#makes it impossible to find anything (ever)

[khioneee]

tap out. pt ii.

a few years later, another tap-out ceremony arrives, but this time, the air feels different—heavier, somber. simon’s been gone for over a year, his deployment unexpectedly extended due to an incident overseas. you’d been told he couldn’t come home for a while, but that didn’t make the waiting any easier.

today, you stand among families who aren’t just here to tap out their loved ones but to say goodbye to those who didn’t make it home. tears stream down faces as loved ones gather around caskets, grieving the soldiers they’d lost. the sight fills you with a mix of dread and relief, knowing simon is still out there, waiting.

simon stands in formation, rigid as always, but he has a sense for you. before you even appear in his line of sight, he knows you’re near. but imagine his surprise when he catches a glimpse of you in his peripheral vision, a small bundle wrapped securely in your arms.

his heart hammers in his chest, quickening as he realizes what this means. his breath catches, his eyes fixed on you as you approach. you look up at him, your eyes sparkling, a knowing smile on your face as you watch the subtle changes in his expression—the slight twitch of his eyebrows, the way his breathing picks up as it dawns on him.

both of you had been trying for a baby before he left, and now, standing before him, you hold that precious life in your arms. it had been a struggle going through pregnancy without him, feeling his absence during every kick and every sleepless night. but seeing him now, looking more than ready to meet your child, all the pain fades away, replaced by a joy so profound it fills every inch of you.

‘daddy’s home,’ you whisper softly, tilting the blanket so simon can see her tiny face, fast asleep, a perfect mirror of him in miniature. she’s got his nose, his quiet strength already etched into her tiny features.

with tears in your eyes, you reach up, your hand finding his cheek, tapping him out in the gentlest of touches.

the moment your hand connects, simon moves, breaking formation as he pulls both of you into his arms, holding you close as if he’ll never let go. his voice is thick with emotion, barely a whisper as he murmurs, ‘my loves.’

you knew your husband had a reputation in the military—a man as cold and unyielding as steel, a fortress no one could break. but as he held you and your newborn in his arms, that carefully built facade cracked, revealing a vulnerable side of him that only you ever saw. the tough soldier was gone, replaced by a man whose heart lay entirely with his family.

‘do you want to hold her?’ you ask softly, watching his eyes light up with a blend of surprise and joy.

‘her?’ he whispers, voice catching on the single word, as if it’s almost too much for him to believe.

you nod, smiling through a haze of happy tears. ‘her.’

with slow, reverent movements, you pass your daughter to him, watching as she looks impossibly tiny cradled in his strong arms. simon looks down at her with a mixture of wonder and fierce protectiveness, as though he’s already memorizing every detail of her face.

as if sensing her father’s gaze, the baby yawns, a soft little sound that makes simon’s eyes shine with awe. you catch the faintest smile pulling at his lips, a rare, tender expression that he reserves only for moments like this.

he leans down, pressing his lips gently to her forehead. ‘never gonna let anything happen to you,’ he murmurs, voice thick with love and quiet promise.

while simon was lost in his quiet moment with your daughter, a loud shout cut through the air, breaking the peaceful silence.

‘is that our baby i see?!’

simon’s head snapped up, his expression immediately shifting to something harder. he turned to see soap grinning widely, practically bouncing with excitement. with a sigh, simon reached over and smacked the back of soap’s head, though his movements were careful not to jostle the sleeping baby in his arms.

‘there’s people grieving, you idiot,’ simon muttered, but soap only snickered, completely unfazed.

‘and what do you mean, ‘our’? she’s y/n’s and mine. you’re not part of this relationship, mate,’ simon added, his tone dripping with mock irritation.

but soap, undeterred, just ignored him and held out his hands, wiggling his fingers in a display of exaggerated excitement. ‘oh, come on! let me hold our child!’

simon groaned, looking down at you with a glance that seemed to ask, ‘do i really have to put up with this?’ but he couldn’t hide the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as soap’s enthusiasm filled the air around you.

reluctantly, and with another sigh, simon finally leaned over, carefully passing your daughter to soap, though not without a low, ‘if you don’t keep her calm, you’re not holding her again.’

soap just grinned, taking her into his arms as if he’d won the lottery, cradling her gently and cooing softly.

soon after, the rest of task force 141 gathered around, drawn by the excitement, each member eager to catch a glimpse of the new addition to the family.

you and simon stood to the side, watching with cautious eyes as they took turns holding her, each one adopting a careful gentleness you wouldn’t have expected from hardened soldiers.

price held her with a proud grin, murmuring something about ‘training her to be the next captain,’ while gaz made her giggle softly with his gentle cooing. even the usually reserved roach softened as he held her, a rare smile tugging at his lips.

you glanced up at simon, watching his face as he stood beside you, arms crossed in a show of casual indifference.

but you knew him too well. beneath the mask of stoicism, there was something warmer, a subtle softness in his gaze as he watched his team—his family—sharing this moment with him. this gruff, unbreakable soldier, who had once thought he’d lost everything, had found a new family among them, one that shared in his joys and sorrows alike.

reaching over, you took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. he didn’t say anything, just gave your hand a quick squeeze in return, a quiet acknowledgment. but you could see it in his eyes, that gratitude for a family he never expected to find—a family that had now become part of yours.

[lexcys]

★observing rafe cameron x reader

summary: you were trying everything to hide the fact that you couldn’t stop staring at rafe, unbeknownst to you - he was secretly hoping you were

a/n: this is a surfer!rafe x shy!reader btw!! also this is like pretty much my first ever fanfic so I have no idea what the fuck I am doing so sorry if this is literal ass 😭 no mention of a fem!reader besides the fact that the womans bathroom gets entered

you felt the heat of the sun on your skin as you stepped out of the twinkie. the soft crash of the distant waves barely audible over the hum of the pogues voices

stepping onto the beach, a surge of excitement hits you. the day you and the pogues have been counting down to all week has finally arrived

you take one final glance into your bag, double-checking for anything you might have forgotten—sunscreen, snacks, a book, and a few other trinkets, satisfied you make your way over to your usual spot ready to take off your tshirt and shorts which hid your swim wear underneath, until you spotted someone out of the corner of your eye

rafe cameron

somehow the kooks had managed to pick the exact same date, place and time to visit the beach as you and your friends

while the others were hastly running towards the water stripping on the way down, paying no attention to the kooks, kie stayed back waiting for you

she was already in her bikini while your clothes weren’t even close to leaving your body and landing on the ground

''you coming?'' she asked, hand on her forehead shielding her from the burning sun

''umm'', taking a quick glance around you searched the beach in a, hopefully, unsuspicious way trying to locate rafe again

glancing down you turned your gaze elsewhere, you hoped the sudden heat entering your body was from the sun and not from the sight of rafe taking his shirt off

''I’ll join you guys later, I’m a little dizzy right now'', you spoke swiftly looking up at her, hoping to not get caught in the little white lie

all though kie nodded, the flicker of confusion in her eyes and a quick look behind you told you all you needed to know

you had never verbally stated your attraction to the him but you were pretty sure almost anybody could’ve guessed with the way you tensed up or seemed quieter and clumsier whenever he was in close proximity

taking off your top and shorts you shot a look over to the pogues who were already splashing and practically drowning each other. you giggled while settling down onto your beach towel before applying sunscreen and laying down on your stomach with a book in hand

even though your book was very interesting, the sight in front of you was much more enticing

rafe was currently riding a pretty common wave, yet you found yourself unable to stop staring

you adjusted your book hoping to hide the fact that you were practically ogling at the cameron boy

he was far enough out that you couldn’t make out the details but you still caught the way his hair stuck to his face, the way his body twisted with the rythm of the wave and the way he… kept turning his head towards you?

it seemed like he was looking for you, looking to see if you were watching him

cheeks burning, you try to push your delusions aside trying to find the passage you were reading earlier

you take another peek at him and by the the time you do, he was already out of the water, walking towards his friends with the biggest fucking grin, beaming with pride and confidence, already seeming to rave about the wave he just rode

hearing jj’s laugh you swiftly adjust and pretend to be reading your book that was definitely more interesting than staring at rafe’s wet body and stupid grin

while jj kept whining about how john b, supposedly, almost drowned him they both settled down on your left, luckily on the side where the kooks were lounging

fortunately he also kept talking which meant you were able to peep right past his face and steal short glances towards rafe

it was almost impossible for you to keep your eyes off of him. it didn’t matter where you would see him, you were always stealing glances or simply staring at him from a distance. others could call this stalking but you liked to call it observing, you liked watching him, but not in a creepy way, more so you were admiring him, he was pretty

you liked his side profile, the way his bangs framed his face, the way his eyes looked in the sun, the way his shirts hung onto his fit body - you noticed the way he was very articulate with his hands, which were always adorned with the same two rings, the way the corner of his lips turned downwards whenever he tried not to smile

noticing him facing you, eyeing your group, the staring quickly stopped

at this point the distance between the two groups was too small for your liking because of course the kooks had to settle down as closely as possible to the pogues - it was somehow impossible for them to keep their distance

given the short distance, whenever you actually were brave enough to look again it seemed like he was meeting your gaze, trying to maintain eye contact

heart beating way too fast and cheeks burning, you turn away from jj trying to initiate a conversation with sarah, who was sitting on your right

after a while of, luckily, managing to keep your head from spinning towards him, to meet his gaze - aside from the occasional looks to jj or john b whenever they were contributing to the conversation - you were desperate to get up, to empty your bladder

you dreaded getting up, fully aware that the beach bar was situated just behind the kooks, it meant walking past rafe and the mere thought of that unnerved you - every step would make you acutely aware of your surroundings, mind racing, until the very thought of moving felt like it might turn your legs into jelly

examining the scene quickly you notice half of the kooks gone, including rafe, they must’ve left when you weren’t looking - you feel a weight being lifted off your shoulders while also immediately feeling a certain misery overtaking you

this unrequited crush was spiraling out of control

strutting over to the bar you take notice of ruby with another girl sitting at one of the tables and kacey talking to the bartender seeming to be cracking jokes instead of ordering

walking past them you try to keep your gaze relatively low to avoid any sort of interaction. turning into the small hallway of the bar you exhale a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding

the calmness doesn’t last long because as you round the corner to reach the toilets you spot him, standing in front of the mens bathroom, phone in hand and looking quite bored

before you get the chance to look away he lifts his head and notices you, he smiles - you smile back, a very awkward smile

relatively quickly you turn your head away and enter the women’s bathroom. your head becoming a blur, suddenly already washing your hands ready to leave the bathroom

he must’ve left already, right?

''topper are you fucking coming, man?!'', you catch rafe through the door

your plan of immediately leaving and paying him no mind, began to falter two seconds after stepping out of the bathroom

''hey, y/n'', you hear from behind you, shit

you freeze up for a second, caught off guard, before composing yourself and turning around

immediately drawn to him, you couldn’t help but notice the way his hair had dried in quite a messy way, his slightly squinted eyes and the slight smirk splayed across his face

''how are you?'' he questions before you had the chance to greet him back

''I’m doing fine'', you manage to exclaim, nearly tripping over your words before adding the usual ''and you?''

you dig in your mind trying to recall the last time you’d exchanged words beyond the usual "hi" or "hey''

''ditto'',

apparently not completely satisified with your answer, he regards you for a moment, the stare causing a warmth to creep up your neck as you shifted uneasily

''why did your friends leave you all alone over there?'', rafe inquired with a raised brow - a hint of curiosity in his tone, ''they seemed to be enjoying themeselves''

letting out a soft exhale you answer him, attempting to maintain eye contact but faltering almost immediately, ''I wasn’t feeling so good'' was all you manage to muster before adding the word, ''dizzy'' in a rather whispered voice, as you lied through your teeth, hoping he wouldn’t see through it

if he did, he didn’t let on ''are you feeling better now?’'

you nod quickly, meeting his gaze

looking up at him with those almost innocent eyes, he can’t help but offer, ''are you sure? I can get you a glass of water'', an unrecognisable sweetness laced his voice, softening his usual edge

taken aback by his unexpected offer you hesitate before denying his offer by simply shaking your head

he let out a quiet snort, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he watched you struggle to give a simple answer

''what book were you reading?'', he asked, his smirk widening as he leaned further back into the wall, clearly amused at the way the conversation was turning into a playful interrogation, as if he found some strange satisfaction in making you squirm just a little bit

you froze, your mind going blank, searching for the title before realising you genuinely couldn’t remember, maybe because you weren’t actually reading the book

like a savior, topper emerged from the bathroom, a flicker of confusion passing across his face as he scanned the scene before moving past you both, muttering a quiet "let’s go," clearly directed at rafe

for a split second, it looked like frustration crossed rafe’s face, fleeting before you could overthink it, flashing you a smile he pushed himself off the wall and made his way past you

but before he completely disappeared out of view, he turned back with a smirk and called over his shoulder,

''hope you enjoyed the show earlier''

oh

[ryescapades]

*ੈ‧₊༺ “YOU’RE SO GORGEOUS I CAN’T SAY ANYTHING TO YOUR FACE!”

— karasu and his shy girlfriend!

characters: karasu tabito x fem!reader contents: fluff, teasing, reader visibly blushes a lot notes: i feel like this is my first time writing for shy!reader wth <900 wc | requested

“you’re starin’, babe,”

you’re snapped out of your reverie, gaze clearing out of your daze to look at the man in front of you. your cheeks burn, turning pinkish when a small smirk is thrown your way. “s-sorry! i was just, uh - yeah…” you trail off, deciding not to voice out your thoughts when you realize how weird it’d sound.

your boyfriend raises an eyebrow, skeptical at your deflection but he continues rummaging through his closet in search for a piece of shirt to wear nonetheless, fresh out of the shower after the grueling practice he’s had.

unfortunately for you though, that means he’s only clad in a pair of sweatpants, strutting around in the room with his torso bared for you to ogle at. which also means you have to amass in all the self control inside you and resist from drooling at the sight of all that naked skin.

you failed, obviously.

forcing your gaze down to the book you’re holding, you try to focus back on the printed words to avoid looking his way. suddenly the little bookmark that you’ve put aside on the nightstand appears in your vision, sliding into the space in between the pages before the book is pushed close by a set of fingers.

you look up to see karasu— unfortunately thankfully already dressed— sending you a knowing look, “you’re not even readin’ it,” he points out, making you sheepishly smile as you rest the book on your lap.

‘give it to him to notice even the littlest things,’ you huff at the thought.

he takes a seat beside you on the bed, shoulders brushing each other’s as he rests back against the headboard, throwing you a sideway glance. “ya gonna tell me what’s on your mind, pretty?”

your chin tucks inwards at the nickname out of habit, your teeth absently gnawing at your bottom lip. “you’re gonna laugh at me,” you mutter.

karasu smirks at your reluctance, “try me.”

you take another minute to contemplate before gathering your confidence, turning to sit facing towards him. “can i, uhm…” your fingers shyly fidget with themselves, eyes seeming to find the loose thread on the blankets more interesting than ever. “can i wear your jersey…?”

your voice is so small, so timid that karasu almost couldn’t catch what you’re saying. a flash of confusion crosses his face and he sits up to face you properly, about to reply when you abruptly burst out in a flurry of stutters.

“i-i mean…!” you squeak, “like, i-it’s completely fine if i can’t! i know you always give it to me during your games but - uh, y-you know! i also wanna wear it at home or to bed o-or like—“ his growing smile and glimmering eyes short circuit your brain.

heat creeps up your neck, your face flushing red as your voice dies out of embarrassment. if it were possible, there would’ve been puffs of steam coming out of your ears from how hot your body is becoming.

seemingly unable to control yourself anymore, you let yourself comically slump onto his chest to hide from his view. karasu reaches a hand towards your cheek, uttering out your name in a gentle call.

he does a second try when you don’t budge, sensing the amusement in his tone. you shake your head petulantly against him. “you’re laughing at me,” you grumble.

“what? ‘am not, promise!” the chuckle he’s been holding in seeps out through his breath. “are so,” you counter quietly.

you’re internally praying for your body temperature to go down fast, but his next set of words deems it impossible for it to do so.

“you’re so cute like this, ya know that?” karasu sighs, and your heartbeat quickens a tad bit.

“are you not going to give me an answer?” you mumble, still leaning into his space as you feel him playing with the little strands of your hair, the air around you becoming still yet comfortable.

“and here i thought giving you my jersey during my games already means full custody over it,” he muses. “why would i let ya hold on to it for as long as ya did if it’s not to wear it anytime ya want, dummy?”

another rush of embarrassment washes over you as you think over his explanation. “…you’ll never let me live this down, will you?” you groan.

karasu laughs, hearty and fond. “nah, you look too pretty all red like that for me to stop,” he drawls before grabbing your face in his hands, holding you in place when you make another attempt to hide your blush, overwhelmed at how close and attractive and good-looking and cocky and sexy—

you give yourself a mental slap on the face.

he drinks in your scrunched expression, the warmth from your flushed cheeks flows to his skin as he gives you another lopsided grin. “aw, did i fluster ya that much?” he teases.

“s-shut up.”

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

Summary: Halloween night arrives at the Hoffman barbecue, and you find yourself masking feelings again. Word count: 8.5k A/N: Oh, i'm not over... - thank you for your comments, they're so fun lol you all make me laugh !! <3 Hope you enjoy this part.

October 31st. You let your feet drag across the cool bathroom tile, feeling every step. There was something comforting in that small heaviness, your body still lulled by the weight of lunch, and your mind restless, carrying the remnants of memories you'd been revisiting all afternoon. You turned on the shower, waiting a moment before stepping in, the heat closing around you like a second skin. As your fingers combed through your hair, scrubbing it softly, your thoughts slipped forward, out of your control, toward the evening ahead, as inevitable as the pull of gravity.

Last year felt impossibly far away. Sarah had wanted to be a vampire. You’d found her a set of plastic fangs, which she wore with a grin that pushed her cheeks high up on her face. Her cape was metallic, shiny as foil, falling past her shoulders, and she looked so delighted, bouncing on her feet in front of the mirror. You'd managed to take more photos than you ever needed, laughing at her exaggerated grimaces and capturing her tiny poses. Joel had been there, too, playing along, wide-eyed with pretend fear, leaning away from her “fangs” in a way that made her giggle. Every single picture was still on your hard drive—photos from a time you could hardly believe was only a year ago.

This Halloween was different. Sarah had decided on her costume weeks back—an astronaut. You’d spent the better part of September helping her piece it together, and she was beyond excited. She’d be with her friends tonight at a “scary” sleepover, which she’d told you about, bright-eyed and practically bouncing with anticipation. It was strange that she wasn’t here. It felt like there was a piece of Halloween missing, but she hadn’t felt it that way at all. To her, this was the most exciting plan in the world. You’d felt it too, in her voice, like a little pinch in your chest.

This would be the first Halloween in years you’d spend without her, alone at the Hoffmans' barbecue. And without Sarah, Joel wouldn't come either. His attendance at these neighborhood gatherings had always been more about you than the event itself, which you’d always appreciated without needing to say it out loud. You could picture him, standing with a beer, blending into the background, jokingly complaining about the crowds. He’d said he didn’t care for the noise, the small talk, and the endless kids weaving through adults like they were on a secret mission. But you’d noticed the way he’d watch Sarah, his face softened as he looked on, his attention lingering in that way that showed he didn’t mind being here, really, because it was with you and her. And the two of you—Joel and you—could talk about anything. He made everything feel like a continuation of one long conversation, like you’d just pick up right where you’d left off, glancing at each other and knowing what the other meant without even saying it.

You could also picture Clara, who’d come over to him every year, her voice lilting as she placed her hand lightly on his arm, her laugh soft and maybe a bit forced. She had that amused smile, that slight lean toward him whenever she spoke, and you couldn’t resist teasing him about it later. He’d always looked so puzzled whenever you brought it up, though you were sure he knew exactly what you were hinting at. She’d been living in the neighborhood for years, a few houses down, in that bright yellow house, and you knew she’d nursed a quiet crush on him for a while. And Joel, for his part, never seemed to notice.

The thought made you smile, picturing him in that moment, eyes narrowed, brows creased, looking at you as if to say, “Why would she be interested?” But as soon as you felt the smile, the weight of reality caught up. Joel was no longer in your life in the same way. He wasn’t “your” Joel anymore, the friend you’d poke fun at and swap knowing glances with. He wouldn’t be coming to the barbecue this year. With Sarah gone and things fractured between the two of you, he’d have no reason to come. 

Maybe this would be the year he’d finally spend Halloween as he’d always said he wanted to—in the quiet of his house, watching a horror movie, the occasional interruption of trick-or-treaters breaking the silence as he handed out candy. The picture of him there, his small, self-contained world entirely separate from you, felt like an ache that had been growing for a long time, quiet and steady.

You missed him. And it made you furious to feel it, like he had somehow taken something from you by hurting you, even though you knew, rationally, that wasn’t true. Still, the feeling stuck, simmering somewhere in the background. You hated that you missed him at all.

*

Your steps matched Travis’s as you left the house, his voice filling the space around you, his hands carving shapes in the air with his animated gestures. The crisp October air wrapped around you, a lingering autumn sun casting a warm, golden wash over everything—the leaves curling on the trees, the lawn stretching out beside you. You hugged your flannel a little closer, fingers brushing over the thick fabric. It was just the right layer—a deep green fleece, oversized, over a worn black T-shirt. You were warm, content, happy even, if only you could hold on to that feeling.

Beside you, Travis was recounting a work spat, his colleague’s tone and insults reimagined in Travis’s flurry of hands. You caught the edges of his words, murmuring a few responses that seemed to satisfy him. By the time you reached the Hoffmans’ house, you were both following the gentle glow of orange lights strung across the yard, stepping into a scene that felt dreamlike, suspended in that late afternoon haze. There was a large oak tree strung with little yellow lights, glowing faintly in the dying sunlight, the whole place set up in the same meticulous, festive way the Hoffmans always did. 

Every corner had been turned into Halloween, with cobwebs woven over bushes and pumpkins large and small lining tables, some carved and flickering with candles, others untouched, casting shadows across the tablecloths. Guests mingled at scattered tables, warm drinks in hand, their voices and laughter filling the air with a kind of warmth you hadn’t known you’d needed. The grill added a woodsy scent, smoky and rich, mixed with spices that made your stomach hum with anticipation. A few feet away, kids dressed as witches and monsters zoomed around, their laughter spilling into the light breeze, punctuating the chatter of the adults.

It was the kind of evening that felt ripe for sinking into, letting go of all the worries that had weighed on you lately. You wanted to let yourself simply be here.

Travis glanced at you then, his gaze softening in that way he had, his question as warm as his smile. “I’m heading for food—want anything?” he asked, eyes moving from you to the spread at the far end of the yard.

You pushed yourself up from the table, your hands planted firmly as if grounding yourself.

“I’ll come with you—this is the best part, right?”

The food was better than ever. Tender, perfectly cooked meat, salads piled high, and a sense of community humming through every bite. You found your spot at the table again, balancing your glass of beer on the edge, the faint strains of music drifting from the outdoor speakers blending into the buzz of voices around you. And then, like some personal invitation to memory, you heard the familiar intro; Eyes Without a Face, by Billy Idol, that unmistakable beat curling around you.

Your shoulders started to sway, almost without permission, and then there he was again—Joel. Just like that, back in your mind, as clear as if he were standing beside you. You could picture it—two years ago, slightly tipsy, singing that song in his living room, his hand on your waist, both of you spinning each other slowly to the rhythm, his head tilted back in a deep laugh, voice just slightly off-beat, and you trying and failing to contain your own laughter.

“You okay?” Travis’s voice pulled you back, concern lacing his tone as he looked at you. Your gaze had been locked on some invisible point on the table, your head leaning slightly, reliving a memory that suddenly felt all too close.

“Oh—yeah. It’s nothing. I just love this song.”

He smiled, nodding knowingly. “It’s a classic,” he said, his fingers tapping along with the beat.

You looked up and there, just beyond Travis, the Hoffmans’ glass door slid open. You stopped breathing for a second. Joel stepped out, looking like he’d walked out of some old photograph, hair a bit damp, dark jeans and a gray and black flannel layered over a plain white T-shirt, a pair of black converse grounding him to this moment. He moved toward one of the tables, brushing his chin absentmindedly, his lips moving in time with the music, glancing around as if he were taking it all in for the first time.

And then his gaze found yours.

You held your breath, as if that could somehow make you invisible, as if that would erase this moment. But his eyes stayed on you, unreadable, a half smile on his face or maybe just a neutral expression—some mix of familiar and distant, like he was watching you from a place you could never fully reach. You swallowed, shifting your focus back to Travis, who had his eyes on his phone now, idly typing something while he continued to eat.

“I should’ve dressed up tonight,” you said, your voice intentionally light, trying to shake the weight that had fallen over you. “I don’t know what I’d be, but still. It would be fun to pretend for a night.”

Travis chuckled, leaning in closer, but you could still see Joel over his shoulder, that steady gaze, watching from his own table.

“I know a party tomorrow night—my friend’s hosting, if you want to go with me. We can pick out costumes tomorrow morning, make a day of it.”

You smiled, surprised at how genuinely it formed, pushing your hands together in excitement.

“Really? I’d love that! I haven’t dressed up in years.”

Travis’s face lit up. “Then it’s a date. We’ll figure out the costumes in the morning. Anything you want.”

For a moment, you let yourself lean into that feeling, that lightness in his offer, something to look forward to. Your gaze wandered to Helena and her little daughter by the pool, her laughter carried to you on the breeze, her face illuminated in the soft glow of fairy lights. You patted Travis’s hand and stood up, gesturing for him to follow. He caught on, falling into step behind you as you made your way to greet them. 

But as you moved, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Joel’s eyes on you, lingering there in the space between.

It had been more than a month since you'd last seen Helena. She had traveled back to her home country after her father’s death, sorting through family matters, settling things that couldn’t be left undone. Now, with her daughter Iris perched on her lap, she looked better, lighter even. There was a calmness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before, her fingers tracing gentle circles over Iris’s shoulder as the little girl, dressed as a bumblebee, poked unenthusiastically at a slice of pumpkin bread. You sat next to her.

“Hey,” Helena said, catching sight of you with a warm smile that seemed to melt away everything around you—even the awareness of Joel, somewhere behind you, his gaze like a whisper you couldn’t quite shake. “It’s so good to see you. How are you?”

“I’m… fine,” you answered, hesitating as your eyes drifted to Iris, who looked up at you with a shy, dimpled smile. “When did you get back?”

“A few days ago. I was actually planning to stop by tomorrow,” Helena replied, brightening as she added, “I thought we could have dinner, get the girls together, and our guys.” She gave a little chuckle, nudging Iris lightly. “Paul would probably love having Joel around too. The poor guy spent the entire trip surrounded by women—my sisters are wonderful, but you know how it is. It was just him and my dad with all of us, and now…”

Helena had three sisters, each one of them stunning, with the same striking green eyes and dark hair that she had. When you’d met them last Christmas, it was as though you’d stepped into some enchanted fairytale—they moved with an effortless grace, magnetic and ethereal.

Helena’s eyes twinkled as she turned toward Travis. “You should come too, Travis,” she said, a mischievous glint in her expression. She shot you a knowing wink, which Travis, ever polite, caught with a smile.

“Sounds great,” he replied with an easy grin, though you felt a twinge of discomfort at the mention of “our guys,” the thought of Joel slipping into your mind unbidden. Trying to brush it aside, you nodded and shifted the conversation.

“Is Paul not coming tonight?” you asked, hoping to keep things light.

“No,” she sighed. “He’s been swamped at work, trying to catch up after our trip. But I really can’t complain. He was so great, staying home with me all this time, so I told him tonight he should just take his time.” 

Suddenly, you heard a familiar voice.

“Helena, it’s so good to see you!” Brenda, always the life of these gatherings, came over with her usual warmth, her gaze lighting up as she reached out for Iris. 

Brenda’s costume was a striking homage—her spiky orange hair and dark lipstick made her look both bold and playful. She wore a white shirt stamped with slogans in block print, a chunky pearl necklace framing her smile. As she was sitting in front of Helena, she caught your eye and grinned.

“I'm Vivienne Westwood!” she announced proudly, preening a little under your gaze.

“You look amazing,” you said, meaning it. “And the food is, as always, incredible. You outdo yourself every year.”

Brenda gave your hand a squeeze in response, her gaze softening, but just as she was about to respond, her attention shifted beyond you, a pleased expression lighting up her face. “Oh! Joel, come over here!”

Your body tensed at the sound of his name, feeling as though the space behind you had just closed in. He was there, his footsteps echoing toward you until he was nearly at your back. You wanted to stand up, to avoid the moment entirely, but it would have only made things worse—too obvious, too awkward. Brenda couldn’t have known. Joel had always been a fixture in your life; it wasn’t strange to see him here, even if, for some reason, it felt like he was moving in a world that was no longer entirely yours.

You glanced up, catching sight of Joel as he leaned down to kiss Brenda’s cheek while she patted the seat next to her. His smile was casual, easy, as he greeted the others with a nod, his eyes lingering just a second longer on you and Travis than felt necessary. He looked completely at ease, unbothered by the tension knotting up inside you, sitting comfortably in front of you.

Brenda’s hand rested on his arm as she looked up at him with a fond smile. “Where’s your Sarah? I haven’t seen her all night.”

“She’s at a friend’s sleepover,” Joel replied, a hint of concern threading through his words, though he tried to disguise it with a smile. “So I’m here on her behalf, I suppose.”

“She’s growing up so fast,” Brenda said, her tone nostalgic as she gave him a soft smack on the arm.

Joel shook his head slowly, a bittersweet smile flitting across his face before his gaze moved to Iris. “Tell me about it. I remember when she was this little…”

Helena’s hand drifted over her daughter’s hair as she smiled back at him.

“It all flies by, doesn’t it?” she said, her voice soft. “We really have to hold on to these moments.” She turned toward Travis, and he nodded, a gentle look in his eyes as he watched Iris. 

“How old is Sarah now, Joel?” Travis asked, and you noticed a subtle shift in Joel’s expression, a kind of hesitance before he replied.

“Twelve,” he said, his voice quieter, his gaze falling briefly before meeting Travis’s, smile dissapearing.

“Twelve?” Brenda’s tone was incredulous. “I still remember the day you moved in, Joel! She was so little then, a perfect little angel! And you—how old were you then?”

“Twenty-seven,” Joel answered with a wry smile, a hint of nostalgia in his tone.

“You were just a kid yourself,” Brenda replied, shaking her head. “Always working, always rushing somewhere. And always putting your baby first.”

Joel’s smile softened, his eyes meeting Brenda’s with a warm gratitude.

“I couldn’t have managed without you,” he said simply, as though she understood all the years of support and help she had given him.

Helena glanced over with a thoughtful look. “Didn’t you just have a birthday, Joel?” she asked, her voice casual, but the question landing with a weight that made your heart leap. 

“That's right,” he murmured, looking down at his hands as he fiddled with his fingers against the edge of the table. “September twenty-sixth.”

“Hey, happy belated birthday then,” Helena said brightly, her smile lighting up the words. “Did you have a nice time?”

Joel looked at you briefly, and something flickered there, like he was turning over a memory he hadn’t expected to find. He shifted his gaze back to his hands. “It was good. Full of… surprises, I guess. Pretty sure Sarah told you all about it, huh?” He shot a glance at Brenda, as if grateful for a way out of the conversation.

“Oh, I heard all about it from Sarah,” Brenda said, grinning, her gaze settling on you with a warmth that made you blush. “You’re a lucky guy, Joel, to have two sweet girls looking out for you like that.” She patted his arm. “I’ll make up a little bag of candy to take home to her, all right? I know she loves the caramel ones.”

You smiled, trying to ignore the prickle of Joel’s gaze on you. And then a feeling dragged you back to years before, to when his Sarah was just three. You could pictured her as a toddler with wide eyes and a toothy, mischievous grin. Joel had shown you those old photos once, and you remembered how adorable she looked, her tiny hand clutching a toy tightly. Sarah had his smile—that same easy warmth, with eyes that crinkled and all but disappeared whenever she laughed. That gesture was even present in Tommy, now that you thought about it. Maybe it was purely a Millers thing, but it—

You realized Brenda was talking to you and straightened up, feeling your cheeks warm.

“Sorry, what?”, you asked.

Brenda chuckled, looking at you with a soft smile. “I was just asking, how old was Sarah when you first met her?”

“She was eight,” Joel answered before you could, glancing at you with a faint smirk.

"Yeah, eight," you echoed the number, ignoring the way his gaze moved over you, lingering with a warmth that felt almost invasive.

At that moment, Helena called Brenda’s attention back to a conversation about Christmas and Iris’s upcoming birthday, but Joel’s eyes stayed on you, searching your face like he was looking for something only you might understand. You tried to keep your own expression neutral, feeling Travis’s hand come to rest on your knee under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. The warmth of his touch helped you to breathe a little easier, though Joel didn’t miss the gesture. His gaze hardened as he glanced down, the line of his jaw tightening slightly.

Clearing his throat, he leaned forward, finally addressing Travis. “So, how’s business going, Travis? I heard something about real estate taking a hit. Times are rough, aren’t they?”

Travis, completely unfazed, nodded, his hand still on your knee. “It is. At least for now things are still good, but of course, I can speak for myself.”

Joel gave a slow, mocking nod, feigning an interest he didn’t feel. “Well, you seem quite competent. I have no doubt you sure are handy with business. Is your dad still running the company?”

Travis smiled, oblivious to the subtext that hung in Joel’s question. “Yep, still going strong, but I think he’s planning to retire soon. My old man is tired, I think.”

Joel raised his eyebrows in a mock gesture of understanding. “Makes sense. I’m sure you’ll do fine. You seem like the kind who’s got a knack for that… you know, the charm. Every successful businessman needs a little bamboozling spark, don’t they? And I... I think you fit the role.” 

“Joel,” you warned quietly, hoping to temper the tension you could feel growing at the table. But Joel merely looked back at you with a faint, defiant smile, ignoring the caution in your eyes.

Travis, patient as ever, simply shrugged. “I appreciate your good faith, Joel. It means a lot coming from you, I know what a hard worker you are.”

The kindness in his tone, the sincerity in his eyes—it made your heart soften. You turned to look at him with a warm smile on your face, how was he immune to the sharp words of the man in front of him? And Joel had a special talent for formulating painful and provocative sentences, but apparently Travis was not the easy guy to gnaw on. And you were grateful for that. 

He turned to you, his eyes warm as he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. “I’m going to get us some drinks. Need anything, beautiful?”

You shook your head, managing a small smile. “I’m good, thanks.”

As he rose and walked away, he gave your shoulder one last affectionate squeeze. You noticed Joel watching Travis’s every move, his expression darkening, and once Travis was out of earshot, Joel’s gaze returned to you. He didn’t bother to hide his irritation, his eyes narrowing in an almost accusatory way as they moved over your face, searching.

“Joel, really,” you whispered, leaning in so only he could hear. “You don’t have to treat him like that. He’s never done a thing to you.”

A smirk flickered across his lips, and he leaned closer, eyes dancing with a kind of challenge. “Treat him like what?”

You shook your head, pulling back to put some distance between you, but Joel’s gaze followed, steady, like he was waiting for you to react, hoping for it even.

Murmuring an apology to Brenda and Helena, you stood, slipping away to the table by the big oak tree where your empty plate and half-full glass still sat. You picked it up, taking a long drink, grateful for the quiet moment, even as you felt his eyes on you from across the garden.

Travis appeared in front of you, a warm smile on his face as he handed over a small plate with a chocolate cupcake, topped with a dollop of cream shaped into a ghost and dusted with coconut. The sweet smell hit you right away, and you leaned in, inhaling the scent, your mouth already watering. You took a bite, savoring the rich chocolate—it tasted like all of Brenda Hoffman’s best baking, delicious and indulgent.

“Maybe after the barbecue, we could head back to my place for a while,” Travis said, his expression slightly tentative, as if he wasn’t entirely sure of your response.

“That sounds perfect,” you replied with a small smile, trying not to feel self-conscious. As you savored another bite, you glanced toward the pool where Joel was still deep in conversation with Brenda, Helena, and Iris. A moment later, you noticed Clara, all golden hair and easy confidence, sliding into the seat you’d left vacant. She placed two plates on the table, one for herself and one for Joel, who glanced up as she settled in, looking pleased.

Travis followed your gaze, then turned back to you with a knowing look.

“He hates me, doesn’t he?” he said, sounding almost amused, though his eyes held a faint hint of confusion. “I think I might understand why, i mean, i think i know why but…”

You blinked, feeling that all-too-familiar twinge of guilt.

“No, he doesn’t hate you,” you said, brushing off the thought. “He’s just acting… well, like a jerk.”

Travis nodded slowly, digesting your words, but then his eyes softened with curiosity.

“You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, but… what happened with you two? Weren’t you best friends? I remember you two were always together, but lately…”

You sighed, feeling the tension build as you searched for a way to answer. Travis didn’t need the full story, not yet.

“Like I just told you, he's acting like a jerk,” you said, and it didn't take long to sense that Travis wasn't satisfied with your answer.“Honestly, we just… had an argument a few weeks ago,” you said, carefully choosing each word. “It’s been weird between us since then, I guess.”

Travis seemed to sense that you didn’t want to go deeper, and thankfully he let the topic slide, moving the conversation in a new direction as he began to tell you about the last book he’d read.

“I just finished The Red and the Black, actually,” he said, his gaze turning thoughtful as he picked up his fork, poking at his plate absently. “I didn’t like Madame de Rênal. I thought her choices were a bit… unconvincing.”

You laughed, covering your mouth as you swallowed the last bite of cupcake. “Well, we're talking about revolutionary and passionate times, you know. I mean, Stendhal had his characters reflecting all that intensity. Have you read Goethe’s Werther?”

Travis smirked, shaking his head. “Ah, yes, the Werther book. The one with the famous suicide, right?”

You grinned, raising an eyebrow. “That’s the one. The famous suicide and the iconic outfit. I know it gets heavy, but I’ve always liked it.”

He chuckled, nodding as if to humor you.

“My sister made me read it as a teenager, actually. I thought Werther was too… sentimental for my taste.”

You tried not to smile too widely, picturing a young, disinterested Travis, brow furrowed over Goethe’s verses.

“I get it. I was probably more sympathetic to Werther than I should’ve been. I’ve always been a bit of a romantic myself, so maybe it made sense to me. Though I’ll admit, he does get insufferable.”

“Definitely insufferable,” Travis said, still amused. “I’ve always been more into horror anyway.”

The comment made you smile—Travis had a whole shelf at home stacked with DVDs and old VHS tapes of classics like Nightmare on Elm Street, Cujo, and The Birds. You’d teased him about it, of course, but there was something oddly endearing about it too.

As the conversation flowed, a faint twinge made itself known in your stomach, and you shifted in your seat, trying to ignore it. You’d had a glass of beer and two tall glasses of water before coming over, so the feeling wasn’t exactly a surprise.

“I’ll be right back,” you murmured, excusing yourself as you rose from your spot.

In doing so, you glanced over Travis’s shoulder, only to catch sight of Joel and Clara by the pool. Brenda had moved elsewhere, leaving Clara at Joel’s side, closer than casual. She was leaning into him, her hand resting against his shoulder, tucking a stray curl behind his ear, her laugh light and flirtatious. Joel didn’t seem uncomfortable with her proximity. In fact, he was smiling back at her, his gaze locked on hers in a way that made your heart sink just a little. 

You looked away, feeling a strange pang that you couldn’t quite justify. Had he been ignoring Clara before simply because you were there, next to him? But now, alone with her… he didn’t seem to be ignoring her at all.

As you headed toward the house, you forced yourself to shake off the thought. You slipped through the door and let out a sigh of relief, the cool interior air calming your nerves. Walking quietly down the hallway, you reached the bathroom and knocked gently to check if it was free. It was unoccupied, so you slipped inside and closed the door behind you. You paused by the mirror, glancing at your own reflection, almost surprised by the tension in your eyes.

What was Joel doing, looking at Clara like that? Wasn’t he still with Sienna? And what would she think if she saw him now, flirting? It was hard not to wonder if Sienna was like Clara, someone completely different from you. 

Clara was a flash of brilliance, a woman who looked like she’d walked off a magazine cover, golden curls that fell like soft waves of sunlight, her skin bronzed from Texas summers, her green eyes glinting with a brightness that made her seem almost elemental, like an extension of the sun. Her voice was soft, delicate; every word felt chosen, measured. She was flirtatious, always laughing, always seemingly content with the way things were. You could almost imagine that Clara might be Joel’s type—a vibrant, sunlit presence. It would make sense; he was her opposite in every way. When you thought of Joel, you thought of nighttime, the murmur of crickets outside a darkened window, strong coffee and smoky whiskey, a deep, hidden undercurrent. 

And you? You weren’t sure what you were. You weren’t quite the night, nor the day. Maybe you were something in between, or maybe you were just… undetermined. You wanted to think you had some affinity with the moon, but even that seemed too defined.

You sighed, breaking your gaze from your reflection as you felt an urgency to finish up. A moment later, you were washing your hands, the warm water and lavender soap grounding you a bit as your mind drifted again, wandering along with the suds down the drain. You dried your hands with a soft cotton towel, inhaling the fresh, clean scent.

But when you opened the door, you froze in place. Joel was standing there, leaning casually against the wall, his hands tucked behind him. He had been staring at the floor, but as soon as he heard you, his gaze flicked up. There was an intensity in his expression that made you pause, waiting for him to say something, to step aside, to let you pass. But he didn’t move.

When he finally spoke, his voice cut through the small space like a slow crack.

“Are you with him now?”

“With who, Travis?” you said, sounding more dismissive than you’d intended.

He raised an eyebrow, the faintest trace of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Who else? Or is there another I don’t know about?”

You took a few steps closer, folding your arms, letting your expression go cold and tight, the same way it always seemed to be now, whenever you looked at him.

“I really don’t think that’s any of your business, Joel.” You lifted your chin. “I mean, last time I checked, you haven’t been all that open about your life either. So why would I tell you anything about mine now?”

Joel’s smirk twisted into something sharper. “Didn’t stop you from telling Tommy, did it?”

You shrugged. “Well, you’re not Tommy.”

Joel scoffed, crossing his arms, clearly entertained. “Telling Tommy is practically the same as telling me.”

You lifted an eyebrow, unfazed. “If it makes you feel better, go ahead and believe that.”

But his amusement faded, and he looked at you with something almost searching, like he was trying to find a trace of the way you used to be with him—kind, understanding, open in a way that had made him comfortable. You saw the shift in his face, in the way his eyes flicked between yours, like he was looking for some doorway back to that version of you. But she wasn’t here. Or maybe she was, just not for him anymore.

Then he leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping lower, almost a whisper, as he asked, “Did you sleep with him?”

The question hit you, and you stayed silent, unsure if an answer would expose the bitter knot you felt at your center. You hadn’t slept with Travis, not yet anyway. But Joel didn’t know that, and you found a petty thrill in letting him wonder, letting him believe what he wanted—that other hands, other lips had erased him from your memory, replaced every touch. That he had no longer been the last man to touch you.  It was pathetic, you knew it, but the curiosity to see his reaction was stronger than anything else. So you decided not to answer, to let the silence lie for you.

So you simply met his gaze, letting silence serve as an answer, your lips lifting in a faint, cryptic smile. And then you saw the moment he believed it: his jaw tightened, his breath went shallow, and his eyes seemed to darken, hardening.

“Like I said, none of your business,” you finally said, feeling something small and satisfied flare inside.

Joel chuckled, but it was a grim sound. He looked down briefly, and when he looked back up, there was an almost cruel gleam in his eye.

“Did he know where to touch you?”

You scoffed, turning the question back on him. “Do you really want to know?”

The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted them. You knew Joel well enough to know he would go there if he could. But you couldn’t let him gain the upper hand, not here. If anything, you needed to keep him off-balance, keep him uncomfortable.

“Oh, I’m all ears,” he replied, his smile gone now, leaving only a hard, steady gaze that felt like it was drilling into you.

You felt your cheeks flush, but you held his gaze, determined.

“He was the best I’ve ever had,” you said, letting each word hang in the air, daring him to question it. You tilted your head, feigning a fond, private recollection. “Gentle, but rough when I wanted him to be. And you want to know the best part?”

Joel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and for a moment, his expression softened. The dark look in his eyes deepened, his smile long gone.

“Afterwards, when I woke up,” you went on, drawing out each word, “Travis was still there.”

Joel’s head dipped, his eyes dropping to the ground, and you took a brief, selfish moment to take in the sight of him, almost broken in front of you. But something twisted in your chest; the satisfaction felt hollow, quickly replaced by a pang of something closer to pity, almost regret. You had an impulse to reach out, to tell him you hadn’t meant it, that Travis wasn’t even in the picture, that he hadn’t been the best or the first or anything. But you couldn’t allow that. 

You had to remind yourself why you’d stopped letting Joel in—how he’d left you out in the cold, how he’d made your feelings seem like nothing, as if they didn’t matter enough to consider. You had to remind yourself of Sienna, this woman who felt like a ghost, hovering between you and Joel, even though you’d never even met her. And if he was really with someone else, what was he doing here, pushing and prying, acting like he had the right to know these things about you? Why was he acting like he cared if you’d moved on, or if you were with someone else, when he was so openly flirting with Clara just a few minutes ago in Brenda’s backyard? Had he become a complete asshole, or had he always been like that and you were just now realizing it?

As the memory of it all flooded back, the tenderness you'd felt earlier drained away, replaced by a familiar, suffocating anger. It surged up from somewhere deep inside you, visceral and sharp, and before you could stop yourself, your body moved instinctively—stepping back, away from him—until your back hit the cold wall by the bathroom door. The impact was jarring, but it felt like a small, needed separation. 

Joel didn’t speak right away. He stood still, his eyes shifting downward, slowly, moving over your body, before meeting your face again. His expression was unreadable, like a mask he didn’t quite know how to remove. It irritated you, this silence, this uncertainty that hung between you two like an unwelcome guest.

Finally, you broke the tension, pushing yourself off the wall and stepping back, away from him. But just as you tried to distance yourself, his voice vibrated through the air, low and deliberate, cutting into your thoughts.

“That’s mine,” he said.

“What?” you managed, almost gasping, your eyes darting between his face and his hands, as if looking for something—anything—to explain this new, impossible tension. 

Joel didn’t move. He was still, a presence that loomed larger by the second. His gaze was steady on you, tracing your body and your face, slow and deliberate.

“The flannel,” he repeated, his voice dropping lower, rough around the edges. “It’s mine.”

You looked down at the fabric, the soft, familiar warmth of it, and felt a sudden jolt. God. He was right. It was his. But it had been yours for years. You'd worn it so often, so comfortably, that you'd forgotten it ever belonged to anyone else. Maybe he'd lent it to you once, a lifetime ago, on one of those cold nights when you both sat under blankets. But he’d never asked for it back, had he? He never seemed to care, and you never thought to return it. It had just... stayed with you.

When you lifted your eyes back to him, Joel had moved off the wall, stepping toward you with slow, deliberate steps, closing the distance between you. Too close. He was too close, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body as his presence engulfed you.

“What happened?” His voice was soft, but there was a simmering undercurrent, a teasing tone that made your pulse quicken, though you weren’t sure why. “Did you forget to include it in your little box when you gave everything back to me?”

You felt a bitter chuckle bubble in your throat, an angry little sound that you couldn’t quite hold back. You shook your head slightly, irritated, your chest tight as you opened your mouth to speak, but he interrupted you, his words coming fast, sharper than before.

“Doesn’t your little boyfriend mind you wearing another man’s clothes?” he asked, his voice dripping with something like disdain, like he had been holding that question inside for far too long. His eyes darkened, gliding down to the fabric again, then to your body, before he reached forward, his fingers brushing the edge of the flannel as if testing the boundaries. “Or does he already know this isn’t the only thing of mine that’s wrapped around you?”

A shiver ran through you, a mixture of anger and something else—something hotter, something less easy to define. You didn’t want to feel it, but it was there, and it was impossible to ignore.

No. This wasn’t about that. This was about him—how dare he?

In a sudden movement, your hands moved to the buttons of the flannel, fumbling with them in a rush, eager to take it off, to rid yourself of him. But as you tugged the fabric down over your shoulders, you felt Joel’s hand close around your left wrist, his palm warm against your skin, halting you, slowing you down. The touch was too familiar, too intimate, and it sent a jolt of something you couldn’t quite identify straight to your stomach.

“No,” he said, his voice suddenly low and commanding, like he was trying to anchor you, like he was trying to hold you in place. “It’s yours. Don’t take it off.”

You snorted, a dry, incredulous sound, and with an almost violent motion, you yanked your hand away from his, finishing the job of removing the flannel with a sharp tug. 

Joel’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening further, and for a moment, you could see the effort it took him to stay still. His eyes lingered on you, tracing your every move, as you held the soft fabric against his chest. You could feel the air shift, feel the weight of his gaze on your skin, and your heart beat a little faster. 

You looked up at him, the anger suddenly spilling out of you. “No. You’re right. It’s yours. I should have given it back to you a long time ago.”

His hand moved up to his chest, over yours, taking the fabric from you with a slow, deliberate motion.

“Put it back on,” he said, his voice softer now, like he was trying to smooth over something that had frayed. "It's cold outside."

You wanted to fight it, to say something sharp, but your irritation bubbled up before you could stop it.

“Good thing I live across the block, then,” you blurted, the words coming out thicker with frustration as you pulled your hand free from under his, feeling the heat of his fingers linger on your skin.

Joel's patience was running thin. His hand shot out again, grabbing the flannel in a fist and pulling it closer to you, the fabric stretching between your bodies.

“Stop being so stubborn and put it back on,” he said, his tone more demanding, more urgent. His voice had a sharpness to it now, almost like a warning.

Something inside you snapped. You shoved his hand back hard, with as much force as you could muster, pushing him away—not enough to hurt, but enough to make your point. His body didn’t move, though. It stayed solid, unyielding, the broadness of his shoulders making you feel small, like you were being swallowed by his presence.

Frustration bubbled inside you, gnawing at your chest as you turned sharply on your heels, determined to leave. Your steps were quick, purposeful, as you made your way toward the hallway exit, the air heavy with everything left unsaid between you and Joel. But then, a firm grip wrapped around your wrist, dragging you back to him. You pivoted on instinct, meeting his gaze with eyes darkened by anger, sharp and focused.

For a moment, your mind flashed with the impulse to tear his hand off your wrist, to wrench it away and walk out of this whole mess. But you let it go. Instead, you locked eyes with him, your breath catching as your irritation turned into something more potent—exasperation.

“Enough, Joel,” you said, your voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “I'm tired of fighting with you.” The words spilled out before you could stop them, and inside, you couldn’t help but wonder how it had come to this—how two people who once fit so easily together had ended up here, so broken and scattered. 

“Then let’s not fight,” he said, his voice softer now, almost like he was pleading. There was a quiet desperation in his words, a slight hitch, as if he was offering a fragile truce. “We can—”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” you interrupted, your words sharp and cold, the bitterness clinging to every syllable. “I can’t stand you anymore.” As soon as they left your lips, you realized how hard and cruel they sounded, but you didn’t care. You were exhausted. Tired of the games, tired of the back-and-forth. The anger inside you surged again, hotter than before, as his fingers tightened around your wrist, forcing you to feel the weight of it. Desperation.

“Don’t look for me,” you continued, the words raw and unrelenting. “Don’t talk to me anymore. Don’t look at me. I don’t want anything to do with you. I’ve had enough of all of this. If I could go back in time, I’d change everything, I’d avoid all of this shit.” The heat in your chest built as tears threatened, burning behind your eyes. “But I can’t. I can’t do anything about it, and neither can you, so leave me the fuck alone for once. Avoid me if you can and I’ll avoid you. Pretend I don’t fucking exist. I don't know. Just stop it, Joel.”

The impact of your words hit him like a physical blow. You saw the flash of pain in his eyes, the way his mouth twisted, his face contorting in a wince. Something inside you sank, and for a moment, regret pierced you. But then, the anger pushed the guilt aside. He hadn’t been considerate of you before, had he? And that thought, that realization, let the remorse slip away.

His grip loosened just slightly, but he didn’t release you. Instead, his fingers trailed down to your palm, stroking it gently with his fingertips, his breath shallow and measured, like he was holding himself back from saying something more. 

For a moment, you both stood still, suspended in that space, him looking at you, and you trying not to look at him—waiting, anticipating what would come next. What was the right thing to do now? You should walk away. Right now. Now. 

But then his voice, quiet and soft, cut through the air.

“You don’t need me anymore?”

“No,” you said, the word escaping before you could stop it. The lie tasted bitter on your tongue, and the second it left you, you could feel it: the squeeze in your chest, the twisting of your heart. It wasn’t true, not really. But you wanted it to be. You wanted it to be true more than anything.

Joel’s eyes flickered, just for a second, like they were searching for something in your face that wasn’t there. His expression faltered, his hand falling away from yours, his gaze dropping to the floor, as if the weight of your words had crushed him. 

“I know that’s not true, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough with something you couldn’t name, but it was too much. You couldn’t bear to see it.

You shook your head, refusing to let the crack in your own resolve show.

“Maybe not, yet,” you said, your voice colder now, harder. “But I’ll do whatever it takes to make it true.”

With that, you turned away before you could second-guess yourself, before you could see his reaction and let the guilt undo you. You didn’t want to stay. Not now. If you stayed a moment longer, you knew you would apologize, you’d cave, you’d let him back in. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t keep doing this. 

You walked quickly back to your seat, each step carrying you farther away from him, from the tension that had become unbearable. You barely noticed Travis’s worried look when you sat down next to him.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “You were gone a while.”

You nodded, forcing a weak, half-smile. But inside, it felt like everything was crumbling. Your bones felt brittle, as if they might snap with the weight of it all. Your body had turned to lead, your muscles drained of all strength. Your eyes, heavy with unshed tears, were a reflection of the ache in your chest. 

You just wanted to go home, crawl into your bed, and never come out. The lump in your throat grew larger with every second, and the cold air stung your neck, making you shiver.

“What happened to your shirt?” Travis asked, noticing the way your body had become tense and cold.

You didn’t answer, relieved when he stood and came to stand beside you. You watched as he shrugged off his jacket, his movements gentle, as he draped it over your shoulders and helped you tuck your arms into it. 

Once you were warm, Travis slipped his arm over your shoulders, pulling you into him, his soft kiss to the top of your head offering a fleeting moment of comfort. You couldn’t help but lean into him, resting your head on his collarbone, inhaling the familiar scent of his perfume. For a moment, you allowed yourself to feel the comfort of being held, the peace of someone who wasn’t trying to tear you apart.

But then you heard it—the sliding door opening. And you knew. 

When you opened your eyes, you saw him. Joel. Walking out of the house, his pace slow, deliberate, as he clutched the flannel shirt in his left hand. His eyes were cast downward, but when he looked up, they locked on you. His expression shifted, something unreadable in the way he looked at you, and your stomach dropped. 

He walked toward his table, his fist clenching the fabric so tightly that his knuckles went white, his gaze never leaving you. You couldn’t look away either. It was like a magnetic pull. 

At his table, Carla was waiting, her eyes fixed on him like a hawk circling prey. You felt an involuntary surge of disgust. You wanted to stand up, to march over there and shake her, to tell her to leave, to stop, that she was being pathetic. But then, the sharp, bitter truth hit you: Carla wasn’t the problem. You were. She reminded you of yourself—the way you’d clung to Joel, the way you’d let him define you. 

Joel spoke, his voice angry and loud enough for you to hear from where you sat. 

“I’m going home,” he said, his eyes cutting through Carla as he raised his head to her height. Then he pulled back, holding out his hand. “Y'wanna come with me?”

And there it was—the knot in your chest tightened. Carla nodded, flushed with a victorious smile, and took his hand. The same hand that had held yours just minutes before. 

You closed your eyes, sinking further into Travis’s embrace, the ache in your chest spreading, overwhelming. 

You couldn’t leave now. Not with him walking out, not with her next to him. What would you do? Cross paths with them on the way out? Watch them walk away together? The thought was unbearable.

“Can we go to your place for a while?” Your voice was small, almost breaking as you whispered into Travis’s chest. 

“Sure thing, honey,” he murmured, the warmth of his body offering a small, fleeting comfort against the storm of emotions inside you.

-

@nobodyssfool @gigistorm @ @auteurdelabre @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @cosmic006533-blog @doblasftcisco @maiyart @concrete-jungleeee @playboygirlsnextdoor00 @powellssaturn @kyloispunk @paleidiot @aceaubrianna @liciafonseca @kaolusha @beeboopski

@maryfanson @rosebuds-and-moonlight @the-universe-is-complicated @formulafun @chewie-bars @glizzymcguirex @pedroswife69 @ivoryandflame @dixonswingz @sarahhxx03 @mellymbee @dailyobsession @msmorningstaarr @mystickittytaco @xxreginaxx @marellabyr @spacegirl-3 @alrihhty @heheheilovepedro @svrgs-blog @94namkooksworld @puddles221b @cowboymcflurry @medusaandposeidonshead @stylesispunk @sweatpeakarolinaa @puddles221b @deansimpalagirl @jasminedragoon @lover-of-books-and-tea @whimsiwitchy @cuteanimalmama @theherothesavior @ivoryandflame

[revelboo]

I love the idea of Everything is Alright being a reverse haram with megs, but I see you said originally. So might not happened, which I think is fine. Star doesn't need anymore trauma, but I can also see the possibility of a simple human mending the tension between the higher ups. Just might cause star, and possibly sounds to be very worried

I may still include Megs later on, just wasn’t sure if I could balance all three. It’s a lot easier when the guys at least kind of get along and this dynamic… not so much

Everything is Alright Pt 55

IDW Starscream x Reader

• Keeping you cradled to him as he types one handed on a report, he’s aware of the warmth of you leaning against him, little head resting against his chassis. “You want to talk about whatever’s bothering you?” You ask softly and his wings flick slightly, servos miskeying a glyph, because he should have realized you’d notice something is off. Always watching him, looking to him. You know him and it’s almost frightening. “You don’t have to,” you add when he’s silent too long, because how to even start? And there’s no way to explain how upset he is about finding out about your life span, without revealing that he cares too much. Without making himself vulnerable and risking rejection.

• Resting your ear against him to listen to the soft thrum of his spark, you don’t really expect him to answer. His feelings are something he hoards, keeping them to himself and only occasionally slipping and letting you see that not only does he care about you, but he needs you with him. “You know I care for you,” he says slowly, raspy words humming through you where you’re against him as one of his servos runs from your shoulder down your arm until you lay your palm against him and he vents. It’s not a question exactly, but not really a statement either. A reminder of how insecure he can be, as if trusting anything or anyone is almost impossible.

• “I care about you, too.” He knows. He really does, but something about hearing you say it settles warm about his spark. Tucking his chin so he can see you, there’s something uncertain in your expression that catches at him before you press your cheek against him so he can’t see your eyes, hiding your expression from him. “I like waking up against you. Like when you worry about me even if you don’t need to. Even when you get aggravated, I like the way your wings fidget.”

• Embarrassed, you keep your face hidden against him, trying to tell him how you feel without saying the actual words. Because telling him you think you might love him and you’re not sure when that happened? Especially if he’s only after something physical, needing someone to be there, but not the same way? It might just break you. You like his nervous tics, like the warmth of him and the way his servos feel absently stroking, touching you. You like him.

• Servos pressing you closer to him, grounding himself with the feel of you until you make a little noise of protest, mumbling that he’s squishing you and he relents. Again he thinks about how it would feel to entrust his spark to you, to feel you touch him that way. Would it only drive home the differences between you? Remind him painfully that there’s no way for this to ever be more, no spark in you to lose himself in? And so little time, he can feel it slipping away from him regardless. Head falling back against the back of his chair, he vents. Softly, hesitantly in Cybertronian, he begins to speak, knowing you can’t understand and feeling you shift to try and look at him as he shutters his optics so he won’t see your expression, because it’s hard enough to open up and this is the only way he can, this one sided conversation. Wishing for things not meant for him, swearing to protect you and cherish what time he has. That you’re his, spark or no spark. Regret and fear and love all tangled together. Feeling when you lay your head back down against him, listening to him without knowing how hard these words are.

Previous

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[julymusings]

Jason Todd x South Asian!Reader HCs

requested | reader is fem, i tried to keep it non-specific so it applies to the whole region, not just india, hopefully i succeeded😬

i looooved writing this it was so much fun. drop an ask with anything else you want to see!!

When you show him Bollywood movies, at first he’s like “Why are these so damn long?” But watches them anyway because you’re so excited to show him

He obviously sobs at K3G (because he has daddy AND big brother issues)

But his favorite is probably 3 Idiots or Bhaag Milkha Bhaag (he just seems like the type to looove an underdog story am I right)

Since Jason likes cooking, he’s learning how to make all your favorite foods. He’s eaten a lot of Indian food before (duh, it’s New Jersey), so he’s familiar with the flavors and spices, but some dishes are easier than others. He tries to make dosa after you mentioned liking it but it does not go well

He’s trying so hard to impress you but they all keep breaking😭 and the ones that don’t break come out burnt. When he finally relents and lets you help him, you hold his hand and guide him to make the proper movements; pouring the batter, spreading it into a circle, and gently flipping it so it doesn’t break

He loves chai, and is always experimenting with different recipes and flavors and asking you to test them

You're taking him to the Indian market so often, by the end of the month he knows the names for all the vegetables and spices in your language and where to find them

He thinks you with mehendi/henna is the most attractive thing ever

Your friend’s getting married? Of course he’ll feed you while your mehendi’s drying, you don't even have to ask

When it's still fresh and at its darkest color he's actually going batshit insane (pun intended); he loves interlacing your fingers together and seeing the contrast of your dark, decorated fingers against his large, strong ones. His phone background is a selfie of you guys where your faces are squished side-by-side and one of your mehendi'd hands is cupping his cheek

And when you're on top of him, the sight of your adorned hands pressed flat against his bare chest, flushed and heaving...he thinks it belongs in a museum

He just loves doing little acts of service; one day you’re complaining offhandedly to him about how the price of eyebrow threading keeps going up, a week later you’ve forgotten all about it but he’s like “I learned how to thread your eyebrows”

He figured it would be easy enough, and as someone who’s life often depends on steady, surgical aim and precision, it is

Roy’s walking around looking messed up as fuck for a couple weeks but that’s beside the point because he’s got the hang of it now 

When it comes to putting on a sari, he'll put the pins in the hard to reach places if you ask, but for the most part he just loves watching you put it on. he thinks it's so cute the way you scrunch your face in focus as you make the folds and tuck in the fabric with such concentration (Jason Todd domesticity agenda)

One night you're getting dressed up for some party, but no matter what you do and how many times you take it off and try to re-drape it, it just won't come out good and you get so frustrated and teary-eyed that he has to intervene

He makes you take a break, brings you a snack, and kisses you until you feel better, and then he pulls up a youtube video to do it for you— but he can't do it either😭

So you both decide to give up and you wear a lehenga instead

It’s a fairly modest one, and even though he's seen you wearing more-revealing clothes (and none at all), he's going crazy over that one inch sliver of exposed skin on your midriff

He already loves seeing you dressed up in traditional wear but if you put jasmine flowers in your hair with it??? The fragrance coming from you makes him feral. It lingers in your hair for a couple days and he can’t stop following you around and sniffing you LMAO

The first time you get a kurta for him, it’s actually impossible to find one that fits because he’s so big and buff (drool) so you just end up buying the fabric and getting it custom stitched

There's only a few scraps of the fabric left and you get the wonderful idea of braiding the scraps into a bracelet so you have something to match with him and it makes him go crazy

Early on in your relationship, you’re a little afraid to have oil in your hair in front of him because you’re worried he’ll think the smell is too strong

Jason is probably familiar with the practice of hair oiling from his time with Talia (but you don’t know that yet)

He actually LOVES when you oil your hair around him. Just something about him being the only one who gets to see you when you’re comfy and unready is so intimate to him and makes him feel so special and trusted and loved🥹

Time for some of my physical touch x touch starved!Jason propaganda

After a particularly difficult night of patrolling, he comes to you stressed and anxious and unsure what to do with himself. So you make him sit on the floor in front of your bed, warm up some of the oil, and seat yourself on the edge of the mattress. He leans back against your legs and you massage the warm oil into his scalp. It feels heavenly. You’re using the perfect amount of pressure, hitting all the right spots, and it feels so good he wants to cry. Later, when you pull him into the shower to shampoo it out, he actually does cry, hoping the water falling from the shower head hides the tears (it doesn’t, and it breaks your heart)

(If you were raised Hindu) I think he'd be very interested in the belief in reincarnation, past & future lives, oneness with the universe, etc...it might help him make some sense of his coming back

You bring mediation into his life, and that also really helps him

You wear Kajal/kohl/surma on your eyes, and whenever he’s looking especially good, or before he goes out as red hood, you smudge some onto your finger and put a mark behind his ear, just to be safe (it’s believed to deflect jealousy/bad intentions from others) (yes I’m superstitious sue me)

Or you just tie a black thread around his ankle

When you first explain to him that you want him to wear a black thread around his ankle because of a superstition, he thinks you’re joking. He can’t believe you actually believe in that 

But he can’t say no to you and he secretly likes that you also have one so it feels like you’re matching 

He considers it a good luck charm, not because he believes the superstition but because it’s from you

omg thank you for all the love on these<3 dick's will be posted tomorrow

update: read dick's hcs here !

[soo0hee]

In the Middle of the Night...

Pairing — Yoon Jeonghan x afab!Reader

Summary — One year after the snap your life finally is going back to normal again and with insomnia and nightmares plagueing your sleep, you do things you usually wouldn't. Thankfully a little spider is ready to swoop in...

Genre — angst, a hint of fluff, SpidermanAu

Warnings — Depression, mentions of ED, mentions of suicide, alcoholism, guns, mentions of kidnapping, sexuall assault, panic attacks, tell me if i missed sumn

Word Count — 2.8k

Rating — NSFW

A/N — Spidey!Hannie is here my babes, wifes and loves! @tusswrites @tomodachiii @svtiddiess @welcometomyoasis @diamonddaze01

Disclaimer: this fic is written and copyrighted by ©soo0hee on tumblr. do not rewrite or repost on any other plattforms without my permission.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED!

You knew that it wasn't a good idea to leave your apartment at ass o'clock in the morning, if it could even be called that already. Most citizens of Seoul were dead asleep at this hour.

Most, but not you. Not when the nightmares of losing your loved ones were still plaguing you to this day. Making it impossible to sleep even now, 5 years later and with everyone who had vanished with the snap coming back again.

5 years of surviving as what you had done could not be called living.

You remembered the screams on the street of people vanishing into dust or of those who had to watch those they loved disappear. You could still feel how the hand you were holding was suddenly gone and you turned around just to witness the horrified look of your baby sister as she to turned to dust.

You felt your throat hurting as you screamed terrified just like half of the earths population and only when things had settled a bit where you able to drag yourself home feeling numb and like you had no joy left in your body just to find everyone gone.

Only your mother was left behind, sobbing in the ruins that had once been the living room of your familys home. They were all gone. Your father, brother, sister and even your beloved cat. It was only you and your mother left. Until the day you came home from your job only weeks later to find that she had left you too.

The blood on the kitchen floor had already started do dry as it seemed to cover every single tile it could reach. The missing knife on the counters cooking block and the metallic smell hanging in the air had burned itself into your memory.

Alone, mourning the disappearance of your family and your missing best friend Jeonghan you fell into a hole that swallowed you and held onto your being with sharp claws.

5 years of missing different puzzle pieces of yourself that left you wondering if you would ever be okay again.

Inclined to ignore the knock on your new apartments door you stayed on the couch with your cloths looking like they had been worn for weeks, which at that point was probably true and you desperately needing a shower and proper meal. But the knocking had been insistent and annoyed you threw your blanket to the floor, almost tripping over multiple take out boxes as you marched over to the door. The peephole was covered from the outside so you were unable to see who it was.

Growling out a curse that got stuck in your throat as soon as you saw who had been covering the peephole with his finger.

Jeonghan, still slightly out of it after having been brought back and having been explained what had happened had immediately went to your old home just to find a creepy stranger who looked like he had been nursing on one whiskey bottle after the other. Determined to find you again to see if you were okay, it had taken him a few days do find you and when he finally did, all he could think about was you. From his friends he already knew that you hadn't vanished after the snap just like they had warned him about the state he might find you in, yet when the door opened Jeonghan felt like he had been punched in the guts.

His best friend, the person he'd do anything for, looked like an empty shell of e person she used to be. It was obvious that the last years have not been kind to you and it took everything in him not do cry for the happy girl you used to be. The light in your eyes was gone, your hair a giant mess and even underneath the hoodie you were wearing, a hoodie he was 100% sure had once been his, he could see that you had drastically lost weight.

Jeonghan had barely caught the door as you slammed it shut or at least tried to before running to hide in the bathroom. He listened to the hysteric crying for maximum 2 seconds before breaking down the door after having heard the shattering of a mirror, scooping you into his arms as you begged for the hallucinations to finally stop torturing your mind.

He didn't mind the blood spilling from your bare knees as you sat in between the mirror shards littering the ground as he fought against you while you fought against him and the demons you were seeing in your terror and only when he forced your face to look at him did you finally give in, finally believing him when he promised that it really was him and not your mind playing tricks on you.

God, just how many times had you seen him when in reality he had still been gone?

Until you had calmed down, hours had gone by when you had passed out from exhaustion right into his arms and for you to get better it had taken much longer.

That was 1 year ago and so far, things were going ok. Telling your family about the tragedy that happened while they were gone had put a strain on all of them and while everyone was trying to live with this new reality, distance had grown larger then you thought possible. But they were back, and that was enough for you.

Now though, you were suffering another night of insomnia so you had grabbed your phone and started your journey to Jeonghans place.

Seoul at 3 am was not your favorite place and walking past dark alleyways gave you slight serial killer movie vibes. Tightening your hold on your phone you dialed Jeonghans number, hoping you wouldn't wake him up.

"Hello there, sunshine! Why are you awake?" your friends far to awake voice rang through the speaker.

"You know, I could ask you the same thing." You countered and earned a huff from the other.

"Yahh, at least I'm in bed unlike a certain someone, right?" he answered just as the honking of a car was much closer on his side of the line then it could be if he was in bed.

"Didn't know that your bed is out on the streets now..." you called him bluff. "I'll be at your place in 15, you know."

There was a moment of silence on his side.

"Wait, you're outside? y/n! It's 3 am! That's so dangerous!" Jeonghan whisper yelled and you faltered a little in your steps, unsure if you should continue your way.

“Sorry... I just couldn't sleep again and-"

You looked around yourself, suddenly feeling like you were being watched.

"Please, go home. Try for me! I'll be over in a bit but please go home!" His voice was urgent in a way you had never heard before. It made you nervous.

"I'm already at the sandwich place not that far and-" You were silenced when you rounded the corner, starring right into the barrel of a gun. The men in front of you, 3 in total were covered in black, guns ready to be used in their hands.

"Gimme the phone darling!" the one pointing his weapon at your face snapped. Fear took a hold of you and with shaking hands you did as told. Jeonghans paniked voice rang through the speaker, having heard what has been said on the other side.

"Not your night it seems like." One of the others cackled at your misery.

The third one grabbed your arm roughly, pulling you along into one of the alleyways while completely ignoring your struggles against his hold.

"No, please let me go! I didn't see anything and I-" you begged, voice wavering as you were pushed against a wall.

"Pull of your shirt."

No. No, this wasn't happening. Or was it?

Apparently you were taking to long.

"I said, take. It. Off!"

You whimpered and reached for the zipper of your jacket. The cold air making you shiver when you exposed yourself to the night and reached for the hem of your shirt. "Please don't do this. Let me go home and you can leave too and-" Pain shot through you as you got struck across the face by the gun.

"Shut up and lose the shirt, bitch."

“Now I do have to ask, is that a way to talk to a lady? Did your mother not teach you any respect!”

3 heads + yours flew around only to find…

Nothing.

“Up here, pabo-ya.”

The heads flew up and came face to face with Seouls very own friendly neighbor hood spider.

He was hanging of the side of the building, head tilted to the side and web attached to the building.

“Fuck off Spiderboy. This is our business and not your’s.” the one with the gun growled annoyed and you could hear the sound of dissatisfaction when the hero jumped down to land on the ground.

“We agree to disagree; is that the way to talk to a lady? Seriously guys, you are not exactly being gentlemen here.” The red masked guy taunted happily as he took two steps closer, causing the other 3 to build a barrier between you and him.

You frantically looked to the side, hoping to find something you could use to defend yourself while Spiderman distracted them enough for you to reach for the pipe laying not to far away. You probably would even have noticed if they weren’t busy trying to scare the uninvited guest off.

The 3 gangsters were pissed, you could hear that even with having heard only half of what was being said and just when the first gun shot rang through the alley, you reached for the pipe you had eyed before.

The sound the metal made when it collided with the mans head that was closest to you would have on a normal day made you sick, but not now you only heaved as you watched him sink to the ground.

Spiderman, having taken down the gunner and now busy fending of the last one webbed his hands together, earning him a loud roar of anger which you silenced with another swing of your own weapon of choice.

You came face to face with the friendly neighborhood spider and for a moment you just stood there in silence until you could hear the sound of sirens in the distance.

The groans of the 3 taken down idiots filled the night and spiderman made quick business webbing everyone to the ground before shooting one up in the air to get ready to swing off; the other holding out to you for you to take.

“Unless you want to stay here to make a police report that the police of Seoul is to stupid to follow through with anyway, I can swing us out of here?”

Hesitant but cold you took it and suddenly he had is arm wrapped around your waist and held onto him for dear life while swinging through the night.

The wind tugged at your hair and clothes and you prayed to everyone who would listen that Spiderman wouldn’t drop you. You weren’t particularly keen on ending as human pancake on the asphalt.

Your feet hit the ground or more like a roof top. The rooftop of your best friends apartment building to be exact. Having spend countless of nights up here with him to chase the nightmares away just trying to feel his presence in the last 5 years right on this roof, you knew exactly where you were.

The question was just- no… this had to be a coincidence, for sure…

“You really shouldn’t be out this late, it’s not safe for a lady like you.” Spiderman said and now that you had calmed a little after your adrenalin rush, something about the chiding tilt of his voice rang a bell in the back of your head.

“Yeah, my friend told me as much… I was on my way to his place when i– you know.”

The hero nodded knowingly. “Yeah about that…” he stated calmly before suddenly ripping the mask of his head and your best friend long black hair fall in front of his face. “What the hell, sunshine?!”

What. The. Fuck????

Mouth basically on the floor you stared in Jeonghans horrified face. It was funny. Shouldn’t you be the one to feel like that upon finding out that your best friend was fucking Spiderman???

“What are you doing outside this late? Were you trying to get yourself killed? Do you know how scared I was when you called?”

But it made sense. His late nights. The fact that he brought you here. His voice.

“You belong in bed! Not out on the streets at 3 fucking am!”

Jeonghan paced in front of you, hand furiously buried in his hair and tugging on it while you still stood frozen on the roof.

“God I think my heart stopped for a moment because of it! You’re going to be the reason I go bald early and I hope you know that I will make you pay for every single hair dye job I get because of it!”

Your mind slowly caught up with the situation even if it gave you a headache. You rubbed your temple with the tips of your fingers hoping to make the incoming pain go away before it really started while Jeonghan kept ranting to himself without looking at you.

“Jeonghan.”

“And not even that but what if I hadn’t come in time? Huh, what then?”

You tried again.

“Jeonghan!”

Failing.

“You could have been kidnapped, thrown in a ditch or what not!”

You inhaled deeply.

“Or, or you could–“

“JEONGHAN!”

“WHAT?”

He whirled around to finally face you. Realizing the situation you were in his stressed look changed into something akin to surprise.

“You–“ you stopped talking to gather your thoughts. “Are so lucky I love you or I might have killed you for keeping this from me!” you spit out, livid about the entire situation. You felt betrayed.

Spider man had been around for years, save for the years after the snap. Did that mean that Jeonghan had lied to you about this since the beginning? I had to be, there was no other explanation other then-

FUCK!

The words that had left your mouth came back to you.

You’re lucky I love you… You’re lucky I love you…

The words echoed back, taunting you like the kids on the playground.

“You-“

“NOT THE POINT, YOON JEONGHAN!” You yelled out in panic.

“We are talking about this!”

“Right after you tell me what all this is about?” You gestured wildly to his mask and suit.

The black webs on red of his spandex contrasted starkly even in the dark of the night and Jeonghan had the guts to look sheepish.

“y/n, I- it’s complicated okay. There was this incident a few years with a radioactive spider and now I’m your friendly neighborhood spider. Please don’t hit me?”

His words came out so fast that you had trouble following.

“Still considering on that.” You shrugged, hands crossed over your chest.

You always had a weakness for Jeonghans puppy eyes and this time, just like the countless times before, they made you melt like butter in the sun.

“I hate you so much right now.” You sighed and Jeonghan cracked a smile.

“No, you don’t. You looove-“

Glaring hard at his smug grin you stared at the ground when Jeonghan stepped closer. You shivered in the cold of the night and your best friend gently loosened the grip you had on upper arms, taking your hand into his.

“I’m sorry, sunshine. I should have told you. Maybe then things like tonight wouldn’t have happened” He raised his free hand to your face, fingers trailing down the side of it and sending shivers down your spine. This time not because of the cold.

“You were there, weren’t you? Just like always.” You swallowed with a lump forming in your throat.

“But I almost wasn’t.”

Whispering into the night quiet enough so a normal person wouldn’t have heard it. “Yet you were, and now get me inside. I’m still freezing and I’m tired.”

Jeonghan laughed loudly, hurrying to pull you towards the door to get inside you followed willingly. You would definitely make him tell you about everything in the morning and god better be with him when you do cause it will be the day Yoon Jeonghan will regret not doing so in the beginning.

But for now, all you wanted was get some much needed sleep.

“So you lo-“

“I will hit you!”

[aventurineswife]

(Original Idea)

@smokess

It’s been a few weeks since you first arrived in the Devildom. You’ve already made your way through a few of the rougher patches: learning the magic laws, getting used to demon food, and navigating the maze that is the House of Lamentation. But there are still moments when things catch you completely off guard, and today happens to be one of them.

You’ve just been called to the dining room for breakfast, but as you walk in, your thoughts are still buzzing from yesterday’s events. You’re trying to put together how you ended up in this bizarre world full of demons with their own customs, traditions, and... strange ways of doing things.

As you sit down, the brothers—Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmo, and Beel—are already seated, along with Diavolo and Barbatos, who were visiting from the palace. The atmosphere is relaxed, almost too relaxed. They’re chatting, mostly about the latest human technology (Mammon is in a heated debate with Levi over the newest video game release) and general happenings in the Devildom.

But then, as you reach for your plate, your body betrays you.

You start sneezing, repeatedly. It’s not that unusual for you—back on Earth, you’ve had bad allergies before, especially in the spring. But here? You didn’t realize that it was possible for pollen from another dimension to mess with your system.

"Huh, bless you, I suppose." Lucifer comments, his tone a bit dry. He raises an eyebrow as you snatch a napkin and try to muffle another series of sneezes.

"Are you okay?" Beel asks, his voice sincere, though it’s impossible to ignore that he's already eyeing the plate of food in front of you, the steam rising from it. He’s always hungry, always concerned about food, and while you’re trying to focus on the allergy attack, his concern doesn’t help.

"I-I think it’s just my allergies," you manage to choke out between sneezes, your hand scrambling to find something to wipe your nose with.

Barbatos, ever the composed butler, immediately gets up and makes his way over to you with a tray of what looks like...some kind of odd, green liquid in a cup.

"Please drink this, MC. It should help soothe your reaction. We have a lot of unique flora in the Devildom, and they can affect humans in different ways."

You eye the drink with a mixture of suspicion and gratitude. At this point, you don’t really have any other choice.

“What... what’s in this?” you ask, sniffing it carefully.

“It’s a blend of herbs from the underworld,” Barbatos says with a calm smile. “Completely harmless. It should help with your symptoms. But you might want to avoid consuming anything too exotic until your body gets used to the local flora.”

You take a cautious sip. Surprisingly, the liquid doesn’t taste too bad, and within moments, your sneezing fits subside.

"Thanks, Barbatos," you say, giving him a grateful smile, but you're still mentally processing the fact that you might have to get used to demon herbs now.

“So, MC,” Diavolo begins, his voice loud and friendly as always, his large frame leaning toward you with genuine interest, “I wanted to ask, what kind of... ‘treatments’ do humans undergo back home?”

The question catches you off guard. You look around, noticing the brothers are now all paying attention—Diavolo's curiosity seems to have sparked a sudden group interest.

“Treatments?” you ask, hoping you understand the question right.

“You know, for things like... well, if you get sick, or need vaccinations?” Diavolo gestures, his enthusiasm barely contained. “It’s always interesting to hear how humans take care of themselves!”

You blink, processing the concept of vaccines. You realize that in the Devildom, none of these demons are likely familiar with things like flu shots or allergy medication... or even common human ailments like cold and flu. It’s a foreign concept here.

“Uh, well, humans get vaccinated—shots, you know, to prevent diseases? We also go to the doctor for stuff like fevers or injuries.” you say slowly, unsure if they understand what you're saying.

The room goes quiet. Then, unexpectedly, Mammon snickers.

"Wait, so ya all just get stuck with needles?" he asks, looking at you with wide, alarmed eyes. "Why would ya let someone do that to ya? Sounds like torture!"

You let out a small laugh, trying to explain it in a way they'd understand. "It’s for our protection. Without vaccines, we could get really sick from things we can easily avoid."

The demons all exchange looks of utter confusion. Satan looks thoughtful, though, his hand resting under his chin. “That’s... fascinating. So you just... accept being injected with something? No magical potions or healing spells?”

“Nope,” you answer, shaking your head. “Just medicine and stuff we get from the Earth. No magic involved.”

Diavolo claps his hands together in an amused gesture. “How strange! I wonder if that would work in the Devildom... Barbatos, what do you think?”

Barbatos, ever the pragmatic butler, raises an eyebrow. “I’m not entirely sure, My Lord. But I believe it would require a rather significant amount of effort. Perhaps we should stick to what we know works.”

You chuckle nervously, trying not to feel too alien. It’s weird being the only one who understands what vaccines even are, let alone periods, or allergies...

The conversation shifts after a while to other aspects of human life, which you’re not exactly prepared for. After some time, the talk turns to... well, other human customs—especially biological ones.

"So... do humans have... um... I don't know how to say this," Asmo starts, clearly not sure how to word it delicately. "Do humans, uh, have... ‘monthly’... discomforts?”

You freeze mid-bite, the word monthly hanging in the air like an uncomfortable weight. You’ve always been pretty private about your cycle, especially now that you’re in a room full of demons who probably know nothing about it.

“I, uh... it’s called a period,” you mutter, hoping the subject won’t get too awkward.

"A period?" Satan asks, leaning forward, eyes wide with curiosity. "Like... punctuation?"

“No!” you exclaim, mortified. "I mean... it’s a human thing. A... biological process." You sigh, trying to explain without sounding too embarrassed. "It’s a monthly occurrence where... my body, um, prepares for something it doesn’t need. So, it... uh... sheds the lining in the uterus."

The demons stare at you blankly. Even Lucifer, usually composed, looks momentarily baffled.

“And that... happens to you... every month?” Levi asks, horrified. “How do you... I mean, that sounds awful!”

You nod. "It can be uncomfortable. It’s like a... natural part of being human."

Barbatos, ever the tactful one, steps in smoothly, his voice calm. “It seems humans have a great deal to manage in their biology. Fascinating.”

“Right? And we’re just expected to deal with it,” you add, still feeling embarrassed but relieved that they’re not asking too many more questions.

Later, the conversation veers into a discussion about where you came from, your homeland, and your nationality. It’s a tricky subject, especially since most of these demons have never even heard of your country, let alone your hometown.

“So, you’re from Earth, right?” Lucifer asks, tapping his fingers on the table, as if contemplating the situation. “But Earth is so vast. How do you classify your people?”

You pause, unsure how to approach it. “Well, there are countries, and people belong to different nations. I come from a country called...”

The name of your country seems to hang in the air, but as you mention it, the demons exchange confused looks. They’ve never heard of it.

“Wait, so what’s that country like?” Mammon asks, genuinely curious. “What’s ya... currency? What’s the most popular food?”

You try your best to explain, but each question leads to another, and soon you realize how very, very different Earth is from the Devildom.

But as weird and overwhelming as this all is, you realize that these moments of confusion and surprise are part of what makes your time here so unique. The demons may not understand everything about you, but they're clearly invested in learning—whether it’s how to handle your allergies or what a "period" is.

And really, at the end of the day, it's that curiosity and willingness to understand each other that makes the Devildom feel a little more like home every day.

[leafington]

𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙞𝙣'𝙩 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣' 𝙞𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙘𝙪𝙥, 𝙨𝙤 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚, 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮, 𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙢𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙞𝙩 𝙪𝙥! - kento n.

content warning !! - drinking, intoxication, ceo!nanami, subby!nanami-ish, hostess!reader, blackfem!reader, sex implied but no smut, very subtle angst

a/n - im a little rusty yall stay with me + ib that one picture of the girl pouring the drink into the guys mouth, yk the one 🌚🌚

Beautiful wasn't the right word to describe his favorite woman, she was ethereal. Her beauty incapable of being described in such a way that covers the entirety of it all, it was damn near impossible to pull a word out of his broad vocabulary to illustrate her. To be watched under her eyes felt like that of being stalked, like every small movement of his was documented in her head.

Never in a million years would Nanami have caught himself in an entertainment bar of all places, part of him feeling ashamed he even wound up in such an environment all because of some woman. He's gotten one taste of her and all of a sudden it's a basic need of survival for him, stopping by her job every other day to see if she's there. This time, however, he was incapable of doing so due to a business trip overseas which left him exhausted and, above all, needy.

"You alright?" She caressed his cheek lightly, eyes scanning over Nanami for any sign of harm done. If anything, he should be checking on her, her head still feels light after being shown just how much he missed her over the course of two whole weeks. Nanami takes a few deep breaths, recollecting himself from what he considered to be the most euphoric moment ever experienced, then nodding in conformation.

He's a big man in every sense of the word; his build, his size, and his work status. She's used to seeing him so calm, stone-faced, rarely ever disheveled or beyond his own consciousness. "Age catching up to you, I see." She tries to lighten him up, moving her hand to play with his hair. "... very funny." Nanami quips back, leaving her satisfied knowing he's still a bit snarky. "I know right? I think I'm hilarious." She giggles, tugging his hair back just a bit so she was the one looking down on him.

It was nice being the one on top for a change, she didn't think it was possible to be the one to reduce the Nanami Kento to a groaning mess who cums like a virgin when he's desperate, and boy was it a sight to see.

She didn't really know why he came back to her all the time, Nanami swore up and down that he hated this place and everything involving it, but every day he's available after work he's here, requesting for her, and enjoying a nice glass of scotch while watching her work. Not that she minded it, it was a nice change of pace having someone call for her company and pay her thousands just to be by their side.

"You'd do better outside of a place like this, y'know?" He gruffs out, watching her slip her bikini thong right back on and mentally grovels. "How many times are you gonna remind me?" Y/n makes quick work in straightening herself out because who knows what her co-workers will think about her disheveled appearance. "Until you finally quit." Nanami glares, although not intentional, he genuinely believes she'd be better off somewhere safer, a less taunting job than buttering up a few men and getting tipsy.

"Well get used to it." She prompts, carrying herself to to mini-bar and scanning for anything he might like. His usual isn't there, so she just assumes that if he can down some glasses of scotch whisky, he can handle some sips of bourbon. Y/n pops up with the bottle and finds his cup to fill it up, Nanami watches her after regaining himself and buckling his belt. "Was that your plan? Letting me fuck you senseless then trying to take me out?" It's not often Nanami cursed around her, he's proven how strict and uptight he is about how he carries himself. "Just doing my job. You don't have to drink it." She sasses him back with a roll of her eyes, and he doesn't deny her so she settles herself in his lap and takes a few sips on her own.

Y/n recoils back, holding the drink away from her and making a face. "That's so not good." She gags, tensing up even further when Nanami's hands glide up her body. "Poor girl can't handle a little strength in her alcohol. What a terrible job you're doing." He taunts and further more pouts at her, patting her side as if she were a child. "Oh really?" She grits and adjusts herself. "Why don't you show me just how I'm supposed to do that?"

She raises herself high enough to be above him, tapping the bottom of his chin. "Open wide." He follows her command with ease, letting her tip his head back to pour the liquid in his mouth, her own slightly opening as if to pursue him further. "Up, up, up... thereee we go. Atta boyyy." She coos, a bit of the chocolate-noted honey dripping down, grinning when he swallows it whole.

Her free hand comes up to wipe the stray droplets off before it stains his clothes, she smiles at him when his drunken eyes land on her. "You got what you wanted," His voice comes out raspy from his intake, reaching for the bottle and trickling some more in the cup, taking it in his own hand and holding her up firmly with just one hand, the cold silver band of his watch pressed up against the flesh of her ass. "Now let's try that again, doll."

©2024 leafington dont steal please!! :)

[redislazy]

Deadly Attachments, Chapter 05

<< Chapter 04

[EVENTUAL SMUT] - Minors DNI > ao3 <

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x female!Reader

Word Count: 7,318

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s seeing you.

And it terrifies you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[runawaymun]

Hey! Any advice on writing multi chaptered fics or just longer stories?

I feel like I'm okay for like snippets but have no idea how to write the middle of a story or move a character or story from point a to point b.

And asking you because you're writing is phenomenal and I'd love some advice.

(But if no brain space for advice I totally get that too and feel free to hide this ask or something)

(Anyway great updates on boundless and the one shot Brimbrond)

Sorry for taking so long to respond to this! I just wanted to take some good time to gather my thoughts because oh man oh boy I am a bit of a nerd about plot structure, even if I pants it a lot of the time -- because middles and structure absolutely plagued me when I was a beginner and so I spent a long, long time studying it and breaking it down.

I'm going to start with some very, very basic advice and then get into some more specific stuff. So let's talk first about how to structure a long-form plot first.

DISCLAIMER: this is how I personally structure plots. More often than not I veer off my own track. And this is a very western way of structuring a plot. It's well worth looking into how storytellers from around the world structure their work because it can vary wildly (Miyazaki is a great example of this). Take this with a grain of salt. It's a guideline which I find helpful. This is going to get very, very long. Bear with me:

When I'm first thinking about how to create a plot around a story I want to tell, this is the process I walk myself through, and it tends to work about 75% of the time for the stories I like to tell (I'm not much of a thriller or mystery writer and those tend to have different kinds of structure). Main recipe is as follows:

Status quo - establish the setting and the character. Do this by the middle-to-end of chapter one, preferably. You can get away with drawing it out a bit in sci-fi or fantasy works that require more worldbuilding, but try not to.

Inciting incident - I won't tell you to start in media res, as that varies from writer to writer and story to story. Generally you want to have this somewhere in chapters 1-3. Say we're talking about LOTR - I'd say the inciting incident is when Bilbo goes invisible at his birthday party and leaves for retirement. Everything sort of snowballs from there (Gandalf confirming this is The One Ring, the Ring being passed to Frodo, the adventure beginning, etc. etc). This is where your character can lose something, or be confronted with a huge problem, or gain some new information. This is the point where your story really picks up.

Point of no return - your character has been presented with a problem or is put in a situation and now they have to decide what to do about it. Sometimes characters choose to run away, or choose inaction. It's up to you and your character as to what they do next.

The annoying part - the most helpful way I've ever found to think about middles is in terms of a series of decisions and consequences. Your character must decide what to do (or try to get what they want), and this will then come with consequences to those decisions. I ignore a lot of writing advice because writers seem to be very cagey about how they compose middles and plots for some reason, but the one piece I heard that helped me was: "What does my character want, and what stops them from getting it?" -- and this can be anything, right? Frodo wants (has to) take the Ring to Mordor. Luke wants to learn to be a Jedi like his father. Inspector Poirot needs to catch the murderer. Odysseus wants to return home. Each of these characters are going to make a series of decisions toward their goal, and they may be working from incomplete information, or bad paradigms, or racing against the clock, or against impossible odds. They're going to make mistakes. Over and over and over again. The middle is a series of decisions, consequences for those decisions, and obstacles (more on that later).

Point of no return 2, electric boogaloo (i.e. the actual midpoint to the story) - the part right before the climax -- the climax IS NOT the midpoint of your story, nor is it the end. This is your midpoint where Everything Fucking Sucks. Your character's back is against the wall. They have to change, or fail.

Paradigm shift: your character learns something new, or develops in some crucial way that leads to:

The climax/confrontation: 3/4 - 7/8th of the way through your plot. Frodo decides to keep the ring. Luke uses the force to blow up the death star. Anakin's fear and the manipulation from Palpatine overtakes him and he turns to the dark side. Inspector Poirot gets his last crucial piece of information and gathers everybody together for the Big Reveal. Odysseus gets home and chases the suitors out of his house. Etc. Etc. This is that Big Point in the story we all think as the most important or crucial point (but it's not. That's the key here. THE most important point is the whole middle of how we got here).

Consequences and paradigm shift 2 electric boogaloo: varies from story to story, but this is the fallout of the last decision or confrontation. Your character may reflect on what they've learned. The killer goes to jail. Frodo returns to the Shire and it's saved, but not for him. The journey your character has been on has irreparably altered them, or the world around them -- for better or for worse.

Resolution: the place where you land the story ;) what is the final impression you want your readers to have of your character, or this world?

Alright so that's all kind of nebulous. Let me give you a slightly more specific form of this plot structure that I use pretty often, because I almost exclusively write character and relationship-driven stories since that's what interests me most:

So most of this looks much the same (the inciting incident is some kind of meetcute. The characters then have to decide if they want to have some kind of relationship -- I like to name this part the callback). Then we have a whole weird squishy section of building interest and tension, before once again we have The Big Fight (darkest before the dawn or what have you), before one or both characters have some kind of paradigm shift, they confess their feelings (or resolve the fight or whatever), and the security of the relationship is established -- happy go lucky times, everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.

So the middle here is of course still squishy and nebulous, but the focus here is still on "What decisions are the characters making? What are the consequences of those decisions? What are they learning, and how do they respond to it?" Maybe the tension is in one character being more reticent, while the other is more open. Maybe the tension is a sexual tension (will they, won't they?). Maybe a character is working off of incomplete information, or a misunderstanding, and that needs to be cleared up before the relationship (or even their own personal growth) can progress (both Elrian and Thalionel in Stars and Boundless Sky follow this pattern). The middle is a push-pull between your character's desires and outside forces that are stopping them from getting what they want, or achieving what they want to achieve.

So okay, that's all well and good. That's basic plot structure. Let me get into my thought process about middles specifically:

Begin with your ending in mind. I do not mean that you need to have like the whole resolution to your story fleshed out. If you're that kind of writer, great! But if you're more of a pantser like me, then that can be a big ask. Instead, ask yourself: what do I want my character to have learned by the end of the story? How do I want them to have changed, or grown? Do I want it to be for better, or for worse? Is there a specific plot goal you have in mind? (saving the world, or catching the murderer, solving the mystery, exorcizing the ghost, the couple getting together at the end, the found family finally gelling with each other, or whatever).

Once you have that thought in mind, now start to think about what your character might need to get from their starting point to their ending point. If it's a murder mystery, this is your information gathering section. You can lead your character to wrong or right conclusions. Have them make mistakes. Etc. etc. If it's a romance, this is where you create a string of scenes where the characters have opportunities to interact and learn more about each other (works for platonic slowburns, too). If this is a traditional hero's journey, this is where you plop in your actual journey.

Not to repeat this ad nauseum, but your middle is all about getting your character to your end goal, but in the most difficult way possible lmao. Let them make mistakes. Let them make bad decisions -- and then follow through with the consequences of those bad decisions. Give them bad information. This is where understanding your character's fundamental flaws becomes extremely important. Your entire plot, imo, stems from your character's fundamental flaws -- because ultimately that is what is going to slow them down the most from reaching their goal. Sure, you may have the big bad evil guy (bbeg), but we're not worried about him. That's an external factor and that's easy to drop in when you need a quick problem to place in front of your protagonist -- but that problem needs to be in service to your character or your worldbuilding. Teach them something. Give them an opportunity for growth. Aragorn needs to lead at Helm's Deep so he can inhabit his leadership role. The mountain pass of Caradhras needs to force the Fellowship through the mines so that Gandalf falls fighting the Balrog and comes back leveled up and ready to fight, and other characters in the fellowship have a chance to grow into their roles without relying on Gandalf for leadership. Your middle is all about crafting little opportunities for character growth, always while moving toward your end goal -- whatever that may be.

The paradigm shifts are crucial, and they can shift for better or for worse. It's up to you and your characters and the story you want to tell as to which it'll be.

If you're bored, your reader is bored. Only write what excites you, skip all the rest, and make it make sense at the end -- I'm so serious. Yes you need to add in breaks for pacing (like the whole Rivendell section in LOTR), but in those breaks still make sure that you're either expanding your worldbuilding, or giving your characters and opportunity for growth.

If you want to tell a really long (novel length) type of story, sideplots and alternate POVs are your best friend. They are structured exactly the same as a regular plot, they're just simpler or smaller and generally work in service to the main plot. Maybe there are side characters or side relationships you'd like to develop. Maybe there's a smaller mystery or a part of your worldbuilding you'd like to explore. Action plots can be side plots to romantic or platonic slowburn plots, just as much as it can be the other way around. And this is not something you need to structure out the gate. Just be curious and playful. Find points in your story that interest you, and explore them a bit. You'll find that they expand the story.

Biggest and best tip I can give you, when all is said and done, is to decide what kind of story you want to tell and then examine how other people are doing it. If you want to write a superhero story, pick out your favorites and look at how they're structured. If you want to write a mystery, same thing. If you're writing a romance or a drama, again -- same thing. Look at the pieces of fiction that you like, figure out what you like about it, and then apply it to your own work.

That's all the general advice off the top of my head. IDK how helpful this was lol. If you want more tips on middles I can try to look at it a bit more in depth, but to be quite honest middles are really what defines a genre. Romances have different middles to thrillers. Thrillers have different middles to mysteries. Mysteries have different middles to dystopian sci-fis. Etc. Etc. So take the general advice with a grain of salt and look more specifically at the genre of story that you're looking to tell.

Thanks for coming to my tedtalk <3

[kendraontmblr]

hiyaa! I was wondering if you could write something about not having seen carlos for weeks and when you finally join him for whatever tournament he cannot behave, not even in public so let alone in your hotel room 🤭🤭. If that’s okay with you🙏🏼

A/N: hi anon ! ooo, this is gonna be so good. i’m assuming you want some spiceeee. so i got you 🤭 this is my first time ever writing something like this. so hopefully i could give you what you wanted. let me know what you think ! mwah

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CRAVE YOU - C. ALCARAZ

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Pairing: Carlos Alcaraz x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: [18+] mature content, has sexual themes, romantic undertones, and explicit scenes.

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Weeks had passed since we’d last seen each other—weeks of training, tournaments, and distance. The anticipation of finally joining Carlos at his latest tournament had my heart racing. He’d been teasing me with late-night messages and playful words, but it wasn’t the same as being near him.

Text after text kept popping up on my phone, each one adding to the heat between us. “I miss you so much, amor” and “Can’t wait to see you,” he’d say, teasingly followed by, “I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself when I see you, cariño.”

I reread each message, the anticipation growing with every word. My lips parted slightly, and I bit down, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. It had been so long since we were together, and I could already feel the heat of his presence, knowing when we finally came face-to-face, he wouldn’t hold back.

Carlos had personally invited me to this social event, a gathering filled with players, their partners, sponsors, media personalities, and other important figures from the tennis world. It was an opportunity for everyone to unwind, network, and celebrate the tournament in a more relaxed atmosphere. While the event was bustling with conversation and laughter, all I could think about was the chance to finally be with Carlos after weeks of distance—away from the courts, the cameras, and the constant pressure of the sport. The exhaustion of our grueling schedules made it nearly impossible for us to find time to be together, but tonight, we finally had this moment.

As I entered the event’s venue, our eyes locked across the crowd. His smile was everything I needed, but it was the way he studied me, the intensity of his gaze, that sent shivers down my spine. The buzz of conversations and soft clinking of glasses surrounded us, but his attention was solely on me. Despite the noise and movement around us, it was as if we were in a world of our own, and that magnetic pull between us only grew stronger. The distance between us was too far but still close enough to make my pulse race.

I made my way through the crowd, and in an instant, he was by my side. He pulled me into a warm embrace, mindful of the public setting, his lips brushing softly against my cheek. The moment was brief, but his whisper in my ear—softly telling me how much he missed me—sent a rush of warmth through me. He was careful, but there was no hiding the intensity behind his touch and the longing in his eyes.

As we mingled among the crowd, I found myself engaging in light conversation with other players and their partners. The WAGs were a welcoming group, sharing laughs and stories about their experiences on tour. We talked about everything from life on the road to the latest gossip in the tennis world, all while sipping on drinks and enjoying the elegant setting.

The entire evening, Carlos was subtle— trying to hold back, or at least, he tried. His hands were on me at every chance he got—resting on my back, grazing my waist, and brushing against my arm, each touch a silent promise of the tension building between us. As we mingled with other guests, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses filled the air, but it was hard to focus on anything else but the heat between us. Carlos was talking to a few sponsors, his attention divided, but I could feel his gaze lingering on me from across the room.

And as time went on, his patience began to slip. The lingering touches grew more urgent, more demanding, like he couldn’t keep himself in check any longer. It was clear—he was on the edge, and so was I. The room buzzed with conversations, but it felt as though we were in a world of our own, every shared glance and fleeting touch intensifying the magnetic pull between us.

He would press behind me, his chest lightly brushing my back, and I could feel him—his heat, his desire. My stomach erupted with butterflies, each movement sending a wave of anticipation through me. His lips lingered on my shoulder, and as his breath danced across my skin, I shivered, both from the warmth of his touch and the depth of the connection between us. Around us, the party continued with people chatting and the hum of music playing softly in the background, but none of it mattered. “You smell so good,” he whispered low, his voice sending a rush of heat through me once more.

“Behave, Carlos” I warned, my voice a mix of amusement and desire. But I wasn’t really trying to stop him. He knew it, too, just a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. The guests around us were oblivious, absorbed in their conversations, but it didn’t matter to Carlos—he was all in.

I tried to ignore the heat building in my chest. Carlos leaned in closer, his lips brushing against my ear, and whispered, “Dame un beso… [Give me a kiss].” His breath was hot against my skin, making my pulse race, and I felt the space between us close even further. I could feel the pressure building, not just in my body, but in the air around us.

I hesitated for a split second, the pull between us undeniable, before I leaned in, capturing his lips in a slow, teasing kiss. His hands roamed, one resting firmly on my waist, pulling me closer as the kiss deepened. Each touch, each whisper, was a promise of what was to come, and I couldn’t help but lose myself in it.

Every now and then, I’d catch him tugging at the strap of my dress, his fingers grazing my skin, ensuring I felt the tension building between us. His fingers brushed the strap of my dress, letting it slip off my shoulder. The playful edge in his touch made my heart race even faster, but we couldn’t stay in the moment for long. Other people were nearby, oblivious to the tension between us, but we knew—this wasn’t over.

Later, as we sat next to each other, Carlos’ team and a few close friends nearby, he got even bolder. His hand rested on my thigh, gently at first, before it started inching higher, just barely brushing the top of my thigh. I shifted slightly, aware of his proximity, and whispered under my breath, “You should behave, Carlos.” His eyes darkened with a mix of challenge and desire, but he didn’t stop. He was enjoying the game. The subtle game of patience he was playing—and I was losing.

When the day finally came to a close, and the two of us were alone in the hotel room, the tension between us finally broke. Carlos wasted no time closing the door behind him, his hands on me the moment we were inside. No more subtle touches—he was feral, unable to control himself after so long apart. He tightened his grip, pulling me closer, his breath warm against my ear. “You’re mine now,” he murmured, voice laced with possession. “No más [No more]. No more waiting.”

Carlos’ lips found mine almost instantly, urgent and hungry, as if he were making up for lost time. He kissed me deeply, the kind of kiss that made the air between us thicken with desire. Pulling back just slightly, his breath hot against my ear, he muttered, “Te he echado tanto de menos… [I missed you so much] you have no idea what I’ve been thinking about,” his hands now gripping my waist as he pulled me closer.

I let out a shaky breath, a small smile tugging at my lips as my hands ran through his hair. “I think I have an idea…”

He smirked, his eyes wild with longing. “You have no clue, amor… I’m going to make sure you feel it.”

Carlos captured my lips again, the kiss deeper this time, a silent promise of what was to come. Slowly, we moved together, his hands guiding me toward the bed, the back of my knees brushing the edge of it as he pulled me closer, not breaking the kiss, both of us consumed by the heat building between us.

I pulled away slightly, my eyes glinting with a playful challenge. “You’ve been misbehaving all evening, Carlos,” I teased, my voice low and mischievous. I ran my fingers through his hair, tugging him closer. “I warned you, didn’t I? That you’d have to pay for all that teasing.” My eyes never left his as I sank slowly onto the bed, my fingertips trailing down to his belt buckle. Carlos’ breath hitched at the touch, his chest rising and falling, as he looked down at me.

Spreading my legs just enough, I whispered, “Get on your knees, Carlos.”

His gaze darkened at the sound of my request, a smirk playing on his lips as he sank to his knees. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, cariño,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire. His large hands found my thighs, spreading them further as his gaze intensified. “But I’ll make sure you remember every second.”

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a/n: part 2 ??????? 🤭

with love always,

kendra

[yinemw]

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐢

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭: finally confessing to Levi after failed attempts (gender neutral reader)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none, just fluff

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫: Levi Ackerman from AOT

𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“I love you, Levi Ackerman”

“Excuse me?” Catching Levi off guard was rare, few had ever seen it, Levi himself had rarely even experienced it. He was always on guard, always aware of his surroundings, ready for anything. But not this. Not your sudden confession. In the middle of dinner, surrounded by everyone. Erwin and Hange looking between you and Levi, completely silent, anticipating your response.

“Listen, I tried, I really really tried to keep it in. But goodness it’s been hard. And it’s not like I haven’t tried confessing at better times, it just always seems you’re busy, and it’s impossible to be alone with you, so I just had to tell you…” you trail off when you see all the eyes on you. The whispering and giggling of the other soldiers somewhat discouraging your words, but it wasn’t their opinion or response you cared about. It was Levi’s.

Levi frowns, pinching the space between his brows, closing his eyes for a few seconds before finally straightening up. Grey eyes meeting yours. “This is hardly the place to discuss such matters Y/n. Come with me”

“Oh-uh, someone’s in trouble”

“Shut up Hange” you whisper yell as you follow Levi out from the mess hall. Awkwardly laughing at the other soldiers who watched the two of you.

“Are you trying to be funny?”

“No sir” came past your lips before you could even process the words. It wasn’t like you had thought it all through, confessing to him in public. Basically yelling it for everyone to hear. Did you consider the fact it would make Levi uncomfortable and angry? No, no you did not. “Commander, do you realize how hard I’ve tried to confess in a…better circumstance?”

Levi sighs, clearly annoyed. His arms crossed under his chest as he looked you dead in the eyes. His patience was running short, yet, he seemed to let you finish talking. “Go on”

“Wait, really?”

“You either talk or I walk away”

Your lips part, ready to tell him all the times you had tried confessing, but nothing came out. Why was he letting you tell him? After you had embarrassed yourself, and maybe even him, in front of all the soldiers. Why did he care?

Levi took a step back and you quickly stammer to find your words. “Right! Uhm! There was that one time in your office!”

“Here are the papers from Commander Erwin” you hand the papers to Levi, throat slightly dry as you take on the courage to say the next part. “A-also, I was wondering if you’re free for a drink anytime after work”

Levi didn’t answer at first, sitting in his office chair, going through the papers you had handed him. “I don’t drink” he said simply, not lifting his gaze from the papers.

“Oh, that’s fine. We can, uhm, go out for tea?”

“Why would I go out for tea when I have it right here”

You look down at the teacup in front of him, steam still swirling in the air from the hot liquid. He wasn’t wrong, why bother going out for tea when he, in fact, had it right here? “I was just asking because it was would be nice to get to know you better, like, a dat—”

Your words die out once the door to the office opens, a breathless Hange entering the tidy room. “Levi, Y/n, there’s an emergency!”

“That was you asking me out? You think I heard your mumbling about a date?” Levi scoffs, seeming unamused. “And you gave up after that sorry attempt?”

“Well, no” you say embarrassed, looking down at the ground. Clearing your throat as you recall one of the other times. “Remember the time at the stables?”

You were taking care of your horse, as usual. It was calming more than anything. Brushing your horses mane, making sure she was clean and fed well. Giving her occasional kisses and sneaking extra apples for her. You also enjoyed it because your horse was placed in the stall next to Levi’s horse. You often saw him take care of his companion whenever you were there doing the same. The way he took such gentle care of the horse, it didn’t exactly help with your feelings for the man. “Uhm, Levi, do you ever wanna, I don’t know, go on a casual ride with our horses?”

“Casual ride?” He seemed almost offended and you regret even asking. “What, so we can exhaust the horses even more. They’ve been through enough, do you not think so?”

“Right right right, you’re absolutely right, mhm, sorry for bringing it up”

“Casual ride. Not good enough”

You let out a slight groan, hiding your face in your hands. “I know I know, I was so embarrassed afterwards. But that wasn’t even the last time I tried…I was so determined to confess or ask you out, embarrassment wasn’t enough to stop me. Remember, uhm, when we were training and—”

“You fell on top of me?” He finishes your sentence. “It’s not exactly something I can forget Y/n”

Sweat was running down your brow, heart beating in your ears as you train with Levi. He often picked you to train with, you weren’t really sure why, because more often than not, you fell straight on your ass or face and got made fun of by Hange. But it did make you stronger, even faster, your reflexes had also improved.

“Hey Levi, I know you’re busy, but maybe we can talk in private after this?” You ask, sword at the ready as he stood opposite from you. Arms flexed, swords in both hands as he made his fighting stance.

“Tell you what, you beat me and I’ll listen to your rambling for once”

Hearing Levi’s response definitely made you more determined to win. Perhaps too determined. You don’t know how, but somehow throughout the fight, you had landed on top of Levi. His back hit the ground, and you hit, well, him. More specifically, his crotch.

“Oh…oh my…oh” you were speechless, watching as he groaned underneath you. Safe to say, there was no talking afterwards and Hange had two people to tease that day.

“So you gave up after that?” He asked after recalling the memory. He wasn’t dumb, he was very aware of your feelings for him. Often catching you staring, not to mention the special treatment you gave him. Asking if he was cold, asking if he wanted your food if he was still hungry, asking if he was tired. Just, making sure he was okay.

“Well, clearly not. Didn’t you hear me saying I love you in the mess hall?”

“I think everyone heard” Levi scoffed, studying your expression. You didn’t seem too embarrassed. But you didn’t seem like your usual self either. He knew why, he hadn’t exactly reacted to your confession. Not telling you if he felt the same or rejected you. “Y/n, I don’t date”

You stay quiet, lifting your head to look at him. Swallowing hard and putting on the realest smile you were able to. “I figured as much, I just, needed you to know I love you. I couldn’t keep it in anymore, even if you don’t feel the same”

“That’s not what I said” he corrected, gaze not leaving yours. His arms uncrossed, resting by his sides. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the small scars from battle visible on his forearms. You always thought he looked so handsome in his casual wear, and you always wanted to tell him, this didn’t exactly seem like the right time to.

“Oh uhm, what do you mean?”

“I didn’t say I don’t feel the same. I just said I don’t date”

It was your turn to frown, not understanding what he meant. If he doesn’t want to date you, doesn’t that mean he doesn’t feel the same?

“Whether I love you or not doesn’t matter, I don’t do relationships. We don’t have time for that as soldiers. Neither do I want to get too attached to you, anything can happen, we lose soldiers everyday Y/n. I don’t want to be carrying your dead body back to the walls, feeling heartbroken and attached and getting distracted”

“But…” looking away, you decide it’s better not to disagree with him. He was your captain after all, he had authority over you and you followed his commands.

“Go on, speak your mind. It’s not like you to back off from it”

If you were in a better mood you would have laughed, but considering the situation, it didn’t seem like the right time. “If you feel anything for me Levi, wouldn’t it hurt either way to carry my dead body back to the walls? If you love me, but don’t act on it, it doesn’t change the fact you do love me, the feelings are there. And you might not only be sad if you lose me, but wouldn’t you regret never having acted on your feelings? Why do you think I never gave up on confessing? I tried multiple times exactly because of the fact we risk our lives every day. If I lost you and I never had the chance to tell you how I feel, I would regret it for the rest of my life…but that’s just…my…opinion” your words trail off, realizing you might have gotten too emotional, raised your voice a little too much.

It was too quiet, Levi not saying anything nor was he moving. You didn’t dare look at him, keeping your gaze down at the ground. Staring at his boots that always seemed so clean.

“I don’t regret my decisions” you hear Levi’s voice, softer than it usually is. His fingers wrapping around your chin and lifting your face to look up at him. “I don’t date…but maybe I can make an acception for you” his deep silver eyes look into yours, fingers brushing against the skin on your jaw. He was being surprisingly gentle, not wanting to push you away. His gaze softens at your expression, seeing the confusion and surprise clear on your face. “I’m saying I…I love you too, and I want to take care of you, more than I’ve taken care of you before. You’re right, I don’t want to regret it in the end”

Without hesitation, you wrap your arms around his slender waist and pull him close to you. Feeling the warmth of his body against yours and the subtle change in his heartrate picking up. His arms slowly returning your embrace. “Okay I don’t feel so embarrassed about confessing in front of everyone now”

“Not so fast, I’m still putting you on extra cleaning duty for that”

“Levi!!!”

𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑏𝑦: ★

[typhoonvash]

Where do either of them even begin? Wolfwood's spent, it seems like, several years awake, and Vash spent over 200 years on his own. Granted, a hundred of those were spent incarcerated, but he got out alright. Well, outside of the gaping Wolfwood-sized hole in his chest. And the horrible loneliness of isolation that built up during his Gunsmoke sentence. The constant stress headaches, pressure, and tense muscles in addition to the countless incidents involving the loss of control with his energy...

Okay, so he's a bit fucked up. How does he start to explain anything?

"Nic..."

This is a bad idea, isn't it? He could surge at any moment and potentially kill Wolfwood. Still... Vash feels at ease here. He feels as if his muscles have finally relaxed and his jaw isn't clamped tight anymore. Just... seeing and hearing Wolfwood has instantly lowered his stress levels. Feeling his heartbeat, even if it's not his heart, also keeps his mind quiet.

Vash crouches down to inspect his lost and forgotten arm, noticing how much of a beating it took as well. Finding this must've given Wolfwood equal parts hope and dread. But... it kept him going, and that's what matters.

"Ughh," he groans, rolling onto his back. Vash sprawls out on the tarp, careful to avoid any of Wolfwood's supplies—including his bedroll. He feels so filthy; the patchy, dark scruff growing on his jaw and chin only makes him feel worse. His hair is longer than he'd like it to be too. That'll be a pain to deal with later...

After shutting his eyes for a moment, he opens them again to stare fondly at his partner. Even after all these years... he's here. Wolfwood's here. He went and found him, even though he's been awake for what—four mortal years? Is that what he mentioned? Vash being unable to move on is one thing, but Wolfwood is human. He had every right to give up on finding him, but he didn't.

Half-lidded, sparkling, deep violet eyes accessorize the warm smile and faint blush that he gazes up at Wolfwood with. Longing, but he's here. Yearning... he doesn't need to do that anymore. It's enough to make him tear up... it's enough to cause a steady stream of tears down his cheekbones and past his ears.

"There's... a lot to talk about, isn't there?" Vash croaks, his voice cracking with disuse. He folds his hands just below his sternum. "What do you think? Y'know, about all the... everything? Was it overwhelming?"

So many questions...

"A-and before you scold me about how I've been the past two centuries, I'll have you know I tried t-to... move on... once. Just for a day! I couldn't do it. B-but I heard your voice constantly telling me that I should've. I couldn't do it. C-couldn't..." Vash laughs just once, wiping his eyes with his wrist. Now that the waterworks started, he's not sure they'll ever stop. Two hundred years. "... W-wouldn't... I would-n't..."

He tries to maintain his smile, but it quickly turns into a grimace as he attempts to control his tears. It's an impossible task.

"S-ssorry, heh, I... c-couldn't even l-last f-ffive minutes with... without b-breaking down..."

“I know, Spiky,” Wolfwood murmurs, his eyes bright with a line of unshed tears. As impossibly fond and still as deeply saddened as he was moments before, if he knew Vash would have spent the next two centuries grieving a man who had hardly been such a small part of that long, long life he would have…what? He doesn’t have the answer to that question, only the same awareness that he’s ever had around his own human limitations. Fate has seen to bending those rules so many times that Wolfwood wonders if he’s merely yet to truly face his comeuppance. 

At the end of the road, having known and loved Vash the Stampede would have been enough for him.

And yet, here he stands.

“I missed ya too.” 

There may be some universal constant out there, striving to offer Nicholas D. Wolfwood comforts in these trying times. 

“Oh for…” Vash would, of course, have managed to get washed down here on no account of his own planning. Nicholas sighs heavily. “Well, I’m glad yer alright. Dunno what I woulda done if I had to carry yer bony ass all the way up on top of everythin’.”

His hopes entirely hinged on finding Vash in the first place that Wolfwood hadn’t given proper thought as to how they would handle the apparent deterioration of his powers. By all accounts, Vash was on death’s front door. Any dark storm brewing over their heads could be Vash’s final run. They’ve both got that in common.

Rubbing his hand over his shirt, it occurs to Wolfwood that they’re not entirely helpless to the whims of chance. 

“One thing at a time, Tongari. Too damn old to be rushin’ into shit anymore.” Ironic, considering that was what set off the blasted little timekeeper ticking away in his ribcage in the first place. Wolfwood grunts as he holds his arm tense and pulls Vash up alongside during the steeper portions of their climb. “Been crawlin’ this place like a mad dog since I found your arm. Kept it topside, but I’d be lyin’ if I could say it’s still any good to ya.”

Their trek up to the surface was far more difficult than his original descent down. Relief washes over him when he finally spots his tent nestled against a protrusion of the cliff face. Screw stakes have been driven into the wall on one side, stretching across to poles buried deep into the soil. Wolfwood ushers Vash behind the flap just as the first droplets of rain start to pepper their heads.

God, he could do with a shower and a bowl of hot noodles. 

Out of the elements, the interior of the tent isn’t much to speak of. His bedroll remains unrolled in the far corner where he has a full view of the tent flap and anyone who might’ve been unwise enough to investigate. A small oil lamp and portable stove sit beside it. The cast iron pan still has crumbs from the morning’s breakfast in it. 

Vash’s arm has been placed lengthwise beside the head of the bedroll on a small towel. 

When he’s certain that Vash won’t suddenly fall over, Wolfwood sets about turning on the lamp and igniting the stove to provide them a source of heat as the temperature outside begins to drop. He glances at Vash then looks away just as quickly, suddenly paranoid that looking directly at Vash for too long will cause him to disappear. “Ya hungry? Ain’t got much, but bread’s somethin’ to nibble on at least.”

Falling into autopilot gives him a chance to at least try and get his head in order. He had so many variations of a speech prepared to tell Vash everything that had happened, the Eye of Michael’s growing influence, and the fact that their agents were hunting the Humanoid Typhoon even now.

“Vash–”

[askblueandviolet]

Macaque, you are a freeloader...

At least give The Mayor a kiss. 😗

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[thefirstlioveyou]

controversial or whatever but people get so annoying when they decide to share their whiny opinions about wheelers taking focus in s5