s an undeniable seriousness in Quill’s voice. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned working with you, it’s that when you feel, you feel deeply. It’s kind of scary sometimes.”

“Scary…?” he echoes with trepidation.

“Not scary scary. Just… a lot, I guess. But if you’re really into this girl, and she’s into you, I mean…” He shrugs with his hands up in the air. “Might as well see what happens, right?”

“See… what happens…” he echoes, chewing pensively on his lower lip and staring down at his own shoes.

“Buddy, I'm pretty sure you could have anyone in the palm of your hand if you wanted. So, worst case scenario, there's bound to be someone else out there.”

Quill's reassurances do little to assuage Adam’s tumultuous thoughts.

“I… I do not want someone else,” he admits quietly. “I desire only her.”

-----

It had been weeks since you'd seen him last. Of course, you had gone months without seeing that perfect golden face of his before, but now, things were different. At first it felt like little more than chance, but after the conversation you shared last time, there was undeniably something more between you.

You felt even more ridiculous, being strung along by a guy who's visited you twice. If this was his idea of courting you, he was really going to have to step up his game… assuming he was courting you at all, of course. It was all so vague and new, and he was a superhero who traveled across galaxies to save people. You desperately wanted to believe what he said.

It just gets more and more difficult to cling to that hope with every day that passes by.

You were working the closing shift today, moping a bit while lazily wiping down the countertop. It was stupid to be acting like this and you knew it, but sometimes you just needed to be upset about it for a little while so it didn't bottle up inside you. Goodness knows you've done that before.

…The ensuing waterworks were never pretty.

“Did he ghost you again?” Your nosy coworker pipes up, nodding at your morose state. “Seriously… I mean, look at you. You've been wiping the same spot for the last five minutes.”

“I--well, I wouldn’t say he's ghosting me, but--”

He's not having any of it. “Girl, I couldn't get you to shut up about him for days after he showed up last time. He tells you he's into you and then goes radio silent?” He tuts. “That's like, the literal definition of ghosting.”

“He's…” You want to argue it. He's different? Busy? Familiar with spacecraft technology but apparently incapable of communicating digitally? Your shoulders slump, and you feel your eyes start to water. No, stop that. This isn't the time or place for a pity party.

“Yeah, that's what I thought. Girl, we have got to get you a hobby. Or another man. Maybe both while we're at it.”

You give him a snort, trying desperately to mask the budding tears even as you wipe your nose on the back of your arm. “You know I work too much for that. And I'm perfectly content being single.”

He claps his hands together. Pulling out his phone, he starts scrolling through his camera roll.

“There’s this guy I was seeing for a little bit--”

“Oh boy, sloppy seconds,” you interrupt sarcastically.

He rolls his eyes before giving you a pointed glare. “Babes, do you want my help or not?”

Truthfully, you're not sure if you do. It's not like anything would really change if Adam disappeared from your life for good. Though, when you roll your lips between your teeth and allow him to continue, he cocks his head with a bit of attitude and mistakes your silence for acquiescence.

“That’s what I thought. Anyway, he's bi, smokin’ hot, smart, loves kittens and puppies, the whole package…”

You admire the pictures he shows you, but something wasn’t adding up. Your eyes narrow. “What’s the catch? Why did you two split?”

“Because,” he says, putting a firm hand down on the counter you'd been continuously polishing, “he was practically married to his work. Smart college man wants to go big in the world of science. It wasn’t going to work.” He lifts his hand and points at you. “But you? You're basically the same, working all the time. It’s perfect.”

“So we'd be perfect because we'd never have time for each other…?” you challenge, resting a hand on your hip.

“Oh, he has time. It just wasn't enough for me. I'm very high maintenance.”

You snort at his self-dig, but finally you relent. “Fine. Set us up. I'll at least give him a chance.”

-----

Unsurprisingly, it was a bit difficult finding a time that worked well for the both of you. Surprisingly, this guy, Nate, seemed into you right from the first selfie. Not that you looked bad, of course, but you weren’t expecting the eagerness with which he responded. You got a lot of scientist jokes from him about being “the perfect specimen”. At least… you're pretty sure those are jokes.

It helps that he's hot.

In a sense, it worked out better for you, since it meant you had a few extra weeks to at least text each other before meeting. You had a few things in common that you were able to talk about, and he seemed responsive enough when you asked him questions about his work.

Your coworker wasn’t kidding, though. This guy really was attached to his work.

So much so, in fact, that the only way you found time to meet up with him was by offering to bring takeout to his apartment-turned-lab extension. Not the greatest of impressions, but you could admire his dedication at least. Love your job and you never work a day of your life, right? Wish you could say the same about being a barista.

Standing in front of the door to his apartment with a paper bag of your favorite local Chinese food, you hesitate with your fist prepared to knock on the paint-chipped wood. Something about this feels off. Well, no. A lot of things feel off, if you’re being honest. Maybe you’re just scared of new things. Maybe a part of you still wants to cling to the hope that Adam Warlock will show up again. Maybe this guy is secretly a serial killer, and you’re about to walk into your own demise--

Click!

The door opens before you and you jolt upright. Nate is greeted by your bug-eyed stare and your fist still held up in the air in front of you.

“Hello…?” he greets you with a chuckle. The deep timbre of his voice is quite lovely, but you can’t help but compare it to Adam’s and find it wanting. Come on now, really? Now? “Y/N, right? I saw you on the camera, so--”

“Sorry!” You interrupt him suddenly, eyeing your hand before quickly withdrawing it to your side. “I get nervous with these things. Hardly ever do dates. Never been good at them.” It’s only half of a lie, but it’s the quickest thing you can think of to excuse your awkwardness.

He chortles, a low, rumbling sound in his chest, and gestures around to his own apartment. “I’m not either, clearly. Most people actually leave their house.” A kind smile spreads across his face before he nods for you to come in. “Well, shall we?”

It’s about what you expected from a workaholic scientist. A little messy, with some papers strewn about, but the streaks through the thin layers of dust around the place tell a story of a much messier abode up until recently. The kitchen was barely a kitchen anymore with much of the counter space occupied by various containers and implements.

“I tried to clean up around here before you came over, I swear,” he says in jest as he leads you in. “I get to working and completely lose track of time.” He rubs the back of his neck and gives you a shy yet charming smile.

“No, no, I totally get that,” you reply, setting the bag down on one of the few unoccupied spots of the coffee table. When a moment of awkward silence follows, you decide to bait the conversation with something you know he'll have no trouble talking about. “Working on anything in particular before I got here?”

Hook, line, and sinker, his eyes brighten in an instant. “Yes! I've been studying light waves more intensely as of late.” He plops down onto the couch with a grunt as the cushion bounces him with the sudden weight. “Specifically reflections. What if there was a way to make light tangible?” With his hands on either side of his head, he makes explosion motions with his fingers. Cute. “Of course we have lasers. We have light that can be felt. But if there was a way to take light and turn it into something solid, we could go beyond holograms and--”

He goes on passionately for quite some time. With a tight-lipped yet polite smile, you nod and do your best to keep up. His enthusiasm is something you can appreciate at least. The way he leans familiarly towards you though? Not so much.

Seated next to him and idly nibbling on an egg roll, you were trying so hard not to zone out and focus on what he was saying that the sudden buzz and chime of your phone startles you firmly back into reality. It's not a long text at all. You're easily able to read it discreetly when the screen lights up. Wait… Why the hell was your coworker texting you now…?

<<Goldie inbound 😬 Sorry!!!>>

Goldie…? What on earth is he talking about?

Before you get the chance to grab your phone and respond properly, you're both surprised to hear a firm knocking against the door. Nate laughs nervously and cocks his head to the side. Clearly, he wasn't expecting an interruption. And judging by the way he presses his mouth into a flat line before chewing on the inside of his lip, he isn't happy about it either.

“Ha… wonder who that could be?” Nate speaks up while feigning a pleasant attitude. You reply with little more than a sympathetic smile and a shrug of your shoulders.

The knocking grows more insistent with his delay. The vein on Nate’s temple bulges. Quite frankly, the longer you remained in this situation, the more you felt the adrenaline building in your veins. Seems like your gut was right after all, albeit in a bit of a roundabout way.

“I have heard you speak. I know that this abode is occupied.”

Your eyes widen. Goldie, of course. That muffled voice is still recognizable. You'd know it anywhere. A strange mixture of frustration and hope bubbles within your chest. Still, this is what you’ve spent all this time waiting for, is it not?

Nate peers through the peephole and grimaces at what he sees. “Congratulations! You have ears! Now fuck off,” he spits back through the door. The sudden hostility from him is unexpected, and you find yourself reflexively flinching away.

“I cannot fulfill such a request,” the even-toned voice through the door responds.

“Wait!” you pipe in, nearly dropping your food and rushing to the door. “Adam, is that you?” Nate, ever the sharp one, seems to pick up on the almost expectant lilt in your voice. His frown deepens.

“Ah, Y/N… so you remember me still,” the golden man replies coldly, though there is an unmistakable melancholy in his voice. It stings to your core, and you feel your stomach drop. Another part of you begins to prickle with indignance. “Would my entrance be acceptable?”

“No,” Nate bites back. “I don't know who you are, but I certainly didn't invite you over.”

Panic washes over you. You can’t let Adam slip away from you again.

“Just--” you step in, holding your hands up in front of you. “Let me talk to him. I owe him that much.”

Oh, that was clearly the wrong answer. There's a nearly imperceptible twitch of his eye as he forces a smile. “You don't owe him shit. I'm not opening the door.”

Something about that makes you bristle even more than Adam’s earlier response. You square your shoulders and try to push past him.

“What do you know about what I do or don't owe him? I'm going out there.” Your voice is firm and you stand your ground, your irritated gaze boring into your date.

“Wow. I can’t believe this,” he scoffs, shaking his head. “You came over here to see me, but the second another man shows up, you wanna talk to him instead? And here I thought you were different.”

“Y/N!?” Adam's voice sounds through the door again, but this time the concern is evident.

Oh, that is it. The tip of your forefinger stabs into his chest. Your lip curls. “Fuck. Off.”

“Ooh, scary. Fucking whore,” he replies with a snarl. He pushes you off of him and you stumble backwards into the wall with a thud.

“Y/N!” The golden man's voice bellows, and it's the only warning you both have before the door cracks in protest and flies open, the deadbolt little more than a memory as it clatters to the ground along with splinters of the frame. The door swings violently on its hinges before slamming into the wall just inches away from you and you yelp and scramble away.

And there he is, standing in all his golden glory. Except this is a side of him you've never seen before. Brows that scrunch at the bridge of his nose, perfect white teeth bared, hands balled up into fists. He lurches forward and grabs the collar of Nate's shirt before hoisting him up.

“How dare you touch her,” he growls between his teeth. Nate tries to scratch and grip Adam's forearm, but he seems completely unfazed. White-gold eyes turn into white-hot embers that threaten to burn through Nate's very soul.

“You fucking psycho!” he ekes out, gritting his teeth as the toes of his shoes scrape and scramble to find purchase on the floor. “What the hell is your problem!?”

“It would seem you are my problem,” he replies flatly despite the fiery anger that still blazes furiously in his gaze.

Your panicked stare flickers back and forth between Adam and Nate. Even if you’re pretty sure you’ll never willingly talk to Nate again (and you’ll be having some choice words with your coworker about his taste in men), you don’t want Adam getting into serious trouble on your account. And, judging by the way Adam’s grip tightens, you know you need to step in before someone gets hurt. Your shaking fingers curl gently around Adam’s bicep.

“Adam… please.”

Even that simple touch softens him instantly. His facial muscles relax and he regards you instead with an expression of perplexion. That you would even consider such sympathy for a man prepared to physically assault you is not something he can understand. Still, Nate’s shirt falls from his grasp and he falls to the ground, gasping and clutching at where the collar had been digging into his neck.

“I will see you to safety before I leave,” he mutters. The way he keeps his emotional distance from you leaves an aching feeling in your throat. His gaze drifts away from you. “We should go.”

“I’ll… I’ll call the police!” Nate wheezes out from where he kneels. “I know people! You’ll regret that!”

Adam turns as he moves to leave the apartment and stares daggers into him. “You remain unharmed because she wills it.” There is pity in his gaze, the sort of look one gives to a creature so far beneath it that it cannot comprehend how powerless it is in comparison. “If I come to regret this decision, I will not be the one who suffers for it.”

In a miraculous moment of clarity, Nate makes what is perhaps the smartest decision of his entire life and lets his head droop. He balls his fists against the splinter laden carpet and grits his teeth, but he stays his words.

A warm hand rests between your shoulder blades. Warmth like the sun. Warmth that soothes the chill that has lingered in his absence. He guides you out of the apartment and the two of you walk beneath the ochre twilight.

Silence hangs heavy between you.

Once, twice, three times, you glance towards his golden face. His expression remains stoic and unflinching. You can’t bring yourself to speak. These moments are too fragile, fleeting, and one misstep might make him disappear again. Hell, you feel as though you’ve already screwed things up by going on a date with someone else. A deep, resounding ache tugs at your heart in your own disappointment with yourself.

The two of you find yourselves in that same park, though it’s remarkably greener than the last time. Trees bud with the beginnings of blossoms. Verdant blades of grass peek through thawing soil. The somber glow of the setting sun paints it all with an empty warmth.

“This should be far enough,” he finally speaks. He finds it difficult to look at you.

You can’t bear it any longer.

“Adam…” you begin, reaching a tentative hand towards him. You hesitate. Here he is, the man of your dreams, the one you’ve waited so long to see, and yet you fear he might disappear if you were to touch him.

“I ask you to be more careful in the future. That I was able to intervene this day is nothing short of a miracle.” The corner of his mouth twitches with a frown.

Still he refuses to look at you.

“Adam,” you repeat, urgency in your voice as you throw caution to the wind. The palm of your hand finds his cheek. “Look at me. Please.”

You see him flinch, not in response to your touch, but instead your words. Bronze lips part and pout softly.

But those white gold eyes do find yours. That pearlescent gaze swirls with a deep sadness, a longing. A shuddered breath tickles your wrist.

“It hurts,” he breathes. “Why does it hurt?”

You don’t have to ask to know what he means. Nor do you have an answer you feel would satisfy him. Words never feel like enough. Instead, your brow furrows, and the pad of your thumb draws a path along his cheekbone.

“You are safe, and that brings me joy,” he whispers. Tears bead at the corners of his eyes. “Yet when I learned why you were there, I felt only anger. Betrayal.” Misty eyes blink away the tears. “But now… I do not know what I feel.”

Your hand falls from his face, and you swear for a moment he seemed to chase the warmth of it. But he’s right. Even if today’s date was a begrudging one, you had done so knowing the feelings you had shared with the man before you now.

“I’m sorry.” You nearly choke on your own words as you force them past the lump in your throat. “I didn’t--” Gritting your teeth, you look away. Excuses are worth nothing. Still, frustration burns within your chest. “I thought you weren’t coming back.”

You’d think you hit him physically with the way he recoils from your words. Of course he was coming back.

“Did our conversation before mean nothing to you?” he asks, his milky eyes going cold. “Do I mean nothing to you?” His words are reckless indulgence, and he knows it, but he can’t bring himself to stop them.

And you can’t stop the rage that burns within you.

“It meant everything to me!” you exclaim. Adam’s eyes widen at your outburst. “You… you left me! Without a word! For weeks!” Tears sting at your eyes. Your fingers curl into a fist as you beat it weakly against his chest. “You… you…”

Your words fade as you choke out a sob. Everything comes flooding back to you all at once, and the waterworks are unstoppable. Your stomach is in knots.

The anger washes away from him leaving only guilt behind. There was no protocol for this, no metaphorical manual for him to follow. Yet at the same time, how could he blame you for feeling abandoned?

“Y/N…”

“Just go,” you snap, pushing him away from you softly. More accurately, you push yourself off of him as he doesn’t budge.

You didn’t mean it. Not really. But you were angry, scared from your ordeal, and quite frankly overwhelmed by it all. It was easier to let your emotions win right now.

Frankly, Adam was of a similar mind in that matter.

For what else save emotions can explain why he takes you by the shoulders and leans in close? What rational thought might bring him to press soft, metallic lips to your own?

You squeak softly in surprise when he kisses you. Your lips are salty, wet with your tears, but it doesn’t seem to matter. He has to make you understand. You feel as much with the raw emotion he seems to emanate. When he pulls away you’re dazed, leaving a muddled fog over the anger that had just been boiling within you.

Worry knits at his brow as he looks down at you. The last thing he wants to do is overstep, and here he is kissing you without even asking first. “If you still want me to go, I--”

You don’t allow him to finish his sentence, shaking your head at him as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to kiss you again. A gasp of pleasant surprise whispers against your lips before his mouth slants over yours. It’s all so sudden, maybe even a bit crazy, but the warmth of him fills you with such brilliance that no other place than his side feels right.

Needless to say, you weren’t letting him go anywhere any time soon.

#marvel rivals x reader #marvel rivals #adam warlock #adam warlock x reader #marvel rivals adam warlock #marvel rivals fanfic #fanfic #glasvera writes #if adam warlock has 0 fans i am dead

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slashmagpie · 1 year ago

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Pearl and Gem glance at each other. Then, as one, they glance back at Tango, who is, evidently, not Tango.

“Do we have an amnesiacold on our hands?” Gem asks.

“Maybe,” says Pearl, glancing back at Tango again. “Tango, buddy, you feeling alright?”

“I—” Tango opens his mouth. Closes it again. “I mean, I’m a little under the weather, to tell you the truth—I ate a South African sausage and it disagreed with me.”

Pearl hums. “And it’s messed with your memory a bit, right?”

“Yes! I mean, no—I mean, how did you—?”

“Would you say that you have a bit of an amnesiacold, Tango?” asks Gem.

“Amnesiacold?”

“You know. Amnesiacold!” Gem says. “When you get sick and forget everything and feel like somebody else?”

“Ah.” Tango pulls himself to shore. Frowns. “It’s more of an amnesia-food-poisoning, if I’m honest.”

Pearl winces. “Your poor digestive system.”

“It’s not very nice Pearl, I’ll tell you that much,” Tango says, voice low, one hand pressed against his stomach as he pulls a face.

“Okay, that’s enough, I don’t need to hear about your gut issues,” Gem interrupts. “But—you have an amnesiacold! You know, I was an amnesiacold last season.”

“You mean, you had an amnesiacold?”

“No, I was one.” Gem winks. “Like—Tango has an amnesiacold. But you? You’re the amnesiacold. You know?”

Tango’s shoulders hike up with discomfort. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m Tango. And I think you guys should—should skadoodle somewhere else. Should bother-someone-else-ificate. Begone.”

“I had an amnesiacold last season, you know,” Pearl says. “Gem was one. You can tell us, buddy, we’re not gonna tell anyone.”

“Promise,” Gem says with a nod. “This is a safe space! You don’t have to pretend to be someone you’re not with us.”

Tango stares at them for a long, long moment, then sags, face falling. He looks exhausted, suddenly, and Pearl feels a rush of sympathy. It can’t be easy, being thrown into the game halfway through, with no context for anything.

“It’s been rough, dudes,” Tango says, voice cracking. “It’s been really really rough. I forgot how hard it was to get anything done on this server! There’s so much chaos, and—”

Wait.

“Ren?”

Not-Tango grins. “In the flesh,” he says with a bow of his head. “Or… not my flesh, exactly.”

“Ren?” Gem asks, tilting her head in confusion.

“Oh, that’s right, you’ve never met…”

Gem and Ren peer at each other for a moment. “You do look familiar,” Ren says eventually.

“Yeah,” Gem agrees. “I mean, obviously you look familiar—you look like Tango!—but… yeah.”

They stare at each other for a moment more.

“Maybe we met in a dream?” Ren says at last.

Gem nods. “Sure. Makes as much sense as anything else.”

Pearl glances between them, rocking awkwardly back on her heels. She clears her throat, drawing their attentions back to her. “Welcome back, buddy,” she says to Ren. “Good to see you again.”

“I wish that I could say the same,” Ren says morosely. “I thought I was—I was done, Pearl.” Now that she knows it's Ren, she can hear his cadence in Tango’s voice, voice dropping rough and low with drama as he bows his head. “I was done. No more games, not for the ol’ diggity dog. And now… Here I am!” He laughs a little, stretching out his arms to indicate the server at large. “In a body that’s not mine, in a world I’ve never seen, in a game I do not understand.”

“Oh, Ren…” Pearl frowns. She doesn’t know what to say.

Gem jumps in. “Hey, it’s okay! It’s just one session, you know? You can do one session!”

“I suppose I must.” Ren looks up at them, jaw tightening. “If I am here—I suppose I must.”

“I’d never been in any of these games before I was Cleo for a bit last season,” Gem says. “So you have an advantage there! And, hey—maybe you can come back next season, and we can meet for real?”

Ren shifts uncomfortably. There’s something heavy hanging about him, something Pearl can’t quite understand. She remembers the last time she’d seen him, skull caved in from the dripstone spike dropped on his head. She remembers her own amnesiacold, the exhaustion that had dragged at her before it had settled in, the memories that had plagued her and just wouldn’t go away. And she wonders—

Just how exhausted would you have to be that your body would have to leave as well as the rest of your self?

Just how sick would you have to be before you didn’t want to come back?

Still, Ren steadies himself. Quirks Tango’s mouth into a smile. “Maybe,” he says, meeting Gem’s gaze. “That would be nice, to meet for real.”

#secret life #spoilers #fanfiction #obligatory post-session ficlet time!#there was so much going on this session i could have gone with almost anything for this #but amnesiacolds is where we landed #this one is very much playing with martyn's lore which i think is very fun #also. i miss rendog when will he come back from the war ;-;#magpie feather quill

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woso-dreamzzz · 1 year ago

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Nena II

Barcelona Femení x Child!Reader

Summary: Just another day at your sister's work

You giggled as Asisat lifted from her shoulders and swung you around. Your tummy went all fluttery in a good way as she kept going before releasing you to stumble about.

She caught you when you lost your footing, putting you upright again and smothering a laugh when you fell right back onto the floor.

"Again?" She asked.

You got up immediately, nodding. "Uh-huh!"

"I think we should take a break," Sandra said as she approached," Or the little miss might throw up her breakfast."

"Ingrid's Mapi made pancakes!" You said excitedly," And Ingrid let me have syrup with it!"

"Wow!" Sandra said to you before turning to Asisat," It'll be a pain to clean if she pukes that all up and then you'll have to explain to Ingrid why we've got her kid sister throwing up her food."

"Alright." Asisat ruffled your hair. "Maybe later then."

"Later!" You agreed before allowing Sandra to take your hand and lead you to a shady area.

You had fallen into an easy routine in the past few weeks you've spent in Barcelona. Ingrid and her Mapi would get you ready for the day where one of their teammates (usually Frido or Keira) would take you out onto the field where you would sit in the shady area where the goalkeepers practiced.

Today, though, you were joined by familiar faces.

"Jana! Bruna! Look, I made pictures!"

The two girls, cleared from medical enough to lightly train but not enough to do the extremely complicated drills that were currently going on, hung out with you.

"That is very good, y/n," Jana complimented," You're the best colourer."

"I am very good." You knew that already because Ingrid and her Mapi told you often but, still, it was nice to be recognised for your talent. "You colour."

You tore a sheet out of your book and gave it to Jana along with a purple pencil.

You did the same for Bruna before deciding, after watching her for a moment, that she wasn't doing well so you sat on her lap and helped her.

"In the lines," You told her, parroting the words your Papa used to say to you," So it's not messy anymore. Don't worry. You'll get better when you practice more."

"Gracias, y/n," Bruna said," I'm sure with an expert like you, I will get it in no time."

You nodded and grabbed another sheet. "Mama says you have to practice to get better. She says that's why Ingrid's so good at the ball game so you have to practice your colouring, Bruna. So you can get better."

The warm Spanish sun beat down upon you and your friends as the other girls trained. When it get even hotter, Jana and Bruna gave you two bottles of water and sent you on your way with them.

"Gemma! Cata!" You said as you approached," Here!"

"Our hero!" Cata said as she unscrewed the lid and drained it. "Thanks, kiddo! Gemma, thank her."

Gemma sprayed water at Cata. "I was going to before you interrupted." She leaned down to hug you before allowing you to chug from her drink. "Thanks for the drink, little buddy. Why don't you head on back to Jana and Bruna and do some more colouring? It's nearly time for lunch."

Gemma was right because no sooner had you completed your third picture, did Marta and Caro come to collect you.

Your hand fit easily into Caro's hand and you took Marta's too - just because you could. Together, they swung you into the air every few steps and you giggled ecstatically every time.

Marta laughed with you while Caro settled for just a smile. You beamed at them both - especially when Caro decided to make a pitstop to get you a chocolate bar from the vending machine.

Marta ended up making your plate for lunch and no matter how much you begged and begged, she stuck to the list of approved food your sister had given her.

"Go on, nena," She said, directing you to a very full table," Can I trust you girls to look after her?" The occupants of said table all nodded and she gave them a fierce look before relenting.

Lucy stopped you from sitting down, grabbing her jacket to pile it onto the empty seat. She nudged Keira. "Pass it over." Once Keira surrendered her own jacket as well as Ona, Salma and Esmee, Lucy used them all to create a makeshift booster seat for you before plonking you onto it and pushing your food closer.

"I heard you had a fun weekend, nena," Ona said with a smile, glancing around before pushing part of her nice food onto your plate.

You nodded. "Uh-huh, Ingrid took me to the park and her Mapi let me take Bagheera on a walk."

Esmee rolled her eyes with a huff of a laugh. "She spoils that cat."

"Bagheera's my best boy," You replied to her, cramming food into your mouth," He naps in sunspots and sleeps in my bed with me."

"Really?" Keira asked before glaring daggers at Lucy," Sounds just like Narla."

You cocked your head to the side. "Tia Alexia's dog sleeps in her bed?"

"She means my dog," Lucy said as she ruffled your hair," I have a dog called Narla too."

You made a face. "That's mean, Lucy," You said," You shouldn't name your dog after Tia's Nala. She could get bullied."

Salma, on your other side, laughed. "I don't think dogs get bullied, nena."

"Cats get bullied," You said," Ingrid's Mapi said that's why Bagheera isn't allowed out without her - because the neighbourhood cats bully him. The other dogs could bully Lucy's Narla."

Salma chuckled as she ruffled your hair and shovelled food into your mouth. "Never change, nena. You're adorable."

You made a face at that but didn't argue, allowing Salma to feed you to rest of your meal.

You got restless halfway through lunch and slipped off your seat to tug on Irene's sleeve. You bounced up and down urgently. "Toilet," You said to her because she was Mateo's mama and your mama told you that every mama in the world recognised the potty dance.

Thankfully, your mama was right because Irene excused herself from her conversation and took your hand, leading you to the bathroom.

You did your business quickly but had to be lifted up to reach the sink and then again to use the hand dryer - bursting into hysterical giggles when Irene poked you in the stomach when your top rode up.

By the time you got out of the toilet, lunch had finished and Mariona joined the two of you on your walk to the gym.

"Looking cool in your shoes, nena," She said.

You grinned at her proudly. "They're my most favourite!" Yet again, you had chosen to wear your new light-up shoes. You had been wearing them a lot recently so now Ingrid didn't get worried your feet would start aching because they had finally been broken in.

"Well, they're my most favourite too!" Mariona replied.

"Good!" You said firmly, patting her side in approval with a smiling face. Mariona was pretty cool most of the time when she wasn't running around like a headless chicken and she was doubly cool when she talked to you about your new shoes.

"Are we talking about super cool light-up shoes because..." Patri stamped her feet and the bottom of her shoes lit up into a rainbow.

You gasped and jumped, showing that your shoes could do the same.

"I told you I'd find them, nena! Look at us, we're matching!"

"We are!"

Patri took your hands from Irene and jumped up and down with you, both of your shoes lighting up in sync. You giggled hysterically as the colours bounced.

Over her shoulder, you spied another recognisable face.

"Claudia! Claudia!" You exclaimed," Look! Look! We match!"

You and Patri jumped again to prove your point and Claudia gasped. She glanced around like she had a secret before beckoning you closer.

"You know what?" She asked.

"What?"

"All three of us match!"

She stamped her feet and her shoes lit up too.

You gasped.

"Wow! So cool!"

You looked around the room, holding onto Patri and Claudia and dragging them over to the corner of the gym.

"Aitana! Aitana! Aitana! We match!"

The three of you stamped your feet, causing the rainbow lights to appear again.

Aitana, as she lifted weights, smiled at you. "That's really cool, nena."

You looked down at Aitana's sad, boring shoes and sighed. You released Claudia and Patri to pat Aitana on the leg consolingly.

"It's okay," You told her," If you ask very nicely Claudia and Patri can take you to get matching shoes too."

She let out a chuckle. "Thanks, nena."

Before you could make any more suggestions though, you were pulled away from your friends by Frido, who promptly led you over to the opposite side of the gym which had been set up for your nap time.

You frowned. "Don't wanna nap," You complained.

Frido sighed. "I know. I don't want you to nap either but Ingrid says so."

You huffed. "Ingrid's not the boss of you."

Frido's eyebrows raised. "Somehow, I don't think Ingrid agrees with that. Come on, you, nap time. I'll get you some cake tomorrow if you nap now."

Your eyes narrowed. "With sprinkles?"

"With sprinkles."

"Okay. Naptime now."

Your nap went by very quickly and when you ended it, you still felt groggy.

Someone was touching you though and you squirmed around in their arms until your head was tucked into their neck. They were nice though, nice and warm even if they jostled you every time they took a step.

"You should take a picture for Olga," Your Ingrid's Mapi teased," It might get you one of these sooner rather than later."

"I'm quite content with this one." It was Tia Alexia's voice that spoke next and you realised that you were in her arms.

You blinked away your sleepiness and rubbed your eyes. "Hola, Tia," You said softly.

"Hola, nena," She replied," You slept a long while. I was getting worried you would sleep forever."

"Silly, Tia," You said," That's not possible."

"No?" She teased," Oh, silly me!" She bounced you. "It's nice to see you, nena. I was worried I wouldn't see you today."

"I always like seeing you, Tia," You replied.

"I like see you too."

You turned your head out of her neck and smiled softly at Ingrid's Mapi.

She smiled back at you, a small smile that was reserved only for you. "Hola, elskling," She said and her use of Ingrid's nickname for you made you feel all nice and fluttery inside. "We're heading home now. Ingrid's getting the car all nice and ready for us."

You nodded but didn't say anything else. You still felt kind of tired and sleepy so just soaked in Tia Alexia's warmth and the steady hum of talking between her and Ingrid's Mapi.

You didn't even notice when you moved from Tia Alexia's arms to your Ingrid's until you were placed in your car seat and strapped in.

Ingrid hovered over you as she wiped up the drool from your cheek. "Hi, elskling. Don't you look all nice and sleepy?"

"Frido made me nap," You replied, eyes drooping as she clipped in the last buckle," But I wasn't really sleepy."

"I bet you're sleepy now though, right?"

You nodded and yawned. "Little bit."

"That's alright, elskling," She said," You have a nice little nap in the car and then you can get up when we get home."

"Okay..." Your eyes drooped even lower. "Mapi?"

"Si, elskling?"

"Can we have cuddles with Bagheera on the sofa when I wake up?"

"Of course, elskling. I'm sure Bagheera would love to cuddle with you."

"And you."

"And me."

"And Ingrid."

"And Ingrid too."

#woso x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #barca femeni x reader #barcelona femeni #barca femeni #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso

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perpetuallyboo · 10 months ago

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Is it insane for me to get emotional about Dang Litefoot? Let me get insane over Dang for a moment.

I know a lot of more emotionally intense moments in D20 are kind of stepped past and not taken in impact continuing on from it so I am simply left to go insane by myself. I already really liked Dang from the start with his very easy fuck authority attitude and his being a presumably struggling older teenager/young adult-I mean come on he's living in his uncles shed, it can't be said he has a great situation. So, already, I really liked him and found some relatability- also the sort of disheveled outgrown dyed hair reminded me quite a lot of people I've seen on T for awhile and I was personally quite happy to see that.

And clearly, Dang's familiar with being an outcast. However much his belief in Rashab goes, its clearly something precious to him that brings him a Peace and Comfort- how he got through the initial getting into the game so smoothly as the others struggle was holding true to his belief. It was both very funny for the insanity of the bits and the comedy in it but something I very much enjoyed that he had some sort of grounding- and then getting just absolutely punched in the gut by having it confirmed how much of an outcast Dang has been and how Lonely he is. Standing away from the group as they shop and recount, thinking about that horrible hope he must have had that his friends might take him seriously, might actually Respect him, since clearly theres insane magic shit thats REAL in the world with this insane thing they all went through together- that theres a chance they'll take him seriously.

Being so clearly not- Respected about this thing that's so important to him. Even with how nice russell and wendell were, clearly still finding him insane and not paying the thought to try and take him Seriously, ask him any questions about his belief or how its helped him, how he feels about this all-

Of course it sounds insane, out of character thats a big part of the bit. But it cements how no matter what- Dang is an outcast. No matter what insane shit happens to other people, something that can bond and get a group together like nothing else could- Dangs still alone.

Not to mention the immediately jumping to absolutely horrible coping mechanisms, getting drunk and sleeping with strangers. Its just- its the fact it all happened, that loneliness, going to those unhealthy coping mechanisms, almost dying, and then just- continuing on. Coming back. Not even mentioning what had happened to the others like hey I just almost died- the fucking cutting away to Paula talking about his "Stupid Rashab thing"

IMJUSTTT Im just I feel so insane im getting so emotional over Dang Litefoot and i want to give him a fucking hug and say I'd love to talk with him and understand him more and also hey lets talk about some healthier coping mechanisms buddy alright okay youre doing so good im fuckin sobbing

#sorry for the rant asdl;kfj #the fact too just combating the pain of loneliness with the act of being Close to people #even in a really unhealthy dangerous way #AHHHHH #im so #help #im not okay #i feel like im the only one breaking down over this #dang litefoot #dimension 20 #dnd #never stop blowing up #d20 never stop blowing up #nsbu #d20 nsbu #pain and suffering #i wrote way too much asdfl;kj

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thewintersoldierdisaster · 1 year ago

Text

a/n: i am so proud of the boys and what they accomplished after everyone counted them out 💙🧡 can’t wait for next year when they’ve had a full training camp with patrick and they come back better than ever 🤍

tw: child goes “missing” for a brief moment, mild innuendo

word count: 2.9k

summary: the msg broadcast gets double the barzal men for a little bit

Offering to take the girls to the arena for a game seems like it’s a great idea until you’ve got Talia, both Martin girls, and Tulsa Horvat begging for pretzels mid-way through the second. Normally you’d have at least one of Syd or Holly with you, but since the outing is for Talia’s birthday, you’d thought it would be fine to just take the girls yourself. That you’d be a good friend, letting Syd and Holly have their Thursday night free, since all of your husbands are retired now and they don’t have to come to the arena if they don’t want to.

But Max is getting antsy and Talia is yapping your ear off - much like her father - begging for snacks.

“Mom, please, I’m starving,” she pokes her lip out at you in a pout and widens her hazel eyes. She looks unfairly like Mat when she makes that expression even though her general looks had shifted to favor yours as she got older. You’ve never really been able to say no to either kid anyway.

“Can you at least watch your brother while I go get snacks?” You ask, lifting your eyebrow and twisting your hair back into a slightly sloppy ponytail. Max swings his legs in his seat next to you, grinning at his big sister. His hat dips over his eyes and you make a mental note to adjust the strap.

Talia looks at you as if you just asked her to swallow a cup of live spiders. “Mom, please no! I don’t even know why we brought him, today was supposed to be for my birthday,” she whines a little, those pre-teen hormones working overtime. Two weeks from turning eleven, and you find yourself missing your baby girl more and more each day. She’s usually a pretty polite and delightful kid, but something about that upcoming eleventh birthday is creating that familiar teenage whine you’d been so good at back in the day. You should really call and apologize to your mother.

Max pipes up without taking his eyes off the action on the ice, “your birthday’s not even today!”

“Thank you, Max,” you hold a hand out in front of his face, covering his mouth, as Talia shoots him a glare. Max wiggles away from your hand, his head bobbing in every direction as he tries to see the players. “I should’ve known this would happen.” You pinch the bridge of your nose with your free hand.

The only reason Talia had picked this game for her birthday is because of Jack Cizikas’s last minute call up from the AHL. Her puppy crush on him is something you and Kristy like to joke about, but right now you’re not laughing. Casey, Kristy, Reese, and Cole are up in a suite with the grandparents for the moment and you should’ve just sent Max up there to join them, but your five-year-old is still a little clingy. He loves the Cizikas family, hero-worships ten-year-old Cole, but when you’d suggested it, his face had crumpled and he’d said, “I wanna stay with you, Mama!”

Who were you to argue with that?

“Okay, I’ll take Max with me, but Win,” you raise your voice and look down a few seats at Winnie Martin, the oldest of your babysitting charges at fifteen, “do not leave these seats until I get back, okay?”

Winnie grins at you, Matt’s smile copy and pasted onto her face. She gives you a little salute and nods, “you got it.”

Talia turns back to the girls, completely ignoring you, and you roll your eyes a little before holding out your hand to Max. “Come on, buddy. Let’s go get some snacks,” you say, savoring the feeling of his little hand in yours. You never know when he’ll start thinking he’s too cool for his mom, so you’ll enjoy it while it lasts.

“Can I get ice cream?” He asks, skipping along next to you. He gives Sparky a high five when you pass the mascot at the top of the stairs.

You laugh a little and point Sparky and his handler in the direction of the girls. “I’m sure Winnie will love to see you,” you say, nostalgia washing over you as you think about the early years of your relationship with Mat and Winnie’s love for the dragon. Sparky nods and gives you an enthusiastic thumbs up, before bounding down the stairs. It’s a different person in the costume now, obviously, but you all had made sure to keep Winnie humbled by making sure each iteration of the Sparky knew to stop and see her at a game. The teen plays along gamely, her mother’s daughter.

Max tugs on your hand, drawing your attention. “Mama! Can I get ice cream?” He repeats his request and you shake your head.

“Nope, sorry, kid. It’s past your sugar cutoff,” you shake his arm when he pouts and kicks his Nike against the floor, nearly tripping himself as he tries to keep walking. “I’ll split a pretzel with you though.”

“I don’t wanna pretzel,” he whines, dragging his feet as he traipses behind you. You dodge a few people, tugging Max along. He keeps whining a little, complaining under his breath, and you pinch at the bridge of your nose before squatting down so you’re at his eye level.

Max goes quiet, but his whole face scrunches up in annoyance and you smile softly. “If you have ice cream now, you’re not going to be able to sleep. And remember that Daddy’s coming on your field trip tomorrow so don’t you want to be well rested for that?” You raise an eyebrow at him while Max considers your explanation.

The line shifts forward while Max is considering and you smile awkwardly up at the family in line behind you, silently apologizing for not moving. The mother waves you off with a polite smile too. Solidarity.

“Can I have ice cream tomorrow then?” Max finally asks and negotiating with the tiny terrorist wasn’t on your to do list today, but you nod anyway, knowing it’ll bite you in the ass tomorrow.

“Yes, after your field trip you can have a little ice cream,” you stand up, knees creaking a bit, and move forward on the line. Matter settled, you hook your fingers in the back collar of Max’s Horvat jersey, worn because ��Uncle Bo is the coolest!’ much to Mat’s annoyance and your amusement. At the self-serve counter, you grab five pretzels - even if Max doesn’t want to share, you still want a snack - and a Diet Coke, hoping for a quick burst of energy. You let go of Max’s jersey to fish your phone out of your back pocket and tap it against the reader.

“Okay, Max, back to -“ you cut yourself off, looking down at your side and not seeing Max. “Max? Oh, fuck. Where did he go?”

Your heart hammers in your chest, slight panic rising when you scan the concourse and don’t spot your kindergartener. “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, the only thing keeping your panic at a reasonable level is the fact that Max was quite literally almost born in the arena and knows it better than anyone. Of course that also means he could be hiding literally anywhere and never be found.

“I…okay, think like Max,” you step off to the side, against the wall, so you can figure out what to do. “Where the hell is he going to go?”

The muffled cheers of the crowd filter through the arena, signifying that the Islanders have added to their lead late in the second. You smile faintly and, like a lightning bolt to the head, realize where Max wandered off to. Or where you hope he wandered off to.

You book it towards the Lab and the MSG broadcast set up, trying to see around the crowds of people that are leaving their seats now that the second period is over. Obviously, you can’t see anything around all the people and the closer you get to the main stairs, the more panic you’re starting to feel, thinking about the girls back at the seats and what you’ll do if Max isn’t with Mat.

Once the cameras and desk come into view, your entire body unclenches, Max is happily perched on Mat’s hip, chattering away with Shannon while Mat and Thomas discuss the second period’s play. The cameras are on and your son is broadcasting live on MSG. You wiggle your way through the little crowd of people around the set and get to the front, by the retractable belt barriers, and try to catch Mat’s eye.

The second he spots you, his entire expression changes, a delighted smile stretching across his face and his eyes crinkling up at the corners. He looks like a twenty-something again, not the nearly forty-year-old he actually is.

“Max!” You hiss, trying not to be heard. “Send him over here!” You wave your free hand at the duo, Diet Coke wedged under your arm and pretzels getting squished in your hand.

Mat shakes his head at you and Thomas and Shannon look over too, all three of them laughing. Mat turns back to the camera, Max smiling like the cat that got the canary. “My wife’s trying to get our broadcast sidekick back,” he says, laughing. Mat bounces Max in his arms. “But I think we’ll keep him around for his color commentary.”

“No, oh my god,” you shake your head and gesture for Max to come back to you. “Mat, stop it.”

“Max,” Mat turns to look at your son, totally ignoring you, “what did you think of the game so far?”

Embracing the fact that Mat’s going to let Max join them for a while at least, you sigh and relax into the moment, watching Max perk up as he gets to discuss his favorite thing.

“I missed Matt’s goal,” he complains, Matt Maggio must’ve been the one to score when you noticed Max was missing. “But I like Jack the best ‘cause he’s funny and plays mini sticks. And also he gave me a piggy-back all day at Easter.”

Shannon laughs and chimes in, “we like Jack around here too. But hey, Max, I can show you Matt’s goal while your dad and Thomas discuss some of the finer points of the game.”

Max wiggles out of Mat’s arms and darts around Thomas’s back so he can stand with Shannon and watch the goal he missed. You snap a picture of Max’s head poking over the desk, heart melting at the sheer excitement on his face. You also notice the dozen texts littering your phone’s screen - a multitude of laughing emojis sent from the girls while they watch at home.

The fans around you are clearly eating up Max’s presence and you feel a little spike of anxiety thinking about how exposed he is to the public now, after keeping his and Talia’s faces mostly hidden on your social media pages. It’s always a little inevitable that the kids are seen with Mat out in public, but you almost wish you could snatch up all the phones recording video and taking pictures of Max as he points something out to Shannon on the iPad.

You take a nervous bite out of your pretzel and try to just enjoy the moment until they go to commercial when you can duck under the belt barrier. Mat grins boyishly at you, grabbing your waist to pull you in for a quick kiss. “Well, this is fun,” he says, pulling back from the kiss. “Family broadcast.”

“He is so stupid sneaky,” you shake your head, offering Mat the pretzel that you’d taken a bite out of. He accepts it and tears off a piece of his own. “And fast.”

Thomas laughs, leaning his forearms on the desk. “That’ll be helpful when he’s zipping around defensemen and scoring goals,” he teases before going to say hi to the fans and take selfies.

“Mom, look!” Max pops up at your side, holding a puck. Where did he get that?

“Pretty cool,” you smile down at him and let Mat lift him back up onto his hip. Max’s long legs kick at Mat’s thighs. “Where’d you get that, bud?”

“From Dad when I got here,” Max chirps. “Can I stay? Cause I don’t wanna be with the girls.”

He cuddles up against Mat’s shoulder, the father-son duo wearing matching hangdog, pleading expressions on their faces. The day Mat taught both kids the look was the worst day of your life, weakening your already minimal willpower. This time you have to say no, interrupting Mat while he’s working is only cute for so long.

“Sorry, Maxy,” you reply sympathetically. “We have to get back to the girls, but we’ll see Dad right after the game.”

Max whines loudly, reminding you that he’s still only five, and you chew on the inside of your lip. Mat pats Max on the back and whispers something in his ear, the extra lighting catching on the few greys that are starting to form in Mat’s dark hair. You wait while Mat talks quietly to your son, trying not to worry about coming back from commercial while you’re all standing in the middle of everything. Eventually, Max huffs an exasperated sigh and wiggles out of Mat’s grip again, slumping his way over to your side.

You smirk a little, “gee, don’t look so thrilled to come hang with your mom.”

Mat laughs and you roll your eyes at him.

“I wanted to stay with Dad,” Max pouts, little fingers gripping tightly onto the puck. “But he said that he’d take me to the locker room if I go with you.”

“Bribery,” Mat winks at you. “A dad’s best weapon.”

The ten second warning that the commercial is ending blinks and you grab Max’s hand, “okay, time to go back to the girls. We’ll see Dad later, okay?”

Max waves at Mat as you guide him away from the set. “Bye, Dad! Don’t forget I wanna see Jack and the locker room,” he shouts and you can hear Mat’s laughter boom over the noise of the crowd.

“I won’t forget Max, be good for Mom,” Mat calls out.

You hurry back to your seats, Max hopping along and waving to people as you go. He gives big, cheerful greetings to the ushers and security guards he recognizes, forcing you to stop when Sparky passes by so he can give the mascot a high-five and a hug around the legs.

“Max, baby, please. We can see Sparky later,” you sigh, a little worried about leaving the girls alone for so long. You know they’ll listen and not leave the seats, but you feel vaguely like a terribly mother/babysitter since they’ve been sitting by themselves for nearly twenty minutes.

Max pouts, but takes a hold of the hand you’re holding out for him and dutifully follows you back to the seats. He clambers over the couple at the end of the row and you apologize quickly for him, making another mental note to work on the kid’s manners.

“Where did you go?” Talia pops up in her seat like a meerkat, wrinkling her face at you in confusion. “We thought you, like, got kidnapped!”

“We didn’t get kidnapped,” you huff, passing around the pretzels. The girls thank you and turn back to the on-ice intermission action. Max reaches for your half eaten one too and you’re glad you at least got a bite in earlier. “Max ran off to see Dad.”

Max grins at his sister, mouth full of chewed pretzel. “Dad gave me a puck and I got to be on TV with him,” he manages to sound smug and excited all at the same time, waving the gifted puck in one hand.

Talia pouts a little, still childish despite how she tries to mimic the older girls.

“Eat your pretzel,” you twirl your finger to get her to look back at the ice. “There are a thousand pucks at home. Oh,” you add, “we’re going to head down to the locker room after the game. Dad promised Max.”

That gets the girls going, chattering about how they get to see Jack and the rest of the players, giggling like crazy while huddled together. You lean back in your seat, smiling softly at how cute they all are. Max is on his feet, dancing along to the arena music, waving both hands in the air - your little party animal. You send Mat a video of him dancing, teasing that father and son have the same moves.

He shoots back a gif of himself dancing at the Martins’ wedding more than fifteen years ago, making you laugh out loud, drawing the attention of all five kids. “Ignore me,” you laugh, waving a hand at them.

Another message from Mat vibrates your phone: leave the kids with marts and syd when you drop the girls off after the game, i wanna show you more of my moves 👀

Giggling like a high schooler with a crush, you take a minute to appreciate that Mat still makes you feel floaty and dizzy with love. Over ten years together and he still makes your heart skip a beat.

“Mom,” Talia’s voice slices through your thoughts, “what’s Dad saying? Because you look so weird.”

Schooling your features into a more neutral expression, you lean forward over the seat and ask, “how do you guys feel about a sleepover at Aunt Syd and Uncle Matt’s?”

#mat barzal #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal x you #mat barzal fic #nhl fic

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